CHAPTER 79: REVENGE

Albin tried hard to free himself, but given his condition and the strength of the one carrying him, his efforts were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

In the dim moonlight, he caught sight of a familiar wire barrier.

"We’re heading for the mountain," said a young man’s voice—familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it. "Don’t make noise unless you want wild beasts to hear you."

Albin kept struggling, this time in silence... until thud. A sharp blow to his neck sent him back into unconsciousness.

From the small cloth pouch at Gara’s waist, a pair of round black eyes peeked out. Rea’s ears twitched as she looked around.

"No wild beasts nearby, right?" Gara asked.

Rea nodded, then scampered out of the pouch and climbed up to Gara’s shoulder.

After a while, they reached an enormous banyan tree. Fian dropped Albin to the ground and pulled the gag from his mouth.

Meanwhile, Gara stepped to the far side of the trunk, hiding himself from view. A splash of water brought Albin sputtering back to consciousness.

His head pounded. He’d been knocked out and woken up more than once in less than an hour, and his body was starting to protest.

The first thing he saw was a tall and broad Fian bathed in silver moonlight from the side.

A shiver ran down Albin’s spine. The image was terrifying, especially after that same elf had nearly punched a hole through his foot.

"W-what are you doing? This is a crime!" he shouted desperately. "Help! He—"

He cut himself off mid-yell, realizing where he was, the upper slopes of the mountain, a place the villagers almost never touched.

If he called too loudly, something far worse than the elf in front of him might hear.

A moment later, a young man’s voice came from the side. At first, Albin didn’t recognize it—until he saw Fian standing silently and realized the voice belonged to Gara, Wina’s son.

He turned slightly, only for two ice spikes to burst from the ground, angling in toward the sides of his neck.

He froze. One wrong move, and those sharp tips would pierce him just as easily as they had his foot.

"I—I didn’t mean to hurt Wina! I love her. I’d marry her!" Albin blurted, quickly realizing there was no room for threats here, only begging for mercy.

"Love her, but hurt her?" Gara’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I lost control, I swear!" The middle-aged man’s eyes brimmed with tears. He quickly changed his stance, "I won’t go near Wina ever again!"

"I only believe what I see, not the lies you spit." Gara’s cold tone sent a shiver through Albin’s spine. The chill of the mountain air and Gara’s presence seemed made for each other.

"I-I truly won’t bother your mother again. I won’t even let her see me."

In the middle of Albin’s sobbing, Gara let out a low, mocking laugh. "And how am I supposed to believe that?"

"Please, believe me! I’ll do anything." Albin wanted to kneel, but the ice spikes below his neck made that impossible.

He knew—without question—that the delicate, pretty boy who once looked so harmless was a Liner now. Someone with influence in town.

And Albin, who had once escaped the wrath of a wealthy merchant, knew exactly what that meant. People with real power did whatever they wanted... and no one could touch them.

If he died here, his death would mean nothing.

Just like ten years ago. If he hadn’t convinced that merchant to give Lita the miscarriage potion, he’d already be dead.

"I’ll do anything," Albin begged again, his voice breaking. "Just let me live!"

"If you’re that eager to do something for me... give me your finger."

"W-what?!" His bound hands clenched protectively over his fingers.

"What, you won’t even give me a finger?" Gara’s voice took on a sharp edge, and the menacing expression that followed froze Albin’s blood.

"I—I will!" he croaked. One finger was far better than losing his life.

But before he could even brace himself, five ice spikes materialized in the air and drove straight through the knuckles of all five fingers.

Blood poured freely, and pain crashed into him like a tidal wave. There was so much blood, he couldn’t even see the shape of his fingers anymore.

"M-my... my fingers..." He’d lost all five.

His vision blurred, and his head slumped sideways just as Fian dismissed the ice spike hovering near his neck.

"He’s out?" Gara asked. Fian nodded.

Gara stepped closer, studying Albin’s pale face in the thin wash of moonlight.

It was barely enough to see by, but he still crouched down and summoned a flow of water, rinsing away the blood before wrapping the wounds in his element. Within minutes, the tiny, needle-sized punctures vanished completely.

"Look at him—bold enough to hurt a woman, but terrified by the tiniest wounds." Gara’s words were laced with mockery. He didn’t notice the way Fian’s gaze lingered on him.

Fian shouldered Albin again, and they began the descent down the mountain.

Gara bounded ahead, half-walking, half-skipping, the roots underfoot and the swell of his belly doing nothing to slow him down.

His soft, innocent face masked something much darker.

They hadn’t actually severed Albin’s fingers—Fian’s spikes had been no bigger than small nails.

Then Gara had laced the wounds with one of his failed brews, carried by his water. It made the bleeding worse, amplified the pain to something unbearable, and left a drowsy haze like a strong anesthetic.

The pretty-faced young man wanted Albin to remember this fear.

Slowing his steps, Gara glanced back. "Your mini spikes worked."

Fian gave a small nod.

His glacial spikes had always erupted from the ground in massive size, but over the past three months, he’d trained with Gara to make them smaller and sharper.

Gara had told him it was more practical and that height was far more important than width.

Gara had also pushed Fian to train in summoning his spikes not from the ground, but straight out of thin air.

...