CHAPTER 759: THE PLAGUE OF BRINEHEART

Magical gems rumbled into silence in their lampposts, letting the soft rays of dawn illuminate the noble district in their stead. If the early tranquillity heralded a peaceful day, reality was anything but quiet.

Castle doors were flung open, eager teenagers bursting out everywhere. Despite their parents’ call to slow down, their luggage wheels rattled on immaculate pavements, and satchels bounced against their dark coats.

Amidst their impatient chorus, Quintella raced down the main avenue.

"Faster, big brother, or we’ll miss the first event!" She panted between each word, her fingers tightening around Adam’s hand.

Before her words faded, her blonde hair and white dress, adorned with sunflower patterns, fluttered. The ground vanished beneath her shoes as she found herself seated on her favourite spot—Adam’s shoulders.

"Let’s go!" She raised her fists, wind whipping her hair, enjoying their rising speed.

While she laughed, Adam’s eyes narrowed into slits. Six days. That’s how long it took for the chaos, the hidden knives, and the enforcer raids to end. He had seen people beaten up by elemental spells in front of wives, husbands, and children, their images shattered, their dignity thrown to the four winds, and their assets plundered.

He didn’t know where they had been taken—too dangerous to follow. But most eventually returned. As for those who didn’t? Everyone would learn what would happen to them now.

His feet struck the pavement harder, an unsettling sensation slithering from the back of his neck down between his shoulder blades, ending in an icy shudder the moment he reached a lush plaza.

There, on a stone platform built by an earth mage, he saw dozens of kneeling nobles. The surrounding flowers and carved bushes did nothing to embellish the scene; they were battered, clothes torn or burned in several places.

But he knew the worst was hidden beneath the fabric.

His sky-blue eyes ignited, his vision piercing through matter. He saw knife-carved wounds, putrid scabs that refused to heal, muscles that had been crushed beneath weight far heavier than what they could endure. They were crippled, humiliated in both body and mind.

The scent of roses clashed with the metallic tang of old blood, a dense crowd amassing in a heartbeat. Voices erupted with the scorn of people who thought themselves superior or the amusement of someone watching beasts chained in a zoo.

"If it’s not Viscount Trevor," one noble chuckled delightedly. "Look at you, finally donning your true appearance—Not even a commoner. Just a mad dog waiting to be sent on his way. I told you there was no good ending to someone competing with me."

Viscount Trevor’s head lifted slightly, one eye swollen shut, the other empty as if life had already left him.

"Humph. That wench’s there, as well," another scoffed with something that wasn’t quite amusement. "You should have yielded your pathetic cafe while words still mattered. But hey, you can’t blame me. I gave you a way out—just one night. Yet, you preferred suffering over me. So, I’ll eagerly wait for your judgment."

Insulting comments rained around Adam, each making his stomach churn a little more. He had killed. He had made people suffer. But only those whose crimes were unforgivable. These chained nobles, however, served as entertainment, a spectacle for heartless people.

"What madness is this?" Yann’s warning about Brineheart’s corruption rang through his mind. Madness was the right word.

The iron smell of blood mixed with expensive perfumes as the truth settled in his chest like a stone. The gloating nobles, the chained ones—they would have acted in the same way if their positions were reversed.

But the most concerning thing stood on his shoulders—Quintella.

The girl joined the chorus, her small feet kicking excitedly against his chest with each cry for blood, each tap a hammer to his conscience, and it... terrified him. The corruption didn’t come solely from owning too much Prestige. He could see it now. It was ever-present, imbuing the air, the scent of flowers, and even the morning dew carried its taint, beading on petals like sweat on a fevered brow. It seeped into their minds like a slow-acting poison, twisting them, making them crave more luxury, more power—more corruption.

He had to find a cure, not for them. For Quintella. He couldn’t let the cheerful girl turn into a monster, not on his watch.

"Remember who you are." He covered her eyes, feeling the feverish heat of her skin. "I don’t recognise the girl who enjoys wooden dolls and dresses. Wake up, Quintella."

Her voice died in her throat, her eyes growing hazy for a moment. She tilted her head as if confused by what she had been doing. And when she spoke, Adam’s blood froze. "Did the event start yet, big brother?"

Three heartbeats passed before he could force air through his tight throat, during which he cursed the year he had missed as Orion’s disciple at the School of Astral Projection. Still, he would find the spells he needed at the college.

"It did." He said slowly, each word hissed through his clenched teeth. "The enforcers are moving."

"Let me see!" Quintella tugged at his fingers, but he didn’t let go.

Instead, his voice grew stern as he answered. "Don’t let the crowd influence you. No matter what happens, remember who you want to become, not what Brineheart tries to turn you into."

He removed his hand, revealing her confused gaze. Then, it firmed as she nodded. "I don’t understand, but count on me. I’ll work hard to become your wife."

"..." Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. Whatever, as long as it maintained her sanity.

Just as he opened his mouth to encourage her, a voice cut through the air. Both amused and stern, it instantly commanded attention. Adam closed his mouth, and silence settled.

"Welcome to this public judgment session." An enforcer stepped onto the platform, his plate armor sparkling, and the captain’s insignia on his chest drawing every gaze like a beacon of authority. "Like last time, we’ve thoroughly investigated these guilty bastards. We know everything they’ve done in the past millennia, and trust me, it’s nothing pretty. Even worse, they couldn’t fork out enough Prestige to wash their heinous crimes."

He unfurled a piece of parchment, his voice booming with examples. "Extortion, blackmailing, illegal business of artifacts or potions in the commoner district, illegal use of spells to intimidate, rob, or rape. Commissioned murder for a few." He paused, smirking. "And of course, false reports, fake testimonies, and forged evidence for all of them."

Around Adam, everyone laughed at the last string of accusations. Of course, they all did that.

The enforcer raised his fist to excite the crowd. "What sentence do they deserve?"

"Imprisonment!" A noble roared.

"Death. Kill these bastards!" Another followed.

But most screamed the same thing. "Banishment!"

"Indeed." The enforcer nodded. "Let them struggle in the untamed land of cultivators. They’ll repent by suffering, never to return to our peaceful archipelago!"

He slammed his palms, the reverberating noise mirrored by the dozen enforcers surrounding the platform.

A magical circle rumbled to life beneath the chained nobles, each symbol pulsing with spatial magic.

"No... Anything but banishment," a bruised woman pleaded.

"You’ve already taken everything from me. Just kill me, bastards!" Another roared as he tried to slam his head against the stone supporting him.

Before he could, they all vanished in a flash of blinding light in front of Adam’s constricted pupils.

The nobles cheered, and Quintella began to raise her palms before her eyes darted hesitantly between the others and the sighing Adam.

"Way to kill my mood for the college ceremony..." He turned, carrying Quintella toward the college, far from this mad Schadenfreude.