Chapter 18: Flames of Revenge

Chapter 18: The Flames of Revenge

The baroness, her face pale with terror, screamed and dove beneath the dining table. The baron tumbled from his chair—years of soft living had long since dulled the martial edge he'd once carried on the battlefield. All he could do was tremble—he couldn't even protect his own wife.

Old Gulehan, however, remained composed. One glance at the youth was all it took to peg him—a runaway slave. Sylen, was that his name? And that sword—it belonged to his son. Stolen? Taken by force? His son would never have parted with it willingly. A dark premonition coiled in the old man's chest.

He dropped the heart and pointed a bloody hand at the youth.

"Seize him!" he barked.

Two servants rushed at the merman youth, but bare-handed as they were, they balked at facing a sword.

That one second of hesitation was all Sylen needed. The youth thrust his blade at the servant on the left, slicing through his throat like a hot knife through butter. The servant clutched his throat, mouth open to scream, but blood choked him instead. He pitched forward onto the carpet, dead.

The other servant grabbed a silver candlestick off the table to use as a weapon. Meanwhile, the steward—amid the baron and baroness's screaming duet—swung his knife at the youth.

Sylen parried the servant's strike. The steward saw his opening and drove his blade into the youth's shoulder.

"Got him!" the steward crowed triumphantly.

But then he watched in horror as the blood flowed back into the wound. Before he could even react, the youth ran him through with one thrust.

The servant with the candlestick saw that even the seasoned steward had fallen. How could a mere servant stand against this ruthless slave? He dropped the candlestick and threw up his hands. "Don't kill me! It was all the master's orders, I swear!"

The next instant, his head flew off his shoulders, sailing across half the banquet hall before smashing into the floor by the table. The baroness, hiding underneath, found herself staring straight into the severed head's eyes—and her scream shot up another octave.

Old Gulehan was stunned. A mere slave had taken out three of his best men—including a steward who'd followed him through wars—in under a minute, like slicing through vegetables. Had this slave always been this dangerous? Had he awakened some Supernatural Ability?

The baron was useless—a spineless coward crouched on the floor, head in his hands, shaking like a quail. Old Gulehan kicked the noble guest aside, grabbed a chair, and swung it at the youth's head. But he'd barely taken a step before something tripped him up.

The blind slave woman had latched onto his leg in a death grip.

"Sylen! Kill him!"

Old Gulehan tried to kick her off, but she wouldn't let go, her nails digging into his calf like seaweed wrapping a drowning man, hell-bent on dragging him down with her.

He grabbed the chair and bashed it into her skull. She screamed and let go. He spun to face Sylen, but it was too late—the youth's sword was already swinging toward him!

Old Gulehan couldn't dodge in time—all he could do was twist aside. The dwarven-forged blade missed his vitals but caught him square in the shoulder.

Old Gulehan screamed and dropped the chair.

He clutched the wound, gasping. He hadn't taken a hit this bad since leaving the battlefield! That damned slave—how dare he draw his blood!

He faced the youth, his old blue eyes locking onto the boy's young blue ones.

Then, over the youth's shoulder, Old Gulehan spotted the baron and baroness crawling out from under the other end of the table.

They had no intention of saving their host. Instead, they were creeping toward the banquet hall's main door while the two squared off. The baron, annoyed his wife was in his way, shoved her aside with his shoulder.

Useless! Old Gulehan cursed under his breath. But then a thought hit him—wasn't this a golden opportunity? The estate was full of servants. If the baron and baroness could rally them, the slave youth would be overwhelmed for sure!

I'll keep him busy and let them slip out to get help!

Suddenly, as if he had eyes on the back of his head, the youth whirled around.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Xiaoqi!"

Shouting that cryptic line, he charged at the baron and baroness.

The couple scrambled on all fours, clawing desperately toward the door. The merman youth waded through the blood, sword in hand, and thrust at the baron.

In a flash, the baron grabbed his wife and shoved her in front of him like a human shield.

The longsword pierced straight through the baroness's chest. Both the killer and the killed stared in shock, eyes wide.

"Warrick... you bastard..." the baroness spat blood, "I'll haunt you... even from the grave..."

The baron shoved his wife's body aside and crawled toward the door.

He'd just grabbed the handle when a flash of silver came down from above. He watched in horror as his arm came off—the upper half still gripping the handle, the stump spraying blood like a fountain.

Sylen slit his throat from behind, then turned his blazing, ice-cold blue eyes toward the wounded Old Gulehan at the back of the hall.

"Finally, it's just you and me," he said coldly.

Old Gulehan knew he couldn't beat this slave one-on-one. And his plan to summon reinforcements had failed. To make sure tonight's banquet went off without a hitch, he'd kept only the steward and two trusted Assistants, ordering all other servants to stay away no matter what they heard—after all, slaves always screamed when you ripped out their eyes and hearts. Now he'd screwed himself over.

Watching the youth close in step by step, only one word surfaced in Old Gulehan's mind—Death.

A chill ran down his spine, like he was back on the battlefield decades ago. It'd been a long time since he'd been this close to death.

The youth stopped. The old man thought he'd had a change of heart, but instead, the youth knelt, touched the slave woman's cheek, and checked her pulse and breathing.

Then he stood, blue eyes blazing with the fire of hatred.

Cold sweat drenched Old Gulehan's back.

"W-wait!" he rasped. "Don't you want to know where your sister is?"

The youth froze mid-step. Old Gulehan felt a rush of triumph—he'd guessed right!

"Tell me!" The youth pressed the sword's tip to his throat.

Old Gulehan raised his hands. "I'm old and my memory's shot, so I keep a ledger of every transaction. It's in the safe in my study, and only I know the combo."

"Speak!"

Old Gulehan smiled darkly. "If I tell you, do I live? Here's the deal—I take you to the study. You get the ledger and spare my life, and I swear I won't send anyone after you. I swear on my dead wife's soul. Deal?"

Sylen's eyes flickered. Old Gulehan knew he was wavering. A good sign. His sister meant more to him than revenge.

Old Gulehan continued, "The study's on this floor. I've already sent the servants away, so no one'll stop you. You could kill me with one stroke—what trick could I possibly pull? I just want to live."

The youth's face was conflicted, clearly fighting an internal war. After a long moment, he nodded coldly. "Fine. Lead the way!"

Sylen circled behind Old Gulehan and rested the longsword on his shoulder.

Old Gulehan obediently led him to the westernmost room on the second floor and opened the door.

Inside was just a desk and bookshelves stuffed with books. On the west wall hung a portrait of a serene, dignified noblewoman. Old Gulehan walked up to the painting and swung it open like a door. Behind it, set into the wall, was a steel safe.

Old Gulehan spun the dial. With a soft click, the safe swung open. He rummaged around inside for a while before pulling out a heavy ledger. Its cover was worn, clearly decades old, with bookmarks of all sizes tucked between the pages.

"Here." The old man turned and handed over the ledger.

Sylen took it but didn't bother flipping through it—there'd be plenty of time for that later.

In a flash, the old man darted aside, dodging the sword's edge, and fled deeper into the study, ducking behind the curtain.

Even though he was old, he never let up on his training—he was still quick and nimble!

Inside the safe, along with the ledger, was a hidden "secret weapon"—that was the real reason Old Gulehan had tricked Sylen into coming here!

With this "secret weapon," Old Gulehan was sure he could take out that damn slave!

Sylen held his longsword across his chest, eyeing the curtain warily.

"Come out, old man! Do you think a mere layer of cloth can protect you?"

The curtain rustled, and a slender figure slipped out from behind it.

Sylen went rigid. His jaw dropped as he stared at the figure in disbelief.

"...Sister?"

It wasn't Old Gulehan who stepped out from behind the curtain—it was a woman.

Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, her skin was pale, and her deep blue eyes sparkled like starlight. Faint scales on her cheeks and neck marked her as one of the mermaid folk.

"Sylen, it's me," the woman said, her voice trembling with tears. "I was never sold—I've been locked up here all this time. Thank goodness you came to rescue me!"

Sylen's face went blank. "That can't be... I saw you being taken away with my own eyes..."

The woman glided over to the desk and slid open a drawer. "There's some money in here—let's grab it and get out of here!"

"Wait, sis, how did you..."

A sinister smile slithered across the "sister's" pretty face. In a flash, she yanked a dagger from the drawer and clashed it against Sylen's sword.

Clang! The dagger and longsword slammed together, sending sparks flying.

After a few quick exchanges, the dagger twisted mid-strike and caught the youth in the shoulder.

But the "sister" didn't get a chance to savor it—the wound closed up in seconds.

"A genuine Supernatural Ability." The "sister's" eyes gleamed, and a smile broke across her face. "With talent like that, it'd be a shame to kill you. Young man, how about we strike a deal? I'll buy your sister back, and you two can work for me. Sound good?"

Sylen glared at him in disgust. "Hmph, your son made me the same offer. Wanna guess how that turned out for him?"

The "sister" sneered. "Dead, most likely. I knew the moment I saw that Dwarven Longsword. If he were still breathing, he'd never have let that blade end up in someone else's hands."

"I killed your son, and you still want to do business with me?"

"I've got other sons," the "sister" shrugged. "A superhuman's harder to come by than a son. And my offer's better than his was. You could be an officer—bossing around not just your own kind, but humans too. The people who used to push you around will be jumping to follow your orders. You'll have power, status, money, and the chance to protect your own people—finally walking tall. Doesn't that sound good?"

Sylen's stare didn't waver. "I can get all that on my own someday—I don't need your handouts!"

He knocked the "sister's" dagger aside and lunged with his sword.

Suddenly, the "sister's" face shifted, gazing at Sylen with a pitiful, pleading look.

"Sylen, are you really going to kill me?" the "sister" asked, her voice cracking with sobs.

Sylen hesitated, frozen in place.

Before the words even died out, the "sister" raised her dagger and lunged at the merman youth!

—Got him! The "sister" gloated inwardly.

This was the trick he'd used to assassinate countless powerful enemies, building his status and fortune. Human or mermaid, the moment they saw a loved one's face, they froze and couldn't bring themselves to strike!

All of them were ruled by emotion—utterly foolish!

Damn slave! I'll skin you alive later, to honor my...

A sharp pain struck the "sister's" chest. He looked down in shock.

The silver longsword had pierced his body.