The cold ground and the endless pain coursing through his body jolted Manke straight into consciousness. Looking around...
He appeared to be in some sort of cellar, suffused with a damp, bone-chilling chill. Countless cold droplets rolled across his skin, making him shudder involuntarily. His pupils quickly sharpened into focus.
"Right... our ambush before... it failed... and I've become a prisoner... A prisoner — how laughable..."
Manke registered the searing pain in his thighs and arms, along with the hollow, empty sensation of having lost every last tooth.
"You're awake?"
By the dim, flickering lamplight, Manke could see the noble who had defeated him earlier today standing before him. The man's expression was perfectly calm — not a hint of triumph — and yet it filled Manke with an instinctive, primal dread.
"You... are dead! You're dead!" Manke's voice trembled, the words coming out warped and garbled through his broken, gap-ridden mouth.
"Oh! Is that so? Coming from you?"
Rip! The sleeve on Manke's arm was torn clean away, revealing a branded holy symbol — a strange sigil composed of a dagger and a blood motif, representing a powerful deity.
The God of Murder —
But even so, the church of a true deity was clearly a colossal force to be reckoned with — especially for Leylin in his current state.
"Stop trying to fool me. At best, you're merely a follower of the God of Murder. The great God of Murder would never deign to bestow his attention upon a mortal — let alone a failed, worthless wretch like you!"
Across the continent, believers of the gods died all the time. Unless one was a saint or a high-ranking priest, the gods could not possibly keep constant watch over them — to say nothing of ordinary believers.
The only exception would be if Leylin committed some act that defiled the believer's soul. Then the deity might grow enraged and even send down divine punishment.
This deep, penetrating understanding froze Manke's expression for an instant, which then crumbled into the ashen look of a dead man.
"Talk! How many other mad dogs like you are under the command of Marquis Lewis's good-for-nothing son — Dim?"
Seeing that he had successfully broken through the other's psychological defenses, Leylin immediately dropped an even bigger bombshell.
"You know?!" Manke exclaimed in shock — and that single reaction confirmed Leylin's judgment. "So that's how it is. The intelligence Tabris provided was indeed accurate. This was all Marquis Lewis pulling the strings from behind the scenes!!!"
"So you already know — then you must understand, you can't beat them..." Manke cackled. "Even with your incredible talent for magic, even at the rank of a sixth-level mage, you're nothing in the eyes of true aristocratic families..."
It was clear he still harbored a grudge over his earlier defeat at Leylin's hands.
As for the sixth-level mage business? Leylin was quietly pleased to see the man guess wrong, and he had no intention of correcting him.
After all, compared to the far more alarming truth — that he could cast zero-level spells without limit and operate entirely outside the
"Enough! I don't have time for idle chatter! Now, I need you to tell me exactly how many people serve under Dim, where they are, when the pirates plan to make landfall, and what arrangements have been made on the mainland... everything. Every last detail you know — tell me!"
Leylin's expression turned cold, a sharp glint shooting from his eyes.
"Heh heh... I wouldn't tell you even if it killed me. What's the worst — torture? Bring it on!" Manke suddenly put on a brazen, defiant air.
Thieves and assassins of this type had clearly undergone specialized training. They could endure considerable pain.
"You seem quite confident in your tolerance?" Leylin glanced at Manke, his eyes carrying something that looked almost like... pity?
"Very soon, you'll discover just how wonderful death can be — and how everything you've suffered up to now amounts to absolutely nothing..."
The knuckles on Leylin's hand cracked audibly.
In the entire World of the
His astonishing surgical skill and mastery of potions allowed him to keep a subject alive with ease — and that was before factoring in the power of magic to directly influence the mind.
Before long, the man would realize that being granted the mercy of death was the greatest happiness one could hope for.
A sinister gleam flickered in Leylin's eyes...
In truth, Manke broke remarkably quickly. After just three hours — without Leylin employing even a hundredth of the techniques stored in his memory — the man was weeping bitterly, confessing everything he knew, begging only that Leylin put him out of his misery immediately.
Once Leylin had confirmed he'd squeezed every last drop of information from the man, and verified the intelligence's authenticity, he didn't kill him. Nor did he continue tormenting the wretched fellow. Instead, he simply tossed him into the dungeon.
A professional-class test subject of this caliber wasn't easy to come by.
After extracting the intelligence, Leylin's first move was a thorough purge of the estate. With him personally overseeing the process — drawing on his vast experience and the Chip's scanning technology — not a single hidden mole could escape detection.
Before long, numerous rats had been dragged into the light, including a kitchen maid, two stable hands, and several young pages.
In these critical moments, Leylin never bothered with things like avoiding collateral punishment. Instead, he directly placed the family members of the implicated under control as well. This ruthless approach instantly left the servants in the estate trembling with fear. Even the Claire sisters seemed somewhat frightened of Leylin.
Of course, his iron-fisted rule was successfully established through these measures.
"How many people can I muster at this point?"
Leylin sat behind the desk that had previously belonged to the baron, arms crossed, questioning Jacob who stood before him.
"Reporting, Young Master!" Jacob wore leather armor, carrying a lean and sharp aura about him, along with a respect for Leylin that pleased him greatly.
"At the port, we've done everything we can and managed to pull together one company of fifty men. Add in the guards at the estate, and we have roughly eighty!"
Jacob reported.
"Eighty people?" Leylin murmured. In truth, very few among them were actually usable — at best, they were farmers who'd received a few days of military training, essentially no different from militia.
As for the truly elite fighters, they were of course at Baron Jonas's side.
"With my warning, their situation over there should be a bit easier to handle!" After obtaining the intelligence, Leylin had naturally sent a copy to Baron Jonas as well. It should have been helpful to him — at the very least, it could free him from stumbling around in the dark and let him know who his enemies were.
"Gather them all. Prepare to follow me out on an expedition to wipe out the pirates!"
That band of pirates, who could land at any moment, was the most imminent threat in Leylin's eyes. Moreover, he couldn't simply sit idle while his territory was ravaged by them. Taking the initiative to strike had become the only choice.
"Understood! We will absolutely become the sharpest sword in the Young Master's hand!" Jacob pledged.
"I'm looking forward to it!"
Leylin could, of course, only rely on them for now. While these militia were useless against professionals, they should still be of some use against ordinary pirates.
With his current strength, it was impossible for him to single-handedly take down so many pirates — he would need his subordinates' assistance.
"Mm, low-level combat strength is roughly enough. But according to the intelligence from Mank, these pirates are led by a professional around the tenth level. Our high-end strength is still somewhat lacking..."
Leylin stroked his chin, falling into deep thought.
"When it comes to high-end combat strength, Cousin
After thinking of her, Leylin immediately asked, "My cousin! What has Isabel been up to recently?"
Hearing this question, a look of hesitation crossed Jacob's face.
"Speak!" Leylin's expression turned cold.
"The spies that were captured last time — does Young Master still remember them?" Jacob clenched his teeth.
"Didn't I already order you to have them disposed of?" Leylin frowned.
"Among those prisoners, two pages were taken away by Cousin, and there has been no news of them since. Once they entered her room, it was as if they had completely vanished from the world. And according to the patrolling guards, they faintly heard screams coming from inside Cousin's room..."
A look of indescribable horror crossed Jacob's face. After all, people in this world could easily jump to thoughts of "demons" and "demonic rituals," and Isabel's methods and behavior bore a disturbing resemblance to such things.
"I see..." Leylin rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "Anything else?"
"Cousin has also been showing interest in the families of those spies recently, but I managed to talk her out of it..." Jacob said directly.
"I almost forgot — that's another complication. If the Temple's people found out, it would become even more troublesome..."
Leylin sighed inwardly. "I'll handle Isabel's matters personally. Don't say a word about this to anyone. As for the prisoners' families — have them all demoted to slave status. Don't keep them locked up in the manor anymore. Send them to the docks for hard labor, or sell them off directly..."
At times like this, it was necessary to set an example — whether positive or negative. The vassals needed to see the price and serious consequences of betrayal, to serve as an effective deterrent.
"Understood!"
Jacob had no objections on this point either. He quickly accepted his orders and left, giving the space back to Leylin.
Leylin gazed at the quiet night sky outside, and let out a sudden sigh.