Mourne let out a rattling breath, his battered frame trembling in the enchanted chains that bound him to the air. Greenish blood oozed from the cracks along his lips, dripping slowly down his chin. His body was failing—every cell screaming, every nerve frayed—but still, his pride clung to him like rot that wouldn’t wash away.

“You think… I fear death?” he croaked, voice thick and broken. A twisted, gurgled laugh escaped his mouth. “I’ve survived agony that would break the minds of everyone in this room. You don’t scare me.”

Mystica’s expression didn’t shift. She exhaled through her nose with quiet amusement, stepping forward until her cold, heavy aura washed over him like a storm tide.

“Fear was never required,” she said, her voice low, composed, sharp. “You just haven’t grasped the reality yet. You’re powerless. Your myst is suppressed. Your regeneration is failing. And your value?” She tilted her head slightly. “It exists solely in what you know. Nothing else.”

Mourne spat to the side, his glare venomous. “Save the speech, witch. You’re all insects. When Lord Sylvathar finally claims the girl, one of your kingdoms will crumble into ash.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed—subtly, but with a flicker of heat that Mabel instantly noticed. She tracked it, sensed it—the shift in his demeanor, the coiling of something beneath the surface.

Mystica didn’t respond to the threat. She didn’t flinch. Instead, her gaze sharpened.

“One of the kingdoms?” she asked softly. “I thought Sylvathar’s plan was to raze all of Amthar. Has he lowered his ambitions?”

“You think I’ll just give you—” Mourne started, but his sentence was cut off when Mystica raised her hand. A glowing sigil, delicate yet ominous, bloomed above his forehead.

“You’ve already given us enough to justify putting you down,” she said, her tone like the edge of winter. “But I want more. This sigil… it strips the mind, layer by layer. Memory by memory. It’s not quick, and it’s not clean. I’ve used it twice. Both subjects screamed until they went insane—one of them died.”

At that, something cracked in Mourne. A tremor rippled across his shoulders, and his lips parted in sudden, shallow breaths.

“So here’s your choice,” Mystica said. “You talk—and maybe live. Or I tear through your mind and leave you nothing but a body.”

The sigil pulsed. Once. Twice.

“Wait!” Mourne rasped suddenly, his voice raw. “I… I’ll talk. Just don’t dig through my head.”

Mystica’s hand stopped mid-air. A small, victorious smirk ghosted her lips.

“Good. First question—where is Sylvathar?”

Mourne hesitated, then said, “No one knows. Not even the generals. Only him… and his assistant.”

Lucy’s brows furrowed. “Assistant?”

“Yeah,” Mourne replied hoarsely. “An average-looking woman. But she’s not average. She’s terrifying. Stronger than the ten generals combined. She’s the first hybrid Sylvathar created—his oldest… and most loyal.”

“Ten generals?” Mystica echoed, voice suddenly sharp. “There are ten more like you?”

Mourne let out a rasping chuckle. “Stronger. Faster. Far more brutal. If just one of them were here, this whole room would be painted in blood. You’re lucky it’s me.”

Silence fell for a beat. Mystica’s eyes remained fixed on him.

“Next question,” she said finally. “Last night—Zone 8 and 9. You said Sylvathar didn’t make those hybrids. Then who did?”

Mourne’s smile returned, cracked and cruel. “We did. The generals.”

“You made them?” Mystica asked.

“We carry Sylvathar’s bloodline—more than enough to infect and convert. It’s not easy. And they’re not as strong as the ones he creates… but it’s enough to start chaos.”

“Why?” Lucy asked sharply. “Why flood the zones with weaker hybrids you know won’t survive?”

“Because of your cover story,” Mourne said with a mocking laugh. “The ‘lockdown.’ The fake defenses for academies. We know you’re hiding the truth from the people. So we expose the hybrids ourselves. Make it impossible for you to lie.”

At that, both Lucy and Mystica went still. Eyes narrowed. The weight of Mourne’s words hit harder than they expected.

But before either could respond, Liam moved.

He stepped forward without a word, brushing past both women. His movements were calm, deliberate.

“What is he doing?” Mabel muttered quietly, a crease forming between her brows.

Liam stopped just in front of Mourne—close enough to feel the hybrid’s rotting breath. Mourne turned his head slightly, still struggling to see after Liam had sliced through his eye earlier.

“Liam,” Mystica warned, “step back. Now’s not the—”

“Hey,” Liam said, cutting across her.

His voice was flat. Hollow and dangerous.

“You’ve got the guts to stand so close to me now?” Mourne growled. “You—”

Liam didn’t let him finish.

“There was a hybrid at the Royal Summit,” he said, each word deliberate. “Who was it?”

Mystica blinked. Lucy’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

Mourne sneered. “How would I know? Ask your queen.”

But that smug expression vanished in a breath.

Liam lifted his right hand—at its center, a swirling black–orange orb shimmered: an Umbra Star. The myst within the dungeon pulsed with it.

The entire room went still.

“I’ll ask again,” Liam said, his voice colder than steel. “Who was the hybrid… at the summit?”

“Liam,” Lucy said in a calm yet commanding voice, “stand down. Whatever you think you’ve uncovered, we can discuss it rationally. There’s no need to aim that destructive orb at him.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Liam replied, his voice devoid of apology, “but this isn’t the time for calm or pretending ignorance.”

His gaze never left Mourne as the Umbra Star in his palm pulsed with ominous energy.

“After everything he’s said, it’s clear there was a hybrid present at the summit. One strong enough to avoid detection from Dove’s crystal.”

Mystica narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly makes you so certain of that?”

“The lockdown,” Liam began, still laser-focused. “It was a decision made only in that room. The summit was closed off. No outside communication, no leaks.”

“That’s true,” Lucy admitted.

“Then how the hell does he know about it?” Liam gestured slightly at Mourne. “This information only came from one place. Someone in that summit room was a hybrid—and they passed it along. No other explanation makes sense.”

A pause followed—tense and heavy.

Mystica’s expression grew colder. “Now that you mention it… all the hybrids were found in Zone 8 and 9. The two zones Tempest openly announced would be swept during the summit.”

Lucy’s eyes darkened. “It couldn’t be Ember. She was secured. She had no ears, no eyes, no senses active. So who?”

Liam’s tone dropped lower, sharper. “Last night, you told me that raw power isn’t enough. You said that to reach a goal, you need allies too. So let me ask again…”

He turned slightly, not to Lucy, but to Mourne.

“Which of the Crescent Kingdom’s higher-ups is a hybrid?”

His words were razor-edged now.

“And don’t try to lie. I didn’t come to this conclusion on impulse. I’ve gone over it again and again. So say it. Now. Before I lose the little patience I’ve got left.”

There was silence.

Then, Mourne laughed.

A dry, rasping, pitiful sound—full of rot and spite.

“Damn… You’ve actually got a brain in there, don’t you?” he grinned weakly. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But it won’t change a damn thing.”

“Why?” Liam asked, his voice unmoving.

“Because,” Mourne said with blood in his teeth, “you’re too late.”

Liam’s expression didn’t shift. He simply lowered his hand and dismissed the Umbra Star.

“I thought so,” he muttered. Then turned to Lucy. “Sheila must not be taken back to the Crescent Kingdom. If they’ve already retrieved her…”

He paused.

“Then at the very least, you now know a war is coming.”

Lucy’s lips parted slightly, confusion swimming just beneath her composed face. Mystica’s eyes flicked to Liam, then away again, her mind processing at lightning speed.

“I’m heading to the Academy now,” she said without hesitation. A portal cracked open at her side and she stepped through it immediately, vanishing in a ripple of light.

“Mabel,” Lucy said firmly. “Get us out of here.”

Mabel nodded and opened a portal with swift precision. The arcane veil shimmered open to Liam’s room once more.

As Lucy stepped through, Liam followed behind her silently—until Mourne’s desperate voice called out behind them.

“Wait—WAIT! You can’t just leave me here! I told you everything you asked for! I cooperated! Set me free, damn it!”

Liam halted mid-step.

He turned.

His hand stretched outward again, and this time, he didn’t summon an orb of void—but a miniature sun. Blinding, intense, vibrating with raw heat and wrath.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “We can’t leave you like this.”

Then, without a blink, he launched the sun directly at Mourne.

The blast hit with precise brutality—igniting the air, searing flesh, atomizing Mourne in a burst of light. There were no screams. No remains. Just ash where he had once hung.

Mabel, still standing at the edge of the portal, stared at Liam with unreadable eyes.

‘He didn’t flinch… not once,’ she thought. ‘Looks like that bastard pushed him all night. And Liam didn’t spare even a breath of remorse.’

She said nothing as Liam stepped through the portal beside her.

The gateway closed.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep