Morning light shimmered over the inn, but its warmth felt distant, insignificant.
As if The world was not a place for comfort.
Alex was half-asleep, barely stirred. Beside him, the man whose ear he had twisted remained in his humiliating position, curled like a hen.
A carriage rolled to a stop at the entrance. The horses snorted, their breath misting in the crisp air. A door creaked open.
Alex stirred.
His gaze sharpened the moment he saw them.
Carlas.
His expression remained impassive, but his mind turned like grinding gears. A complication. Unnecessary.
Then, the second figure emerged.
A swollen, bloated mass of a man. His face bore an uncanny resemblance to a Rana Tigrina—toad-like, slimy, self-important. His steps were waddling, oozing entitlement. The weight of noble arrogance dripped from his every breath he was the same fool just appearance slightly changed with years.
And then—the last.
A beast of a man.
Thorkan.
His presence alone seemed to press against reality itself, forcing space to yield. A wild, untamed beard cloaked his face, thick as a lion's mane. The air sharpened, brittle with his presence, like the onset of winter's first frost. His every movement spoke of honed brutality, a life steeped in battle. Unlike the bloated noble, Thorkan did not wield power through lineage alone.
Carlas was lifted from the carriage. His posture stiffened the moment his eyes met Alex's.
Recognition.
Despite the years, despite the shattered past, despite the transformation that had made Alex a stranger even to those closest to him—Carlas knew.
One glance. That was all it took.
Alex's gaze remained indifferent, but in the depths of his pupils, a silent command flickered.
Pretend we don't know each other.
A slight nod from Carlas.
Then, the toad spoke.
"Sir! Sir!" He scuttled forward, voice shrill, desperate. "This is the devil who harmed my child!" His stubby fingers twitched with manufactured outrage. "Punish him, sir! Do you know, sir? He peeled my son's face off! He is a demon, sir! A monster who changed his appearance, sir!"
Alex didn't even glance at him.
His gaze remained fixed—on Thorkan.
The air thickened.
A storm loomed on the horizon.
Thorkan's aura pressed outward. Not a sudden explosion, but an inevitability, like a glacier advancing, unstoppable. The weight of his existence bore down on everything in its reach.
Yet—Alex remained still.
Finally, the old man spoke.
His voice was deep. Gravelly. The kind that came from years of war, from countless battlefields soaked in blood.
"You wish to die, boy?"
Not a threat. Not even a challenge. Just an observation.
"I don't sense a demon inside you, but tell me… do you not fear death?"
Alex chuckled.
Low. Amused.
"I don't fear what holds no power over me." His voice was light, almost careless—yet his words cut deep. Then, his head tilted slightly. His tone turned colder yet Sharper. "And even if death did hold power… your entire kingdom wouldn't be enough to bring it upon me."
The temperature dropped.
A flicker passed through Thorkan's gaze.
Interest? Annoyance?
No.
It was the look of a predator—deciding whether to kill or let live.
"Overconfident brat." Thorkan muttered. His aura swelled, heavy as a coming storm. "Then prove it—prove you deserve to stand here."
Alex sighed.
"Prove myself? To you?" A low chuckle. "Old fool, do you really think I'd waste my time on those beneath me?"
A heartbeat of silence.
Then—something sharp flashed across Thorkan's face. A flicker of instinctive rage.
"You little—!"
But before his killing intent could fully unfurl—
Carlas stepped forward.
His voice was smooth. Controlled. A light cough—feigned exhaustion. A masterful performance.
"Thorkan, don't." A weary sigh, a slow shake of the head. "Have you no shame? Picking fights with children at your age?"
With A pause.
Thorkan exhaled.
"Fine." He flicked a hand. "Arrest him."
Carlas turned to Alex. His eyes unreadable. But beneath them, a silent warning.
Pretend. Just for now.
Alex weighed his options.
Then, with a slow breath, he scoffed.
"Take me, then." His arms stretched lazily, as if none of this mattered. "Let's see if your cells can hold my presence."
Thorkan's jaw tightened. But he said nothing.
From the balcony above—
A small movement.
Then—
A blur.
The kid leapt down, crashing into Alex's arm, clinging desperately.
"Sir! Where are they taking you?!" His voice trembled, frantic. "They'll kill you! Just like… just like my father and mother!"
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
Alex lowered his gaze.
A light pat on the boy's head.
Not kindness. Not comfort.
A simple command.
"Don't worry." His voice was lower and Steady.
"Stop crying, kid. Become strong. Become someone who doesn't shed tears over everything." A brief pause. His gaze sharpened. "As for my death… they can't kill me. No one can."
The boy bit his lip. Small shoulders shaking.
"Go back," Alex said.
A long hesitation.
Then, reluctantly—the child let go.
The carriage door shut.
Silence settled.
On the ground, the toad-like noble's son still lay there—his face pale, his body frozen in humiliation.
Something warred in his eyes.
Disgrace. Awe. The sickening weight of inferiority.
His father sneered.
Slow, deliberate steps. Then—
A slap.
No outburst. No protest. The young noble barely flinched.
He only bowed his head lower.
Shame. It ate him whole.
The toad bent down. A whisper.
"I have done something you could not." His voice dripped with venom. "Shame on you. You call yourself Regaltha?"
The son didn't respond.
His fingers twitched. Curled into fists. But he remained still.
His father clicked his tongue.
Then, without another glance, he turned away.
The carriage rumbled forward.
The inn faded into silence.
And in the distance, the prison loomed—waiting.