Verbal Sparring

At that moment, Tales, weighed down by worry, smelled the heavy stench of blood. Reflected in his pupils was a strange scene:

In the deep, dim Black Prison, the cold bodies of the mercenaries lay strewn across the ground between the two walls. The blood around them was still warm, nearly forming pools. Under the miserly, trembling torchlight, the scene before them gave off an eerie blend of crimson and gray.

Amid the wreckage, seven tattered yet straight-backed men stood there, led by Little Barney. Like stubborn reefs splitting apart a red-and-black sea, they silently stared toward the other side of the passage.

There, the Execution Knight silently faced them. Firelight was reflected in his eyes, and the brand beneath his fringe flickered in and out of sight.

In the cramped Black Prison, his figure resembled a towering mountain at the end of the horizon—imposing, overwhelming, grim, and heavy.

Yet somehow untouchable.

Sakrael's gaze swept slowly across them. He singled out no one, but every person in his line of sight tensed, feeling as though he were sizing them up. Instinctively, they stiffened.

Like soldiers undergoing inspection.

Yet their expressions grew more solemn.

It was as though the darkness in the Black Prison had only truly arrived at that moment.

Tales grew increasingly nervous. Several times, he wanted to speak up and interrupt, but the atmosphere left him with no opening.

Countless ideas flashed through his mind, but not one suited the situation.

Tales could only ignore Kuaishang's meaningful glances beside him and force himself to calm down.

"Don't be nervous."

"I'm not here to carry out a punishment."

Looking at his tense former comrades, Sakrael chuckled. His usual dry voice carried a trace of sorrow:

"Not ever again."

Carry out a punishment.

At those words, the seven prisoners, all