Chapter 63: One of the Most Dangerous Men in the World
The considerable distance that Crow had created between himself and Armaros was proven futile as Armaros silently reappeared behind Crow, his left hand dragging open his rift as different shades of silver followed the rapid movements of Armaros’s outline. Sensing the sudden iris and bloodlust that Crow has steadily grown used to throughout the battle, Crow immediately spins around and has enough time to process the incoming, rigid glass blade Armaros is clasping in his right hand.
Violently lashing the blade right at Crow’s throat, Crow quickly readjusts his stance as he throws Armaros’s attack off course by first blocking and then redirecting it with his own two daggers, sending both of Crow’s arms flinging back to the right due to the overwhelming force of the attack. Adapting to his less-than-ideal body positioning, as soon as his right arm vaguely recovers from the blowback, Crow flicks his forearm straight up in a singular, swift motion. While his arm barely reaches the same height as his stomach, the sudden switch of direction and applied motion is all that matters.
The chain connected to the underside of his right-handed dagger is sent whipping back around toward Armaros. Armaros’s expression shows a glimpse of surprise before promptly returning to the same straight face he’s worn throughout most of the fight. The chain makes assertive contact and hastily wraps around Armaros’s upper body, forcing his arms to his sides. Crow then channels some extra iris into his chains to buckle down on the strain, causing Armaros to grit his teeth as the dense steel bores down his skin.
“Kulta,” utters Crow for extra insurance, increasing the density of his chains.
The instant increase in weight forces Armaros to his knees as he pants from the drawn-out battle, facing the consequences of using his aura recklessly. Heavily breathing in and out, Crow’s muscles relax as his mind conceptualizes what he just accomplished. The silver glow in Armaros’s face simmers as he loosens his hold on the glass shard, letting it slip out of his hand and fall onto the ground.
I- I’ve done it.
Drenched in sweat, Crow meticulously stared down at one of the most dangerous men in the world, not daring to take my eyes off him as he fiercely gripped the handle holding the chains in place.
I beat him…
A surge of self-accomplishment rushes through him as he feels a drop of sweat streaking down the side of his face. Allowing himself a brief moment to relish in this feat, Crow chuckles.
“That was a real pain in the ass, but I finally caught you.”
Not even reacting with a blink of an eye, Armaros doesn’t falter in the slightest, as his fierce, silent gaze stays locked on Crow.
“I have a few questions, and depending on how much you’re willing to cooperate, this can all go very smoothly. To be clear, I don’t give a rat's ass whether you die now or later... and the fact you’re here means they don’t either. And just so you fully understand the position you’re in…”
Flipping the dagger over in his left hand to obtain a new grip, Crow promptly throws it directly at Armaros. Armaros’s head didn’t budge an inch as Crow heard the wind whistle, the dagger scraping the outer edge of Armaros’s left ear before firmly implanting into the ground just behind him.
Crow narrows his gaze as he recalls his dagger, “Who allowed you to live and participate in the trials?”
Armaros remains silent, and Crow waits five seconds before taking a step forward and slashing the dagger in his left hand across Armaros’s chest. As Crow cuts through the top layer of Armaros’s skin, blood immediately begins leaking out and staining the lower half of his shirt.
“I’ll ask again. Who allowed you to live and participate in the trials?”
He once more remains silent. But as Crow reels back his arm, preparing for another strike, Armaros speaks.
“I’m not sure where to begin, so I’ll just start with the earliest thing I can remember. And that’s being locked up in a dungeon. It reeked of dampness, urine, and feces. I was completely alone, caged within a cramped cell that didn’t even have a bed. There was a toilet and a dimly lit light on the ceiling that never went out. The cobblestone floor was cold and uneven to sleep on. There were no doors, exits, windows... nothing that could give me the slightest idea of where I was or what was going on outside,” says Armaros, and Crow recognizes it wasn’t out of fear, discerning that Armaros must be telling him this because there’s no benefit to holding onto it himself.
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“Once a day, a small hole would crank open at the bottom of one of the walls from the outside, and a singular plate would be slid underneath before the hole was sealed shut again. This plate often gave me a cup of water and, if lucky, a slice of bread. I’m not particularly sure why I consumed what they gave me… its only purpose was to keep me alive in such a frail and weakened state. If I chose to resist and starve myself to death, I don’t think it would have mattered. Whoever was keeping me there would’ve let me die. So… I guess the reason why I chose to eat and survive back then is the same as why I’m choosing to speak and survive now. Not much makes sense to me anymore, but I've still been given a purpose. And as long as I have that, I must do all I can to survive."
Intently listening, Crow allows him to pause without consequence.
“I’m not sure how much time had passed in that dungeon, but eventually, the hole that usually supplied me with my daily food didn’t open. Instead, part of the wall began splitting in two, opening up just large enough to create a door frame. A man appeared, walking from behind the wall and stepping through the doorway. He wore a white uniform and helmet with a golden, transparent visor, black leather boots, and white gloves. He was holding handcuffs, and the tip of a lance was diagonally peeking out above his right-hand shoulder. After he walked into the cell, two other individuals that looked identical to the first man followed, each with a lance in hand.”
I see, so that’s where he was taken into custody. This entire… situation… if I can even call it that, is something they probably wanted to be swept under the rug. So… why is he here? Why didn’t they just kill him on the spot?
Armaros continues, “The man spoke to me in a distorted voice, telling me to turn around, get down on my knees, and put my hands behind my head. I did as he asked, and he roughly handcuffed my hands behind my back. I was soon escorted out of the cell and down a narrow hallway with torches and cells lined up along either side. After a few minutes of walking, we reached the end of the hallway and stopped. There was a stairwell that went straight up, and I couldn’t see what was at the top. We then entered a room to our left with an open doorway, and it was a bathroom. The man let me out of my handcuffs, and I was told to quickly wash up. As I was doing that, one of the enforcers left, and the man and the other enforcer stood guard, lances at the ready.”
“Get to the point,” cuts in Crow, growing impatient.
“The enforcer that left came back with a fresh pair of clothes. Every item of clothing was in the color black… the T-shirt that felt baggy because of the weight I had lost, the pants that were too big for me and were drooping as low as my feet, the jacket which had a zipper almost at my knees, the socks, the shoes. After getting dressed, I got handcuffed again, and we climbed the stairwell. At the top was a red velvet carpet with neatly printed designs and patterns embroidered gold. This carpet stretched down the middle as far as I could see... while pearly, white tiles and vanilla-colored pillars lined up along either side of the carpet. After walking for a couple minutes, we reached a giant, golden door.”
Shit… they were keeping him at the palace that entire time… this changes things. Who knows if even a word of what he’s telling me is true? Their medicines and serums are far beyond the public's understanding, even I don’t have access to everything. He could’ve been consuming something laced with the bread or mixed with that water that was slowly brainwashing his mind to fabricate this entire story for this exact scenario. And if that were the case, I might already be compromised.
Crow takes a breath.
No, I should still be okay. They would probably find it reasonable for a trial runner to question why this guy would ever be participating. I just need to be careful, especially in his presence. He’s probably bugged, so if I do or say the wrong thing, everything we’ve done so far will be for nothing. Killing him may only bring more suspicion, too; damn it, they’ve really covered all their angles.
“I was passed onto another enforcer, and after he inputted something into a keyboard beside the colossal doors, there was a click, and the gigantic doors began slowly sliding open toward us, forcing us to take a few steps back. Inside was a glamorous courtroom, but it was completely empty. After being lightly shoved forward, the new enforcer told me to start walking. Even though the courtroom was empty, I felt I was being watched, so I did as he asked. Passing by the vacant rows, I approached a single black chair in the center of a large, open space. Beyond the chair was a stage with a dark, cloudy veil hanging over it. Keeping me cuffed, the enforcer then ordered me to take a seat. A metal whirring faintly sounded as I sat down before wires coiled around my arms, legs, and chest, wrapping me tightly against the chair.”
Armaros takes another pause, “After that, the enforcer I was passed off to took a seat, as well as the two other escorts. The room was eerily quiet. Then, I picked up on the faint clacking of heels growing steadily louder. As the sound from the stage intensified with each step, a bright silhouette gradually appeared, contrasting the shadowy veil. I could not recognize any facial features, but that didn’t matter, as I only needed to see one thing to understand who it was.”
Hmph. It took a while; he really gave me the full rundown. If he refers to who I think he will, there’s no chance he was brainwashed. These are real memories that the higher-ups didn’t believe could ever be reaccessed, as they would never allow... her... to even be referenced.
“The outline of a crown focused into view as it rested atop the silhouette’s head. I knew then who it was. I was in the presence of the ruler of Iasa. Queen Divine.”