The roots suddenly tightened, coiling like serpents unwilling to release their prey. Riven’s chest tightened. He could hear the thudding of his own heartbeat, loud and frantic. Melly, beside him, squirmed and struggled to break free, but it was useless.

With a shaky movement, the man rose to his feet. Blood dripped from the corner of his lips, and his body could barely hold itself upright. Yet his gaze was sharp—too sharp for someone who should be dying.

“Or…” he said, eyes locked on Riven, his voice low, “what if I just take your little sister with me?”

His tone was calm, almost sweet. But the meaning of his words sank like a dagger pressed slowly into the chest.

“You bastard—!” Riven hissed.

But before the curse could fully escape his lips, a root whipped up and clamped over his mouth with brutal force. He thrashed, but the roots only tightened, constricting his chest and forcing the air from his lungs.

Briarwood staggered forward, his body tilting like a broken marionette. He leaned down toward Riven, his bloodied hand pressing against the boy’s face. Then, in a voice as cold as a headstone, he muttered, “Didn’t I tell you… I absolutely despise profanity?”

Riven glared at him, fury burning in his eyes. His body couldn’t move, but his eyes, those remained defiant.

He clenched his jaw behind the bindings of the roots. He tried to twist free, to push, to fight, but his body was pinned, held fast without mercy.

From the side, Melly cried out, her voice trembling, “P-please! Don’t hurt my brother—”

But her plea was immediately silenced as another root coiled tightly over her mouth, leaving behind only muffled whimpers and soft sobs.

Briarwood turned his head toward her, then back to Riven. He stared deep into the boy’s eyes, as if searching for something familiar.

“I know that look in your eyes,” he said. “It’s the look of someone… who would do anything for someone they love.”

Roots emerged from beneath the Marquess’s feet, lifting him slowly from the ground. Like a shadowed king reigning over all life beneath him, he hovered above the forest floor. Then, in a cold, detached voice, he declared, “There’s a cliff nearby. I want to see just how deep your love for her goes. Is she… more precious than your own life?”

They moved through the trees.

Roots dragged Riven and Melly along like lifeless dolls, silent and limp. A thin fog clung to the forest as they passed. And then, an opening between the trees. The edge of a cliff.

A flat stretch of earth broke off sharply into a yawning chasm. The cliff towered above a valley of rock and mist below. Wind blew stronger here, whipping through their hair, carrying with it the stench of death and cold.

Marquess Briarwood stood at the edge.

He remained upright only with the help of roots supporting his frame from behind. His body swayed, barely stable, but his eyes… those eyes were as alive as ever, and far madder than before.

“A beautiful place to die, isn’t it?” he murmured.

He slowly turned, facing Riven and Melly, both suspended like shattered puppets before him. The roots dangled them just above the jagged stone—mere steps from the fatal drop. Below, only darkness and wind awaited—nothing that could save a falling soul.

The Marquess lifted his eyes to the night sky, then lowered them again to Riven—this boy who somehow reminded him of everything he had lost.

“I’m truly curious,” he said, his voice too gentle for such cruel words. “If I kill your sister… what kind of person will you become?”

He stepped toward Riven. A root followed, rising from the earth like a summoned beast, its tip forming a jagged spear. It climbed slowly toward Riven’s face, stopping just below his chin.

“Will you suffer the way I did?”

Riven could only stare.

Marquess studied him, drinking in the anguish in his eyes. His hand brushed softly across Riven’s bloodied cheek. His touch was cold, like that of the dead.

“I once read a quote,” he whispered. “‘Smiling is the best way to deal with pain and problems.’ So… I’ll help you. I’ll make sure you keep smiling, so life doesn’t hurt so much.”

He let his hand fall from Riven’s cheek.

In its place, the thorned roots moved again, tightening around his lips and face. The thorns carved cruelly into his skin, opening it with precision. They forced his mouth into a twisted arc… a smile. A smile soaked in blood.

Riven screamed without a voice. No sound escaped—not with the roots crushing his throat. His eyes shut tight, body quivering with the sharp agony that tore through his face like burning glass.

And then Melly was moved.

The roots binding her body unraveled slowly—one by one—until only a thick coil remained around her neck. Then, like a doll hanging by its string, her body was lifted and suspended directly in front of Riven.

Their eyes met.

Tears ran down both of their cheeks.

Melly’s eyes were wide with terror. Her limbs thrashed, her hands clawing at the root around her neck. Her feet kicked wildly, her mouth opened in silent screams. But nothing worked. She dangled—slowly being strangled—right in front of her brother.

Riven howled silently, struggling against the roots.

He yanked with everything he had. His shoulders thrashing, his fingers clawing into wood, blood pouring from under his nails.

But nothing happened.

No hidden power awakened. No magic surged within him. No god came down to save them.

There was only him. And her. And death, inching closer.

Briarwood watched with an eerie calm.

His eyes never left Riven’s face, recording every second of that despair.

“That’s what loss feels like,” he murmured, almost tenderly. “When the world takes the only light you had… and you can’t do a thing to stop it.”

Riven stared at Melly.

His eyes were soaked in red and helplessness. His world collapsed. His body trembled uncontrollably. He called out her name over and over again in his mind, but only the wind answered.

And Marquess… he laughed softly.

Melly’s body, once trembling, now began to go limp.

Her arms fell. Her legs no longer kicked. Her eyes stayed open, holding the final shadow of fear and pain she would ever know. Her breath came in a faint sigh… and then, silence.

She hung still.

The root remained around her neck, but her body no longer resisted. She dangled, lifeless like a puppet that had lost its soul.

Riven screamed inside.

His body shook violently. His breath caught in his throat. The world around him vanished, only a void remained.

Then, without a word, Marquess Briarwood flicked his hand.

The root holding Melly shifted… and threw her tiny body over the cliff’s edge.

“A—!” Riven tried to scream, but the root was still over his mouth. Only a strangled, muffled cry emerged.

Melly’s body disappeared into the blackness.

Falling into the hollow belly of the abyss, with no sound, no blood, no trace. Only the cold silence of death.

Then, the voice came.

Soft, disgusting, and unbearably smug.

“What will you do now, Riven? Will you go after her?”

And the moment those words touched his ears, something changed.

The roots holding him weakened.

He didn’t know why. But they did. Just for a moment.

A single chance.

And he didn’t think. He couldn’t.

Riven tore himself free—ripping through the remaining roots, breaking thorns with bloodied fingers—and sprinted toward the cliff’s edge. He ran. His whole body desperate, wild, focused on one thing: catching her. Saving her. No matter what it took.

But before he could leap, a massive root lashed from the side, striking him like a hammer.

“GHK—!”

He was thrown to the side.

His body slammed against the rocks at the cliff’s edge. Blood sprayed from his mouth. The world spun around him.

Briarwood stood just a few steps away, smiling cruelly. His body staggered, but his madness burned ever brighter.

“You really didn’t think twice… You were ready to die just to save her,” he said, voice full of sick admiration. “I’m honestly… touched.”

Riven crawled across the earth. Blood dripping from his lips, his brow, his shredded hands. But his eyes, those still blazed with fire no death could extinguish.

He looked around.

There—just beside him—a broken branch, thick and jagged at one end.

He reached out with trembling fingers.

And without a second thought, Riven rose. He gripped the branch like a weapon and charged forward.

And with a roar that sounded more beast than man, Riven swung the branch straight at Marquess Briarwood.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep