Xanders Pov

Xanders’ POV

I was in prison, and some of them were talking about me. I tried to close my eyes, but from the side, I heard someone call my name.

“Hey, Xanders… aren’t you the hunter of the Ancient Flame?” he asked, his voice old and shaky.

I opened my eyes briefly, then shut them again. I wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone today. The air was damp, thick with the stench of rust and old blood. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped rhythmically from a leaking pipe, echoing against the cold stone walls.

“Why are you in prison?” he asked again. I ignored him. He clicked his tongue in irritation.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, young man.” I still said nothing. A guard walked by in front of the cell, his boots scraping against the stone floor.

“Why is that young man imprisoned?” the old man asked the guard. The guard spat on the ground before answering.

“Do you know what he did to the King?” he said, shooting me a sharp glare. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the weight of his hatred.

“What did he do?” the old man asked.

“He tried to say the word ‘behead.'”

“Hmph… a demon will always be a demon. They can never become something better than they were. Disgusting.” After saying that, the guard left us both alone.

The old man suddenly burst out laughing, his laughter echoing through the cold, empty cell. I opened my eyes and frowned.

“So you were punished just for saying ‘behead’?” he said, laughing even harder. “Isn’t that King ridiculous?”

I shrugged indifferently.

“Do you even know why you’re here?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he grabbed a small lump of dirt and threw it at me. It hit my face, forcing me to look at him.

“Can’t you stop talking to me?” I said flatly.

He shook his head slowly. “Do you know why he punished you like this?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

“Fine, then let me tell you.” He leaned against the wall, his breath shallow and uneven.

“He’s the son of a concubine—the youngest son of King Alfred. His father was beheaded. The King cared too much for his people, so the others made a petition to remove him from the throne. But the evidence wasn’t enough, so he stayed in power for a while longer.”

I stayed silent but listened closely to his every word.

“The conflict between the human clan leaders and King Alfred grew worse until a power struggle broke out. King Alfred was beheaded before all his people, leaving behind a deep wound. No one dared to help him, for anyone who sided with him would share the same fate. The concubines fled the palace in secret—or were executed mercilessly. After King Alfred’s death, the throne was left empty, until the brave and ambitious King Gustav was chosen to rule.”

He paused and glanced at me. “You can imagine what happened after that.”

I opened my eyes, puzzled. “What happened next?”

He laughed loudly again, then reached for his cup of water. His hands trembled slightly.

“Find out yourself, young man. I’m tired.” He began to cough violently, his body shaking. I saw the pain in his eyes and the desperation in his breath. Panic rose within me as I called for the guards.

“Guards! Guards! Guards!” I shouted. The noise echoed off the walls, bouncing endlessly in the dark corridor. Moments later, several guards rushed in and unlocked the cell door.

“Quick, call a healer!” I yelled. One of the guards nodded and shouted for help down the hall.

“What’s happening to him?” I asked. The old man was foaming at the mouth, his body twitching uncontrollably.

“What did he drink?” the healer asked, checking his pulse.

I pointed at the cup beside him. The healer picked it up, sniffed it, and frowned.

“Someone tried to poison him,” he muttered. His tone was low, but I could still hear every word.

“What?” I said quietly. But the healer ignored me and told the guards to prepare the body for burial.

“Wait—you’re saying he’s dead already?” I asked in disbelief. The healer turned toward me with a cold expression.

“Do you think I don’t know how to tell when someone’s dead?”

“Isn’t it too soon to decide that?” I tried to check the old man’s breathing myself.

“He suffered from blackened organs,” the healer said sharply before leaving the dungeon.

I looked down at the old man lying motionless on the ground. His skin had turned pale brown, bruises spreading across his body. His lips were dark, and a trace of foam still clung to their edges. The smell of decay was already creeping into the air.

“Was someone trying to silence him?” I whispered, watching as the guards dragged his body away.

After a long, sleepless night, I finally decided to find out the truth about the past myself.

While I was lost in thought, Lord Arven appeared, followed by several loyal guards. “Leave us,” he commanded, and the men stepped back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key.

“Why are you unlocking my cell?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. He said nothing and simply turned the key. The heavy iron door creaked open.

“Get some rest. We’ll discuss everything soon.” He left without another word.

My next destination was the royal library. Maybe there, I could find answers about the past.

“Xanders!” I turned around and saw Verrel approaching, waving his hand. He looked completely recovered, his smile bright and carefree.

“Where are you going?” he asked cheerfully.

“To the library,” I replied.

He exhaled roughly, forcing a smile. “I have something else to take care of first.”

“Oh, I see. Then I’ll go ahead.”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’ve got more important things to do than books.”

I knew he was avoiding the subject, and I didn’t press him.

“All right, see you later,” I said, and walked away toward the library.

The corridors were quiet, but my mind wasn’t. The whispers of the old man still echoed in my thoughts,

tangled with the faint sound of chains clinking behind me. Somewhere deep inside, I knew this wasn’t over.

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