Failed Interrogation

Karyl returned to his Sanctuary covered in blood, where two figures were already waiting in the darkened room.

Wraith was crouched in the corner of the room, nonchalantly picking at his fingernails. His black hair hung messily over his forehead, his face was smeared with blood, and there were even scraps of flesh clinging to his body.

Seeing this, Karyl knew he had likely torn a few more people apart while they were still alive.

As for the other person.

Karyl looked at her; the woman was unconscious, her metal right arm gone, severed clean at the shoulder joint. Judging by the jagged wound, Wraith had likely ripped the limb off by brute force.

"Is he dead?" Wraith asked suddenly.

"He is," Karyl said. "Also, could you step out for a moment, Wraith?"

"Why?"

"You stink, Wraith, that's why. I recall we reached an understanding that you need to pay attention to your personal hygiene."

Wraith frowned. "Aren't you covered in blood too?"

"Don't misunderstand me, Wraith."

Karyl took off his blood-soaked cloak with a forced smile, tossed it out the door, and chuckled as he pulled over a dilapidated chair to sit down.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"."

Wraith said nothing more, instead turning and walking out the door. His hearing allowed him to clearly hear what happened in the room even from a distance, so his physical presence was, in truth, irrelevant.

Still, he did not understand why Karyl insisted on him leaving—perhaps one day in the future, he would understand.

The ragged door creaked shut, and the smile on Karyl's face vanished instantly. His features slackened, and his pale face became utterly calm.

"You should wake up," Karyl said. "Playing dead is not a good choice."

The woman opened her eyes languidly. She was composed, appearing to have a clear understanding of her current predicament.

Unfortunately, it was not clear enough.

"So, the Vengeful Spirit has help," the woman said slowly. "But you don't know what your helper has done yet, do you?"

"He killed some people who deserved it."

"He tore apart my vehicle and my bodyguards in public. And before I was forced to leave, I had already told those low-born bastards my name. Soon, the Skolevok Family will know exactly what happened here."

A sinister grin slowly spread across the woman's face, malice churning within it, undisguised. She even used the phrase "forced to leave" to describe her own abduction.

How interesting.

The smile returned to Karyl's previously calm face.

"Is that so? Then, which family do you belong to? Which Count?"

"You know quite a lot," the woman sneered. Karyl's words seemed to confirm something for her.

Covered in blood and sitting in a heap on the filthy floor, she acted as if she were the one in control.

At this, the smile on Karyl's face grew more pronounced. He didn't speak, merely breathing slowly, as if brewing something.

The woman, however, mistook this omen of impending destruction for something else entirely.

"If you don't want to be tortured painfully for a dozen years, you had better let me go. You can't run, Vengeful Spirit."

She glared at Karyl, who sat in the chair, emphasizing his ridiculous title with heavy spite.

"I don't know who is behind you, nor do I know who provided you with the technical support or even gave you an iron puppet with low-level intelligence."

At this, she shrieked.

"But the Skolevok Family will come for you! And your only chance of survival is to let me leave this filthy hellhole!"

Karyl finally let out a low laugh.

"An iron puppet. Hahahahahaha."

His laughter echoed through the dark room. "You actually think he is some killing machine manufactured by those craftsmen."

"Isn't he? Don't try to bluff me!"

"You are truly humorous, my lady," Karyl said softly. "But I despise humor."

He stood up and kicked the woman without hesitation. The force was perfectly gauged; it struck her abdomen, enough to make her feel excruciating pain without robbing her of the ability to speak.

This was nothing to the nobles.

They had a deep-rooted tradition of throwing their growing offspring into the lower hives to be hunted by gangs and commoners. Only those who survived could claim a title within the family.

The woman spat out a mouthful of blood. She struggled to climb to her feet, her only remaining left hand slamming against the floor in fury: "I will skin you for that! You low-born trash! Who do you think you are?!"

Karyl didn't speak, simply kicking her again. This time, the force was slightly greater. It was enough to injure her and make her feel humiliated, but not enough to spike her adrenaline to a peak.

He needed her to feel fear, not to ignore it due to blinding rage.

Karyl could precisely control his strength, so he achieved this with ease. It was one of the many reasons he had survived on Nostramo until now.

The woman flew backward, crashing into the spot where Wraith usually liked to linger. Two ribs snapped, and several teeth were knocked from her mouth.

After a cry of pain, she rose to her feet without hesitation, fueled by the resentment of her humiliation, and lunged at Kael. She even whimpered incoherent curses as she charged.

A pale hand shot out from the darkness, halting her blind assault and clamping firmly around her throat. Upon feeling that raw, genuine strength, fear finally surfaced on the woman's face.

She finally realized that this so-called Vengeful Spirit, who had been slaughtering his way through the depths of the Hive City for the past year and a half, was not what they had surmised.

He was not a private soldier dispatched by some noble before the Great Purge, nor was he a sleeper agent planted long ago.

He cared nothing for the "rules of the game" that the nobles knew so well and strictly observed!

Clutching her neck, Kael dragged her out of the room. The Wraith had jumped onto the roof of the Sanctuary at some point, crouching there like a wild animal, silently watching everything below.

And tonight, Nostramo was still raining.

The night was endless, yet the neon lights used by gangs to mark their territories pierced the gloom, casting grotesque shadows across the sky. Acidic, toxic rain fell from above, showing every sign of intensifying.

In the downpour, Kael spoke slowly.

"I imagine you're racking your brain right now, wondering who is backing me to make me so bold and reckless."

The woman's only remaining hand beat feebly against his right arm, trying to force him to let go. Between the lack of oxygen and being lifted off the ground, she no longer had the strength to struggle.

"But I have no one behind me," Kael said. "No noble supports me, no house provides me with backing. Incredible, isn't it?"

He smiled and released his grip. The woman collapsed to the ground in a heap, clutching her throat and gasping for air, punctuated by violent coughing. Kael didn't even look at her; he simply raised his arms, enjoying the wash of the downpour.

A burning pain radiated from his exposed skin, but he paid it no mind.

He was long since accustomed to it.

He crouched down.

"Let me tell you something, my lady."

Kael stared into her eyes and spoke softly. "Not everything in this world runs according to your set of rules."

"For hundreds upon hundreds of years, Nostramo has followed your rules. The people of the Underhive live like dogs, gnawing on corpses in the dark. Gangs divide the territory, collecting taxes on your behalf and squeezing the common folk dry."

"And you? You only need to sit in your palaces and indulge yourselves; you have invented all sorts of ways to enjoy your decadent lives."

Kael grinned, his white teeth bared in the humid air.

"I am very dissatisfied with that. Truly, I am beyond dissatisfied."

He raised his right hand, displaying the tattoo on his wrist to the woman. Her eyes widened sharply, and she immediately shrieked a name: "Lohars!"

"You guessed right."

Kael chuckled and nodded, standing up. An elegant courtly bow followed in the next second, and his voice deepened.

"A remnant of the House of Lohars, Kael Lohars, greets you, my lady."

The woman finally let out a terrified scream, scrambling backward on her hands and feet, desperate to flee. But Kael had already lunged at her with a savage grin.

Flesh and blood flew.

"I thought you were going to interrogate her."

"Mm."

"But you didn't seem to let her say anything."

"Ah, is that so?"

"You wouldn't let me kill her, yet you killed her yourself."

"Can you give me a moment of silence, Wraith?"

Kael turned his head impatiently, glaring at the Wraith sitting in the darkness. "I'm trying to plan what to do next!"

"Oh."

Silence.

Kael closed his eyes, but finally, he couldn't help but curl his lip. He turned his head again and asked, "Are you curious about what I said to that woman?"

"She said your surname, and she seemed scared to death," the Wraith nodded. "Why? Does she know you?"

"No, she doesn't know me, but she knows this tattoo."

Kael said as much. He raised his right hand and showed the tattoo to the Wraith.

"A dripping blade?" the Wraith asked, puzzled. "What could this pattern represent?"

"It represents a family."

Kael gave a mocking smile. "A family that specialized in executions. Their methods were incredibly cruel; even those nobles who enjoyed being tortured and abused couldn't stand them. That is why she was afraid."

"The previous, and final, Count of this family was named Gaius Lohars, also known as the Beheading Count. He was a cruel executioner with no shred of morality or humanity, who took pleasure in slaughter."

"As for the House of Lohars, its founder was a lucky piece of filth. He climbed to a high position from the depths five hundred and thirty-one years ago. He transformed from a dirty gang dog into one of the oppressors during the nobles' game of the Great Purge."

"So, are you a noble too?" the Wraith asked.

"No," Kael shook his head. "Don't lump me in with them, Wraith."

"The House of Lohars broke the rules of the game during that Great Purge twenty years ago. Gaius Lohars attempted to murder a lord and annex the latter's territory. His actions were reported by a traitor within the family, and so the entire house was put to death."

"Are they all dead?"

"Yes, they are all dead."

"But."

"But?"

"But you didn't die."

"Indeed." Karyl smiled faintly. "I am a traitor, which is why I didn't die."

Having received this explanation, Wraith did not relax his furrowed brows; instead, they knit even tighter. "But your age doesn't add up. You were just a child twenty years ago. How could you have been the informant?"

"A child born into sin, a child born from the blood of the victims and raised on the marrow of their flesh."

Karyl corrected Wraith in a soft tone. "That traitor was someone else, and as for me—"

He shook his head.

"I betrayed the entire damn noble class," he said. "Believe it or not, that is for you to decide, Wraith. As for the truth... hah."

He gave a light chuckle. "The truth dissipated into the wind long ago."