CHAPTER 495: I’LL MAKE YOU SUFFER

Blood dripped from the corner of Galen’s lips as his head snapped sideways from the man’s brutal slap. The sharp sting echoed through his skull, and for a moment, the room tilted. He spat crimson onto the floor, the metallic taste lingering as he rolled his jaw to ease the ache.

"Damn," he muttered through a half-grin, voice hoarse but defiant. "That actually hurt." He lifted his gaze slowly, eyes burning faintly beneath the dim lantern light. "Did you just call me the son of a murderer?"

The man before him said nothing at first. His expression remained composed, but his eyes—those amber shards behind his glasses—were alive with loathing.

"Well," Galen continued, his tone cutting through the silence, "from that alone, I can guess you’ve got some personal grudge against my father. ’Cause I know for a fact my mother wouldn’t hurt a fly."

The man’s lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk as he folded his hands neatly behind his back and began to pace around Galen like a predator circling prey. His voice, when it came, was calm but laced with venom.

"You really are an intelligent one, aren’t you?" he said coldly. "Yes, you’re right. I do have a grudge. Your father is a murderer—a disgusting, sanctimonious bastard who slaughtered my wife and my unborn child in cold blood. Claimed it was for the ’good of Amthar’ and the ’preservation of purity.’" His voice cracked with anger, the words dripping hatred. "Utter bullshit."

Galen’s eyes widened slightly, recognition flashing across his face. The man’s words pulled a memory from the depths of his mind—eight months ago, a royal decree had been issued jointly by his father, King Tharion of Solara, and King Valemir of the Crescent Kingdom. It had been broadcasted across both realms: a warning and a show of force. A woman accused of consorting with a dark mage was executed publicly to set an example.

He could still remember the sight—the guillotine, the cheering crowds, and the lifeless body of the woman who had once been loved by her people. It had been heralded as "justice." But to Galen, it had been nothing short of barbaric. He had watched from the balcony, powerless to intervene, his hands clenched and his heart hollow. And now, sitting before this man, he realized the husband of that woman stood right here.

The man noticed Galen’s silence and let out a dry, bitter chuckle. "Ah... so you remember," he said, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade. "From that look on your face, I take it you know who I am?"

Galen exhaled, lowering his gaze for a moment. "Yeah," he said softly, guilt flickering across his tone. "You’re the husband of the woman who was executed before hundreds of people—the one used as a symbol for that new decree my father and King Valemir shoved down everyone’s throat."

"Correct." The man’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening as his voice deepened with fury. "Your father—and that silver-haired demon who rules Crescent—took everything from me. My wife. My child. My peace." His hand trembled briefly before curling into a fist. "She was innocent. A kind soul who did nothing wrong. I devoted years serving both kingdoms, keeping the peace between them, helping their people, teaching their young. And she—she was beloved by all."

He paused, bitterness seeping into every word. "Until they found out she was carrying a child with traces of dark myst in her womb. The moment they sensed it, their love vanished. Their cheers became curses. Their admiration turned to hatred." His amber eyes gleamed with quiet madness as he stepped closer. "They branded her a sinner. And me... a monster. The dark mage they wanted to erase."

He exhaled shakily, his voice breaking with grief and wrath. "If I had been there, she wouldn’t have suffered. She wouldn’t have died like an animal in front of those hypocrites."

The man’s pacing stopped abruptly. He turned toward Galen, his expression now cold and resolved, the fury in his voice condensed into something terrifyingly calm. "But worry not, young prince. I will make sure they pay. Every single one of them."

He took a slow step forward, boots clicking against the concrete floor, his shadow stretching across Galen’s bound form. "I wanted to begin with Valemir," he said thoughtfully, "but with the Crescent Kingdom’s current security—and that newborn heir he’s hiding—it would be quite troublesome to get close. So I decided to start with King Tharion instead."

His lips curved into a sinister smile. "First, I’ll kill you. Then your little brother. Then I’ll make your sister’s death slow and agonizing. And last..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "...I’ll end your mother’s life right before your father’s eyes."

Galen’s expression hardened, fury igniting in his eyes. "You’d better leave my mother out of this," he snarled, straining against his bindings. "She’s got nothing to do with my father’s decisions. Neither do Serah or my brother. And if you’re expecting me to beg, you’ll be waiting a long damn time."

The man stopped, studying Galen with faint amusement. "You speak of innocence," he said softly. "Yet when my wife was condemned, you stood by and did nothing. You think that gives you the right to lecture me about morality?" His tone turned mocking. "Please. Spare me your noble act."

He turned toward a table nearby—one littered with tools and instruments that reeked of rust and dried blood. His fingers traced lazily along the collection until they rested upon a slender scalpel. He lifted it, turning it under the lantern light, admiring the reflection on its edge.

"Now then," he said quietly, his voice silk over steel. "Let’s begin, shall we?" He turned back toward Galen, his lips curling into a cold, deliberate smile. "Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ll make it slow. I’ll make sure you feel every cut."

He stepped closer, the scalpel gleaming between his fingers, his amber eyes alight with cruel anticipation. "After all," he whispered, leaning in until Galen could see his own reflection in the blade, "what better way to avenge the dead than by making the living beg for their turn?"

Just as the scalpel’s edge hovered inches from Galen’s skin, a voice—quiet, unhurried, and dripping with nonchalance—echoed through the air.

"Sorry for interrupting," it said, calm as still water. "But if I were you... I wouldn’t do that."

The man froze mid-motion. The room fell into dead silence, save for the faint flicker of the lantern flame. His amber eyes flicked sharply toward the source of the intrusion.

Then he heard it—a faint creak above.

His gaze snapped upward.

Perched high on one of the thick wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling, a figure sat crouched in the shadows. Cloaked entirely in black, the stranger’s form blended seamlessly with the darkness around him. The faint light from below caught only the glint of his eyes—cold, unreadable, and sharp enough to slice through the gloom. He rested both forearms casually across his knees, his posture relaxed yet deliberate, like a predator toying with the moment before the strike.

The two mercenaries guarding the door immediately raised their weapons, confusion and alarm painting their faces. Galen blinked weakly, the blur in his vision sharpening as he turned his head toward the ceiling, disbelief flickering through his eyes.

The man—Lucien Draumere—tightened his grip on the scalpel, his voice low and measured. "Who the hell are you?"

The intruder tilted his head slightly, his voice carrying an eerie calm that made the air seem colder. "Me?" he murmured, his tone almost playful. "Just someone passing through."

For a heartbeat, silence claimed the room again. Dust drifted lazily in the faint light as every pair of eyes stayed fixed on the dark figure above. The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances, their fingers twitching near their triggers.

The intruder’s gaze moved—first to Galen, bound and bloodied beneath him, then back to Lucien. A faint smile, hidden behind his mask, curved his lips.

"But," he continued softly, "I must say... it’s an honor." His voice dropped, smooth and deliberate, the weight of his words filling the still air. "To finally meet the infamous Lucien Draumere in the flesh."