The majestic mana fluctuations in the air subsided.
Everything returned to how it was.
As if nothing had happened.
But everyone knew that something had changed completely.
Klein exhaled softly and moved his wrists.
"Done," he said, his tone as relaxed as if he had just finished a morning workout. "Those people outside should be behaving now."
He turned to Ophelia, a somewhat boyish smile appearing on his face.
"What do you think? My array design wasn't bad, right?"
Ophelia looked at him and nodded.
"Impressive," she said seriously. "Even more impressive than I imagined."
Klein smiled even more happily upon hearing this praise.
"Of course, I studied it for months."
Morris stared blankly at the two guards pinned to the wall, then thought of the soldiers outside who might have met a similar fate.
He gulped, his throat dry and painful.
He was suddenly incredibly grateful—grateful that he had made the right choice.
He was glad he had stood on the side of this gentleman.
Otherwise...
He didn't dare imagine what his end would have been if he had become an enemy.
...
...
The hallway fell back into that suffocating silence.
Only this time, within the silence, there was no longer any murderous intent waiting to stir.
There was only awe for the strong and confusion for the future.
On the floor, Karl Vincent remained limp, his gaze empty.
But deep within that void, something seemed to be slowly coalescing.
It was the numbness that follows despair.
It was the deathly silence of a person who has completely recognized reality.
He finally understood.
From the very beginning, he had lost.
He had lost thoroughly, with no suspense at all.
Even without the Sword of the Empire, he would have been no match for the young noble before him.
Having finished everything, Klein walked up to Karl.
He stopped and looked down at the man sprawled on the floor. The lingering magical resonance in the hallway had not yet fully dispersed, leaving a faint scent of ozone in the air—the trace left by a high-intensity mana collision.
"You seem to be in pain?" Klein's tone was calm.
Karl did not respond.
His eyes were hollow, as if he had already given up on thinking.
Sweat slid down his temples, spreading into a small, dark water stain on the stone slabs of the floor.
His fingers curled unconsciously, leaving slight scratches on the ground.
Klein didn't mind the silence; he crouched down to eye level with Karl.
"Does it make you feel guilty to hear that your brother really caused the deaths of so many people?"
Karl still did not speak.
His Adam's apple bobbed violently, and his lips trembled open and closed, but he never made a sound.
Those eyes, once as sharp as a hawk's, were now as dull as if they were covered in a layer of ash.
Klein nodded, as if he had already heard Karl's answer.
"Yes, anyone with a bit of morality and a bit of a conscience should feel guilty."
He paused, his tone becoming even calmer, yet sharper.
"Then why did you indulge him?"
"You must also understand exactly how many families would be ruined by him doing this, right?"
"Why did you do it, Karl Vincent?"
Every word was like a blunt knife, slowly and firmly cutting through Karl's last line of defense.
This time, Karl finally had a reaction.
He raised his head and looked at Klein with difficulty.
There was no anger or resentment in those eyes, only a nearly numb calm and a deep, overflowing despair hidden beneath.
"You are also a noble, right?" His voice was raspy, like a rusting iron gate.
Klein nodded.
Karl's mouth pulled into a stiff arc. It wasn't a smile, but more like a form of self-deprecation, or perhaps a mockery of fate.
"I, Karl Vincent, am also a noble."
"Unfortunately, I had bad luck. By the time I was born, my family had already declined."
His voice was very light, but it carried a heavy quality, as if every word were weighted by a thousand pounds.
"My parents died young, and our lands were all annexed. We existed in name only."
"I could only rely on my own abilities to revive the family, depending on my brother for survival."
Karl's fingers rubbed lightly against the ground, his nails scratching the stone slabs with a faint, teeth-gritting sound.
His gaze became dazed, as if he had fallen into some distant memory.
"I wanted to rely on military merit to rise through the ranks, but unfortunately, in all my life, I was only a vice commander of the Third Battalion."
"Do you know?"
His voice suddenly rose, carrying a near-hysterical agitation.
"Even the position of battalion commander wasn't something I could covet! Those real nobles, those with backgrounds and connections—they don't have to do anything to easily get what I can't reach even when I give it my all!"
"So! So... I just..."
His voice gradually grew lower, as if he had suddenly lost all his strength.
Klein looked quietly into Karl's eyes.
There was no deception in those eyes, only a twisted sense of entitlement and a deep-seated resentment.
"So you indulged your brother's burning, killing, and looting to enrich your own noble lifestyle?" Klein's voice was still calm, but it was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing Karl's final defense.
Karl's breath hitched.
He opened his mouth, wanting to argue, wanting to defend himself.
"If you had the same experiences as me, you would also—"
"We are not the same."
Klein interrupted him.
He shook his head, his tone still calm but carrying an unquestionable firmness.
"Your parents left early and didn't get to educate you properly."
"But I am different."
Karl was stunned.
He stared at Klein with wide eyes, his lips trembling, yet he couldn't say a single word.
Klein stood up and looked down at him.
"Can you not survive without being a noble?"
His voice was very soft, but it made Karl's body tremble slightly.
"Is your hardship only to this extent?"
"Is that enough to drive you and your brother to kill without restraint?"
Every question was like a heavy hammer, ruthlessly striking Karl's heart.
Karl's lips trembled violently. He wanted to argue, but he found himself unable to speak.
He wanted to say, You don't understand.
He wanted to say, How could a noble of your privileged birth possibly understand my situation?
He wanted to say, I was also forced into it.
But when those words reached his lips, he couldn't say them.
Because he knew they were all just excuses.
Pale, powerless excuses.
"No, it wasn't like that..."
His voice was hoarse, carrying a near-desperate plea.
"My brother and I... we weren't that kind of people..."
Klein looked at him and said nothing.
The hallway was terrifyingly quiet.
There was only Karl's heavy breathing and the suppressed groans of the bound guards in the distance.
Ophelia stood behind Klein, her golden eyes quietly watching everything.
Her right hand rested on the hilt of the sword at her waist, ready to respond to any sudden situation at any time.
But her left hand—the one polluted by the sea monsters—unconsciously clenched, as if suppressing something.
She had seen too many people like this.
On the battlefields against the sea monsters and in the power struggles of the empire, she had seen too many people who had fallen for various reasons.
Karl lowered his head, his fingers rubbing the ground unconsciously.
He remembered himself from many years ago, before he had been twisted by power and desire.
That young man who truly wanted to revive his family through military merit.
The youth who sweated on the training grounds and fought bravely on the battlefield.
But that person had died long ago.
He had died in one disappointment after another, in compromises with reality, and in the indulgence of his brother.
"I just..."
He wanted to continue speaking, but found that he could no longer find any reason.
All defenses seemed so pale and powerless at this moment.
Klein shook his head and stopped speaking.
He didn't find the man before him pitiful.
Monsters created by the times are still monsters. No matter what ideals he once had or what hardships he experienced, they could never be a reason for him to harm the innocent.
Morris stood in the corner of the hallway, his expression so complex it looked like a tipped-over palette of colors.
He looked at Karl, then at Klein, a deep, indescribable emotion rising in his heart.
It was relief, it was fear, and it was also a profound sense of confusion.
He suddenly realized that there was no fundamental difference between Karl and himself.
They were both small figures struggling to survive in this twisted system, both having made compromises for various reasons.
He had simply been luckier and stood on the right side.
...
Actually, defeating Karl might have been the simplest part of this series of events.
Klein looked at the man slumped on the floor, his mind already calculating the coming troubles.
How to explain this to the empire?
How to handle the people of the Third Battalion?
What should be done with Karl?
These questions were like a tangled mess in his mind, causing him a surge of irritation.
He rubbed his temples.
A headache. A real headache.
"I..."
Karl suddenly spoke; he seemed to sense what Klein was worrying about.
His voice was very soft, so soft it was almost inaudible, as if he had used up his last bit of strength.
"I will keep this matter hidden."
Klein raised an eyebrow, a flash of surprise in his eyes.
"And then?"
"And then I will go to the imperial capital."
Karl raised his head. His eyes no longer held their previous emptiness, replaced instead by a near-numb calm and a certain resolve.
"I will go to confess my crimes."
The hallway was silent for a few seconds.
This answer was beyond everyone's expectations.
Ophelia's brow furrowed slightly. She turned to look at Klein, her golden eyes filled with inquiry and caution.
She didn't believe that someone who had wanted to kill them just moments ago would suddenly become so "noble."
Klein didn't respond immediately either.
He stared at Karl, trying to find traces of deception on that face. His eyes narrowed slightly, mana flowing deep within his pupils—a little trick for detecting lies.
But he found nothing.
There was only the deathly silence of complete surrender and a sense of calm that was almost like liberation.
"Why are you doing this?"
Klein asked, his voice full of scrutiny.
Karl didn't answer immediately.
He lowered his head, fingers rubbing the ground unconsciously, leaving behind slight scratches.
After a long while, he spoke.
"Because I have already lost."
His voice was light, yet exceptionally clear.
"Lost thoroughly."
"I no longer have the right to defend myself."
"Nor do I have the right to run away."
He raised his head to look at Klein, his gaze holding a near-desperate frankness.
"You were right; my hardships are not an excuse."
"The things my brother did, and the crimes I indulged, are all real."
"Those who died, those broken families—they all started because of me."
"Give me a chance. Let me choose for myself... let me choose my own death."
"Even if it brings nothing meaningful, and isn't even atonement."
Klein looked at him and remained silent for a moment.
"You think I'll believe you?"
Though he spoke those words, Klein's voice did not carry suspicion.
Karl raised his head and looked at Klein without flinching.
"No."
He spoke very frankly, even with a hint of a bitter smile.
"If I were you, I wouldn't believe it."
"After all, I wanted to kill you just a few minutes ago."
Klein nodded.
"Then why say all this?"
"Because it's the only thing I can do now."
Karl's voice carried a near-desperate calm.
"I know you won't let me go."
"I also know I have no right to beg for your mercy."
"But..."
He paused, a hint of a plea appearing in his voice for the first time.
"But I don't want the rest of the Third Battalion to be destroyed with me."
"Most of them had no idea what my brother was doing."
"They were just following orders."
"If this matter blows up, the empire will definitely hold people accountable. At that time, the entire Third Battalion will be implicated. Those innocent soldiers, those ordinary people who were just obeying orders—they would pay the price for my crimes."
Klein didn't speak.
He turned to look at Morris.
Morris's expression was complicated, as if he were undergoing a violent internal struggle.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately closed it.
He knew Karl was telling the truth.
If this matter really reached the imperial capital, everyone in the Third Battalion would suffer.
Klein pulled his gaze back and looked at Karl again.
"You're right."
He said, his voice still calm.
"I indeed don't believe you."
Karl's body stiffened slightly, a flash of dejection in his eyes.
"So..."
Klein pulled a piece of parchment from his coat.
It was a piece of parchment that looked very ancient, its edges slightly yellowed, with faint, faded rune traces visible on it.
He unrolled the parchment and placed it before Karl.
"So I need you to sign a contract."
Karl was stunned.
"A contract?"
"Yes."
Klein nodded, a meaningful smile appearing on his face.
"An unequal contract."
He pulled out a pen from somewhere.
The pen looked ordinary, but the tip glowed with a faint silver light, as if condensed from moonlight.
If one looked closely, they could see tiny runes carved into the pen's body, which radiated a mysterious and dangerous aura under the silver light.
"This contract will ensure you do as you say."
Klein said, his voice carrying an unquestionable authority.
"If you violate the contract, you will pay the price."
"What price?"
Karl asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Klein didn't answer immediately.
"Believe me, you won't want to know."
Karl was silent for a long time.
He could feel the mana fluctuations coming from that pen; it was an eerie power that made him instinctively feel fear.
As a magic swordsman, his perception of mana was much more sensitive than that of an ordinary person. He could clearly feel that this contract was definitely not something simple.
But he no longer had a choice.
Ultimately, he gave his answer.
"Fine."
He said, his voice filled with resolve.
Klein nodded, an expression of satisfaction on his face.
He began to write on the parchment.
The characters were not in the Imperial Common Tongue, but an ancient set of runes carrying mana fluctuations. Every rune was dizzyingly complex, composed of countless fine lines and patterns, like some kind of precision magic circuits.
As each rune landed on the paper, it emitted a faint light.
The lights interlaced, forming a complex magic array. The lines of the array continued to extend and cross, finally forming a complete pattern on the parchment that radiated a silver-blue glow.
Karl looked at those runes, a flash of surprise in his eyes, followed by deep shock.
"This is..."
"An alchemical contract," Klein said without looking up, the pen in his hand still flowing smoothly across the parchment.
Karl's Adam's apple bobbed violently.
He had heard of the alchemical contract. It was an extremely ancient and dangerous magical technique, said to have originated from the alchemists of the First Era. This kind of contract acted directly on the soul level; once violated, the consequences were unimaginable.
But he had never seen anyone truly able to produce an alchemical contract.
This technique was supposed to have been lost long ago.
He raised his head, looking at Klein with a complex gaze.
Who exactly was this noble who looked far too young?
Ophelia was also watching Klein's movements.
She had seen Klein perform all sorts of magic and refine all kinds of wondrous alchemical items, but an alchemical contract... this was the first time.
A hint of curiosity flashed in her golden eyes.
A few minutes later, Klein stopped writing.
On the parchment, those runes had formed a complete magic array.
At the center of the magic array was a complex hexagram pattern, surrounded by dense runes and magic circuits.
The entire magic array emitted a soft yet dangerous silver-blue light, flowing slowly over the parchment like a living creature.
"Sign it."
Klein said, pushing the parchment toward Karl.
"Use your blood."
Karl took a deep breath.
His hand trembled, and he hesitated for a moment, but eventually, he bit the finger of the hand that remained.
Bright red blood seeped from the wound, coalescing into a drop at his fingertip.
He pressed his finger onto the parchment, leaving his print at the center of the magic array.
The moment the blood touched the runes, the entire parchment erupted in a blinding light.
The light was several times stronger than before, illuminating the entire hallway.
The runes seemed to come to life, flying off the paper and turning into countless silver-blue points of light, circling in the air like a swarm of fireflies.
Then, they swarmed toward Karl.
Karl let out a muffled groan, his body trembling violently.
He could feel those runes burrowing into his body, passing through skin, muscle, and bone, finally branding themselves deep within his soul.
It was an indescribable feeling.
It wasn't pain, but a deeper tremor from the soul.
He felt as if his soul had been bound by some invisible chain—one that was cold and sturdy, making it impossible for him to break free.
A few seconds later, the light vanished.
The parchment also disappeared, as if it had never existed.
Karl slumped to the floor, panting heavily. His forehead was covered in cold sweat, and he looked as if he had just been through a life-and-death struggle.
He raised his hand, looking at his palm.
On the surface, there seemed to be no change, but he could clearly feel that something had been branded within.
"Done."
Klein put away the pen and clapped his hands, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.
"Now, even if you wanted to go back on your word, you wouldn't be able to."
He paused, then added:
"The contents of the contract are simple. You must do as you just said—hide this matter, and then go to the imperial capital to confess your crimes. If you violate the contract or try to run away..."
"You'd best pray that death arrives quickly."
Karl did not respond, merely lying on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Klein turned to look at Ophelia.
"It's time for us to go."
Ophelia nodded.
"To the west coast?"
"Yes,"
Klein said, his expression returning to its usual relaxed state.
"The fewer troubles we have, the better."
He glanced at Karl on the floor, then at the two bound guards on the wall.
"The matters here, let him handle them himself."
With that, he turned and walked toward the exit of the hallway.
Ophelia followed behind him, her golden ponytail swaying gently. She walked to Klein's side, reached out her right hand, and naturally took his hand.
Klein was taken mainland, then he smiled.
He squeezed Ophelia's hand back, feeling that warm and steady strength.
Morris hesitated for a moment, then followed them. As he reached the door, he couldn't help but look back.
Karl was still lying on the floor, unmoving.
But Morris knew that this once-invincible vice commander was completely finished.
Only Karl remained conscious in the hallway.
He lay on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The sound of Klein and the others' footsteps gradually fading away came from outside the hallway.
After a long while, he closed his eyes.
A single tear slid from the corner of his eye, spreading into a small wet mark on the stone slabs of the floor.
He thought of the youth from many years ago, the one who still carried dreams.
The youth who believed that as long as he worked hard, he could change his fate.
That person was truly dead.
And the Karl Vincent living now was nothing more than the walking dead.
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