Chapter 120 - Interloper, Part 2

"IT WAS HELLIX! IT WAS VAN HELLIX!" Misa cried out as Marcy and Amoria rushed into the guild, alarm etched on their faces.

"What?!" Marcy exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at Misa.

"Michael admitted it right in front of me! He called him his 'Master.' Said his plan had failed! Then Van grabbed him and escaped through the upper window!" Misa pointed upward, her voice rising with emotion. "He's the one who branded them—he was giving Michael the orders!"

Amoria and Marcy exchanged a puzzled glance, their expressions more confused than outraged.

"W-What about Lizzy and Anne? Are they safe?!" Marcy pressed, her tone sharp as she shook her head at Misa.

"They're safe," Misa assured her quickly. "Van asked if they were in the guild after Michael confessed. The fact that he knew they were in the next room... he must've known. But Van only took Michael and left. Lizzy and Anne weren't touched."

Marcy frowned, her gaze flicking to Amoria again. "... Sounds a little..."

"...Too perfect," Amoria finished, her tone calm yet cutting.

"W-What...?" Misa stammered, staring at them in disbelief.

'Michael hates Van. Why would they work together?' Amoria thought, recalling how Van had shooed Michael away at her apartment with barely a glance.

Both women's thoughts seemed to align at once. They remembered Michael standing up to Van, going so far as to rile up an angry mob against him.

"You're wrong, Misa," Marcy said firmly.

"Van would never do something like that. And frankly, I don't care what Michael said—he despises Van," Marcy spat, her tone unyielding.

"W-What...?" Misa's voice faltered, her gaze darting between the two.

"Where did he go?" Amoria asked, cutting through the tension.

'Why are they protecting him...!? Isn't it obvious it was him!?' Misa thought, her mind swirling in disarray as she narrowed her gaze at the two women. Still, she relented.

"H-He escaped through the window. I'll show you," Misa finally said, guiding them to the room and pointing to where Van had dashed off.

"I couldn't follow him at all... I've never seen anyone move so fast," she admitted, gesturing toward the direction he'd run.

"Escaped, huh?" Marcy said skeptically, crossing her arms.

"Isn't it obvious?!" Misa pressed, frustration building in her voice.

"Our guild is close to the city's exit," Amoria said thoughtfully. "Someone as fast as Van, who even outran you, could've blitzed past the guards easily. But... he ran in the opposite direction."

"...!!!" Misa's eyes widened in realization.

"He must've found something," Amoria concluded, glancing at Marcy, who nodded in agreement.

"Let's follow that helmet-head," Marcy said, already moving. She cast a quick look back. "Misa, stay here and protect Anne and Lizzy."

The two women left the guild, urgency in their steps. "Let's go—" Amoria said, riling up Marcy as they started to pick up the pace. But just as quickly, Amoria suddenly stopped in her tracks.

Marcy turned, confusion flashing across her face. "Amoria!? What are you doing!?" she yelled.

"...The Bishop is calling all the priests," Amoria said quietly, her hand reaching into her dress pocket to pull out a faintly glowing [Vibration] stone.

"FORGET THAT FUCK! Let's save our daughters!" Marcy snapped, her voice cutting through the tension.

Amoria stood silently for a moment, pressing the stone close to her mouth. She whispered something too low for Marcy to catch, then held it to her ear, her expression unreadable.

"...?!" Marcy's eyes narrowed suspiciously, frustration bubbling beneath her calm façade.

Amoria finally tucked the stone back into her pocket.

"...Alright. Let's go," she said, her tone neutral as she started running again, casting herself with a speed buff.

Marcy's frustration boiled over.

"...Quit that church," she said coldly as they sprinted side by side. "To pay them any mind when your daughter's in danger? Seriously. You're too religious. What the hell are you thinking—?"

"Marcy," Amoria cut her off sharply, her tone rigid. "Don't disrespect the Holy Church, or the Bishop. Not in my presence. We've gone over this, haven't we?"

Marcy let out a humorless chuckle. "Wow. Just wow."

"What now?" Amoria asked, her voice calm but firm.

"You. Talking about that kid's dead father like he was nothing more than burnt wood—no compassion, no hesitation. Then recognizing the signs of a slave mark before even me, on burnt wood, no less. And now, asking for that fuck's permission to save your own daughter. And you still expect me to shut up about it?" Marcy spat, her frustration spilling out like a dam breaking.

"If I didn't know you, I'd swear you were in a cult."

"It's what I believe in, Marcy. It's what I hold on to," Amoria replied without missing a beat, her tone unwavering but slightly softer.

"Calling it a 'cult' is unfair—and untrue."

She paused briefly, as if choosing her next words carefully.

"As for those things... Considering I'm the strongest priestess in the capital, the Bishop has taught me much—things that are unconventional. I have to recognize that mark. If I don't, I risk getting branded myself. I've learned to focus better, to investigate better. Discipline... is part of that. It's one of the things I've been taught extensively as well."

Her gaze held steady as she continued, her tone measured.

"Is it wrong? Obedience is something you value too, considering where you come from. Besides, he ended up permitting it, didn't he?"

She paused for a beat before adding, "Let's move on—and focus on our daughters."

Marcy fell silent, her eyes narrowing as she tried to read Amoria's expression. For a moment, neither woman spoke, the sound of their boots striking the ground the only noise between them.

"Whatever," Marcy muttered at last, shaking her head. "Let's just get this over with. I feel sick thinking my Anne is still under someone's control."

They continued running, the tension hanging thick in the air.

Meanwhile, the manor was thrown into turmoil. The guards were on full alert the moment Van forced his way inside, though none could determine his whereabouts.

"SOMEONE JUST BROKE INTO THE ESTATE!!" a guard bellowed as he barged into the grand, opulent chamber of Duke Mardallyone Von Brayle.

"Calm yourself," the duke said stoically, his commanding tone immediately silencing the frantic guard. The duke's room was dignified, every inch radiating power and control.

"Sir... someone has infiltrated the manor." The guard, gasping for breath, struggled to compose himself under the duke's cold gaze.

From the shadows of the room, another figure stood upright, quietly observing. This man, Doyle—Bernard's older brother—watched the exchange with keen eyes.

"I sensed it," the duke said, his voice low and dangerous.

"A vile aura tearing its way into my estate. So, someone was foolish enough to challenge us. Do you have any idea who it is?" His glowing blue eyes narrowed as he stood, his chiseled jaw and pristine white hair and beard accentuating his formidable presence. Despite his advanced age, his physique was that of a man still in his prime, exuding power and authority.

"No, sir..." the guard stammered, his voice trembling slightly.

'Even after years of serving here... it's still overwhelming to stand in the same room as the duke. An S-Rank by power, yet deliberately choosing to remain an A-Rank for convenience… Haah, his very presence feels suffocating.' The guard swallowed hard, forcing himself to push through the tension before shaking his head and continuing.

"Whoever broke in moved too fast for any of us to see. We have no idea where he went. My team is currently searching the entire manor—"

BOOM!

An explosion rocked the opposite end of the mansion. Smoke billowed upward, visible from the tall windows of the duke's chamber. All three men turned their attention to the source of the disturbance.

"... Haah." The duke sighed deeply, rubbing his temple as if exhausted by the sheer audacity of it all. "Down there. That's Bernard's wing. My foolish son must have made himself an enemy."

He turned sharply to the man in the shadows. "Doyle. You're coming with me. We're both going."

"Both of us...?" Doyle asked, narrowing his eyes. "Father, let me handle this alone. You shouldn't trouble yourself with something so trivial—"

"Bernard's new slave," the duke interrupted, his tone sharp.

"Melanie Veil. If this intruder is one of the Veils seeking retribution, you wouldn't even lay a hand on them alone. But with the two of us... and this—" He reached under his desk, pulling out a metal slave crest, its dark runes gleaming faintly in the dim light.

"We might secure ourselves a high-quality asset. Thankfully, we know it's not the priestess."

"Why not? Is she too powerful?" Doyle asked, stepping closer.

"No." Mardallyone's response was curt, almost reluctant. "She's actually the weakest wife of Magus Veil, being a healer. But she is untouchable. Not someone I can... brand so easily. The others... they are fair game."

"Because of her ties to the Holy Church?" Doyle pressed as they exited the chamber, the guard trailing behind them.

"... Yes, in part," the duke admitted, his voice laced with subtle irritation. "The Holy Church is an ally of ours, and I am a personal friend of the Bishop. To act against us is to act against the Holy Church—something he would never allow her to do. And she follows his commands perfectly, without question."

He paused, his sharp eyes glinting dangerously as his tone grew colder. "The crude nature of this intrusion suggests it isn't her. We support the Holy Church, after all. Whoever this is... came alone. I can feel it."

A faint, dangerous smirk crept across Doyle's face. "How foolish. They're about to learn just how terrifying we can be."

The duke's gaze hardened, his glowing eyes narrowing.

"Indeed. Whoever this intruder is, they'll regret ever stepping into my house."

'What... What just happened...?' Bernard thought as he lay sprawled on the grass, chunks of rubble scattered around him. He stared up at the sky, his breaths coming short and labored, his chest heaving. His bloodshot eyes stung as a thin trail of blood trickled from a cut at his hairline, matting his dark locks against his skin.

'A moment ago... I was in my room with Mel. Then... I saw that armored bastard.' His mind reeled as he clenched his eyes shut, struggling to piece together the moments that followed.

He remembered the surge of anger, the fire that burned in his chest. The overwhelming wrath. He'd called for Amu-Rah, his fire spirit—or at least, he'd tried. In the split second he began the incantation, Van had grabbed him by the collar like he weighed nothing, flinging him straight through the opposite wall. And then... darkness.

'Haah... That fucker...' Bernard gritted his teeth as he pushed himself up, trembling slightly. His hands dug into the grass and debris for leverage, forcing his battered body upright. 'It was the same with Amu-Rah. I remember now... He's...'

His thoughts burned with indignation, anger giving him strength as he steadied himself. 'He's physically strong. But THAT'S IT—'

"Kid," a deep voice interrupted his thoughts.

Bernard's head snapped toward the sound. Van stepped onto the grass with deliberate slowness, the faint crunch of the ground under his boots mingling with the settling rubble. The knight's imposing figure loomed as he stopped a few paces away, staring down at Bernard through the visor of the helmet he'd taken from the display in the house. The faint glint of his eyes behind the steel was unreadable, cold, and unyielding.

"I don't have a lecture for you," Van said calmly, standing a few meters away, his tone flat yet razor-sharp. "Nor will I waste time teaching you not to do bad things. Or to stop making people your slaves."

'What the!? HE KNEW!? HOW…?' Bernard's eyes widened, his thoughts racing wildly as he noticed Michael slumped on the ground next to Melanie, just inside the house, behind Van.

'That… FUCKER…!! He survived!?' Bernard's mind spiraled into chaos, his breath quickening.

"THAT BITCH BEHIND YOU!!" Bernard shouted, his voice cracking as he pointed a trembling finger. "HE'S THE ONE WHO BRANDED THEM!! I NEVER—"

"SHUT." Van's single word cut through the air like a guillotine.

His oppressive aura crashed down on Bernard like a wave, suffocating him. Bernard's words died in his throat as his eyes widened in fear, his face pale. The pressure of Van's presence pinned him in place, leaving him trembling.

Van took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes locked on Bernard. The weight of his approach felt like an executioner's blade hanging above Bernard's head.

"I'm going to ask you something," Van said, his tone calm yet ice-cold. "And depending on your answer, you'll either be scalped by me and die, or just beaten half to death."

A cold sweat broke across Bernard's forehead, trickling down the side of his face. His breath hitched, dread wrapping around his chest like chains.

Van's growl deepened, his voice like the edge of a blade poised to strike.

"Did you. Touch her?"

Behind him, Melanie stood frozen, her breath caught in her chest. Michael slumped to the ground beside her, staring at Van with wide-eyed disbelief.

"W-WHAT'S IT TO YOU!? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!? WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS AFTER ME!? I JUST WANT TO BE ACKNOWLEDGED BY MY FATHER—"

Before Bernard could finish, Van appeared in front of him in a blur; a deafening supersonic boom shattered the air as he moved.

Van's gauntleted hand crashed into Bernard's face with the force of a thunderclap. In the next microsecond, Bernard's head slammed into the ground with a crack, the impact reverberating like a shockwave. His vision blurred as his body convulsed upward from the sheer force, a second explosion following as the earth cratered beneath him.

Van's metallic gauntlet left its imprint on Bernard's cheek, blood pooling on his tongue as several teeth scattered from his mouth. The sharp taste of iron flooded his senses as he gasped for air, his body trembling and struggling against the shock coursing through him.

"I'm not here to indulge your little self-jerk session," Van growled, his voice cold and dripping with disdain. He grabbed Bernard by the hair, lifting him effortlessly like a ragdoll.

"I'm not here to solve your inferiority complex. Nor do I care why you did it, or what your reasons are," he added, his tone venomous.

Michael, still slumped nearby, shivered uncontrollably. His throat bobbed as he gulped hard, unable to tear his wide-eyed gaze away from Van. His mind raced, but not a single coherent thought formed, paralyzed by sheer terror.

He brought Bernard's face closer, his own helmet glinting ominously in the faint light.

"Answer me," Van snarled, his tone a low, predatory growl. His grip tightened, and Bernard's breathing grew erratic as his body trembled.

"Did you..."

Van's voice sharpened to a deadly edge.

"TOUCH HER?"

"You're not very bright, are you? Everyone in his spot would claim they didn't touch her," sneered a voice from behind Van.

The voice belonged to Doyle, who stood in the ruined hallway of the house, his father, Duke Mardallyone Von Brayle, at his side. The duke's cold, calculating gaze watched the scene unfold in silence.

'D... Doyle..! Father..!!' Bernard thought in alarm, panic flashing through his mind as his wide eyes flicked to the figures in the doorway.

Michael, slumped on the ground nearby, looked up at them with a mix of awe and fear, his body trembling uncontrollably.

'T-... That's... The Duke... and Doyle,' Michael thought, shivering as his body trembled uncontrollably. His mind raced, still trying to process how he had ended up here. Not a minute ago, he'd been at the guild. His gaze flicked to Melanie, standing stiffly beside him.

'She's... also a slave?' Michael's thoughts spiraled into chaos, a tangled mess of confusion and dread that refused to settle.

He slumped further against the ground, his ragged breathing barely audible. Neither Melanie nor the Duke and Doyle spared him a glance, their full attention locked on the confrontation unfolding before them.

"Seriously," Doyle continued, stepping forward from the ruined hallway and into the yard.

His tone was mocking, confident.

"You're new to this, huh? The fact that you took a helmet from our display... You're stupid. Coming here unprepared, then saying you'll scalp someone if they tell you something and won't kill them if they tell you something else - then expecting them to be truthful? Pathetic."

Behind him, dozens of guards flanked the Duke, their presence looming as they stood at attention. Yet none dared step forward.

Van didn't so much as flinch. His calm remained unbroken as he took a slow breath. His grip on Bernard tightened. Without turning around, his gauntleted hand shifted slightly, securing Bernard's arm in an iron hold.

CRACK.

A sickening snap echoed across the yard as Van's grip crushed Bernard's arm like a twig.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Bernard's scream tore through the air, his body writhing in agony as blood began to seep from beneath Van's unyielding gauntlet.

Melanie's face paled even further, her lips trembling as she fought to remain steady.

'H...He just... broke his arm...!!' Michael's breath hitched, his eyes wide as he shivered in place, unable to tear his gaze away from the brutal scene.

Van turned slowly. His bloodstained gauntlet glinted in the faint light as he faced Doyle and Mardallyone, Bernard's now-useless arm dangling limply from his grasp. The younger man's face twisted in pure agony, his sobs ragged and barely audible.

"You wanna try that again?" Van growled lowly; his voice raspy.

Doyle's sneer faltered, the confidence in his expression wavering. Even Mardallyone narrowed his sharp eyes. He took a measured step forward, his cold gaze flicking between Van and his now-crippled son, his jaw tightening imperceptibly.