Chapter 43: Past Events (1)

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Lucia ran back to her quarters, tears streaming down her face. She buried herself under the quilt, trying her best to stifle her sobs.

She had no idea what Carl was going through—only that he was suffering. That pain, so intense, could take his life at any moment.

Memories of their time together flooded her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

That night, she didn't sleep.

The next morning, her eyes were swollen and red, but she still dragged herself to work. As she swept the courtyard, Carl's agonized screams still echoed in her ears.

Since Carl had been taken away, no one had set foot in this courtyard.

But today was different.

The heavy thud of footsteps reached her ears.

Lucia turned to see the two white-coated men from yesterday, accompanied by a golden-armored guard.

They came to a stop before her.

The armored guard, his towering frame casting a shadow over her, pointed at her and spoke coldly.

"Is this the one?"

The two men nodded repeatedly. After returning the night before, their fear had festered. If Lucia spoke of what she had overheard, they would be implicated.

To protect themselves, they had reported her to a golden-armored guard responsible for overseeing the laboratory, claiming she had learned classified information.

The guard, upon hearing that the supposed spy was nothing more than a slave, hadn't taken it seriously. He agreed to "handle" the problem.

His eyes, void of emotion, settled on Lucia.

"Who is your master?"

Lucia, initially frightened, took a deep breath and straightened her back.

"My master is Carl!" she declared firmly.

The guard smirked.

Carl's slave? That's the same as being masterless. This just got easier.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Lucia by the back of her clothes, hoisting her up as if she were weightless.

"You heard something you shouldn't have," he said, his voice devoid of mercy. "Now, I have to silence you forever."

Ignoring the two white-coated men, he turned on his heel and carried Lucia away.

---

The Figarland family had strict rules about executions—slaves were never to be killed within the estate. The noble grounds were not to be tainted by the blood of the lowly.

The guard strode confidently through several courtyards, Lucia dangling helplessly in his grasp.

Then, as they passed a lavish palace, a deep, commanding voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Where are you going?"

The guard froze.

Slowly, he turned his head and saw a man seated on an opulent throne, inlaid with precious gems.

Garling Figarland.

The nobleman's arms were crossed, his gaze indifferent yet piercing.

The guard immediately knelt on one knee, bowing his head.

"Lord Garling! This slave has committed a capital crime. I was taking her outside to be dealt with."

Garling's eyes flickered toward Lucia.

She looked familiar.

Rising from his seat, he walked over at a leisurely pace, stopping just before her.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Lucia lowered her eyes. Her voice was dull, mechanical.

"Lucia."

Her indifferent tone was utterly disrespectful for a slave.

The guard's expression darkened. He threw Lucia to the ground harshly, barking,

"You little brat! How dare you speak to Lord Garling like that?!"

Pain shot through Lucia's body as she hit the ground hard, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself back to her feet.

She met the guard's gaze, unyielding.

Her defiance made him furious. If Garling weren't present, he would have struck her down on the spot.

But before he could act, Garling's eyes narrowed in recognition.

Lucia.

He remembered now.

She was the birthday gift he had bought for Carl.

His expression remained neutral, but his tone carried a hint of curiosity.

"You belong to Carl, don't you? What crime have you committed?"

The mention of Carl shattered the dam of emotions Lucia had been holding back.

Fury burned through her, drowning out all fear.

"You ask what crime I committed?" she shouted. "If you want to kill me, then kill me! Even Master Carl is locked up and tortured by you—what does it matter what happens to a mere slave like me?!"

Garling's eyes narrowed.

"What did you just say?"

The guard standing beside him panicked.

Without hesitation, he raised his hand, his palm slicing through the air like a blade, aiming straight for Lucia's neck.

**Bang!**

A deafening impact echoed through the courtyard.

The guard was sent flying. He skidded across the ground, his golden armor dented.

Coughing, he struggled to his feet—only to freeze under Garling's glare.

A terrifying aura, thick and suffocating, rolled off the nobleman.

The ground beneath the guard's feet cracked under the pressure.

"Did I give you permission to move?" Garling's voice was quiet, but it struck like thunder.

The guard's body convulsed as if an invisible force had slammed into him. His knees buckled, and with a loud **thud**, he collapsed, bowing his head in terror.

"M-My Lord!" he stammered. "I—I deserve to die! Please, spare me!"

Garling didn't spare him a glance.

He turned his gaze back to Lucia, his voice commanding.

"Tell me what happened."

Lucia remained frozen in place, struggling to process what had just happened.

Garling's patience wore thin.

His aura intensified, pressing the guard completely to the ground. The man screamed, writhing under the invisible weight.

Realizing that things might not be as hopeless as she thought, Lucia took a chance.

She recounted everything—Carl's cries, the white-coated men, what she had overheard.

Garling listened in silence, his expression growing darker with every word.

When she finished, he stepped past her, his voice cold.

"You remember where that place is, don't you?"

Lucia nodded furiously.

"Then take me there."

Without wasting a second, she turned and ran ahead, leading him to Carl's prison.

Garling followed without looking back, stepping over the groaning guard on the ground as if he were nothing more than dirt beneath his feet.

---

Before long, they arrived at the white building where Carl was being held.

The lone golden-armored guard at the entrance stiffened at the sight of Garling's dark expression.

He quickly dropped to one knee.

"Lord Garling!"

Garling ignored him.

His sharp ears had already picked up the sounds coming from inside.

Weak, ragged breaths. Pained groans.

Carl.

Without waiting for the door to be opened, Garling clenched his fist and threw a punch.

**Boom!**

The thick iron doors exploded into fragments, revealing the scene within.

Carl lay on a stark white bed, his small frame riddled with needles.

A group of white-coated scientists flinched at the sudden intrusion.

Among them stood Darian.

His face bore a resemblance to Garling's, but his hair was pointed and sharp, like a cone.

Carl stirred at the noise, forcing his eyes open.

Pain dulled his gaze, but recognition flickered within.

A weak, hoarse voice escaped his lips.

"Uncle Garling… Lucia… Save me..."