Ethan watched Colin walk away, then turned and headed toward the main castle.
Two vine cocoons hovered half a foot off the ground behind him, drifting in through the main entrance of the castle.
The servants lining both sides of the foyer took a collective half-step back upon seeing the two human cocoons.
A maid carrying a silver platter nearly spilled the fruit on it, earning a harsh glare from the nearby supervisor.
Inside the main hall of the castle, Duke Leo stood before the tapestry bearing the Thorn Crest.
He turned at the sound of footsteps. His gaze landed on Ethan, but just as he was about to speak, his eyes were drawn to the two floating vine cocoons hovering behind his son.
“Ethan, what is this?” the Duke asked, his voice laced with suppressed astonishment.
As a duke of the empire, he had seen far more than the average person, but this was the first time he had ever witnessed such things floating in midair.
Ethan came to a halt, and the vine cocoons stopped behind him.
“Where is Mother?”
“I forced Isabella to get some rest.” The Duke took two steps forward, his eyes scanning the two cocoons. The vines were woven so tightly that it was impossible to see what was wrapped inside.
“Good.” Ethan tilted his head toward his back. “This is the leader of that bullshit cult. Once I interrogate him, we'll know who's behind this.”
The Duke's brow furrowed. “Why not leave it to Blake and his men? The family has expert interrogators. Old Barrow has worked in the Prison Department for thirty years; he can crack even the toughest nut.”
“Too dangerous. If I'm not by their side, the interrogator would die just from looking at him.”
The Duke froze.
He looked at the two vine cocoons, then at the completely nonchalant expression on his son's face.
An interrogator would die just from looking?
Was it really that severe?
“That severe? Then you...”
“Don't worry, Father, I'll be fine,” Ethan interrupted. “Send someone to fetch me when the three dukes and the Emperor arrive. I'm going to start the interrogation now.”
The Duke fell silent for a couple of seconds before nodding.
“All right. Be careful.”
Ethan said no more, turning to walk deeper into the castle.
The two vine cocoons followed silently behind him, drifting down the hallway, around a corner, and disappearing toward the stairs.
Standing before the tapestry, the Duke stared at the empty hallway for a long time.
The golden threads of the Thorn Crest shimmered softly in the morning light, illuminating the few silver strands at his temples.
He raised a hand to rub his brow and let out a long, slow sigh.
The dungeon of the ducal estate.
The vines receded back into the cracks between the stone floor slabs, leaving the limp corpse of the fake Colin to collapse onto the ground.
Ethan withdrew his hand and turned his gaze toward the corner. There lay the Sea-Melded, wrapped as tightly as a mummy in vines with only its head exposed.
The Sea-Melded's octopus tentacles were bound tightly against its torso by the vines, all of its suction cups clamped shut.
Most of the bone spurs on its ribbonfish-like arms were shattered, with only a few broken stumps protruding from its skin. The five limbs of its starfish tail were bound separately and pulled in five different directions, stretching the joint membranes until they were nearly transparent.
Its lopsided face looked even more grotesque under the sickly green glow of the fluorescent stones.
Its large eye bulged while its small eye was deeply sunken. Its mouth was skewed toward its left cheek, revealing triangular, cone-shaped teeth at the corner.
“Speak. Who hired you?”
The Sea-Melded didn't waste words, nor did it attempt to beg for mercy or negotiate terms. It answered directly, “Duke Garce.”
“Duke Garce?” Ethan's brow furrowed slightly.
Of the seven noble houses surrounding his family's territory, Duke Garce's was the most powerful.
Though there was some friction between their families, they were both dukes of the empire, so there had never been any major conflicts.
Yet now, it seemed the man was far more ambitious than they had thought.
After a moment of thought, Ethan asked, “What price did they offer?”
The Sea-Melded's vertical pupils flickered. “One thousand three hundred and fifty magic stones.”
A brief silence fell over the dungeon.
Ethan looked down at the Sea-Melded's lopsided face, truly incredulous. “You did all this for a mere one thousand three hundred and fifty magic stones?”
At those words, the Sea-Melded's mismatched eyes widened in unison.
The suction cups on its octopus tentacles suddenly flared open, only to be forced shut again by the tight constriction of the vines.
The five limbs of its starfish tail squirmed frantically against the floor, scraping against the stone slabs with a harsh screech.
“A mere one thousand three hundred and fifty magic stones?!” the Sea-Melded shrieked, its lopsided lips trembling violently as its cone-shaped teeth clicked together. “You damned wizard! Do you think we of the Sea Race are as wealthy as you humans?”
Ethan crossed his arms. “You occupy nearly fifty percent of the Wizard World's oceans. How are you not wealthy?”
This question seemed to strike a raw nerve.
“Damn it, that's easy for you to say!” the Sea-Melded's voice rose to an ear-piercing shriek, spit flying from between its cone-shaped teeth. “We occupy fifty percent, yes, but we have to hand over eighty percent of our revenue to your Wizard Council every single year! Eighty percent! Do you have any idea how much wealth that is?! Huh?! Huh?! Huh?!”
Ethan fell silent for a moment.
Seeing his silence, the Sea-Melded grew even more worked up.
The suction-cup-like protrusions on its neck flared open and closed rapidly, its lopsided face contorting further in its agitation.
“Speak, damn you! We of the Sea Race fight to the death in the deep ocean, harvesting sea crystals, hunting deep-sea magical beasts, and tending to underwater herb gardens. We work ourselves to the bone all year round, and for what? The Wizard Council says a single word, and eighty percent is gone! The remaining twenty percent has to be divided among the various Sea Race Royal Courts. By the time it reaches a minor branch like us Sea-Melded, there's barely enough to get by! Ugh... those are our natural treasures! Eighty percent!”
The Sea-Melded grew increasingly emotional as it spoke, tears welling up and spilling from its large eye, streaming down its lopsided cheek.
“You land-dwelling wizard academies can at least save up some wealth, but what about us? It took me a hundred years just to save up less than fifteen hundred magic stones! A hundred years! I took this job because I thought thirteen hundred and fifty magic stones would be enough to buy a potion to raise my bloodline purity by a tier. Who would have thought that the moment I made my move, I'd run into an absurd anomaly of an Official Wizard like you?”
Ethan rubbed his chin as he looked at the angry, aggrieved creature.
He knew that the Wizard Council taxed all subordinate races annually.
He just hadn't expected the Sea Race's taxes to be so oppressive.
Taking eighty percent of the yield from half the world's oceans...
That was harsher than bleeding them dry.
“So that's why your people take side jobs?”
The Sea-Melded sniffled.
“What choice do we have? Wait around to die? All legitimate mercenary missions are registered with the Wizard Council, and they tax those even harder than private jobs. Minor branches like us with no backing can only take dirty work on the sly. If we had a choice, who would ever want to come to land? It's dry and hot, and we have to travel thousands of kilometers just to soak in seawater.”
“Have you Sea-Melded never thought of doing legitimate business?” Ethan asked.
The Sea-Melded's bulging eye widened further, its lopsided lips trembling as its cone-shaped teeth clicked together. “Legitimate business? That's easy for you to say! We aren't allowed to use the land-based teleportation arrays, and the ports are completely controlled by the Wizard Council. If we try to bring up undersea herbs to sell, we get taxed at every single checkpoint. By the time we transport them inland, we can't even recoup our costs!”
It grew more animated as it spoke, its bound octopus tentacles squirming in struggle once again. “Don't even get me started on hunting deep-sea magical beasts. The materials from a Second-Tier magical beast can fetch a lot of magic crystals, but do you have any idea how many of us die trying to hunt just one? And after all that effort, the Royal Court takes a cut, and the Wizard Council takes another. By the time it gets to us, there isn't even any broth left, let alone meat.”
Rate on N.U.
