CHAPTER 275: CHAPTER 275: BROTHERS

Balthor’s heavy boots echoed against the stone floor as he stepped closer. His broad shoulders were tense, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He looked down at the broken figure of his brother, chained and bleeding, and for a long moment he said nothing.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, heavy with disappointment. "So this is what you’ve become, Torwan. A murderer. A coward. Someone who turned his back on our father, on Tharvaldur, on our bloodline." His jaw tightened. "I thought... maybe, beneath all the rumors, there was still something left of the brother I once knew. But I was wrong."

Torwan gave a weak laugh, his lips curling into a sneer despite the pain. "Spare me your dramatics, Balthor. Family? Legacy? Loyalty? All worthless words. I don’t care what you think of me."

Balthor’s teeth ground together audibly. "You’ve shamed everything our people stand for. You’ve shamed me."

"And yet," Torwan rasped, his eyes glittering with mockery, "here you are, the drunkard who wasted his life in taverns, finally standing tall because someone else handed you a crown. Don’t lecture me about shame."

Balthor’s breath came heavy, his glare fixed on the man who shared his blood yet felt like a stranger. "You’ve shamed everything, Torwan. Our name. Our people. Even our father’s memory. I can’t understand why you would go this far."

Torwan smirked through the pain, his voice rasping but steady. "Why? It’s simple." He leaned his head back against the cold wall, eyes flashing with a dark amusement. "Because it’s fun. To have so many lives at your disposal. To do whatever you want, knowing that no matter what happens, you hold all the control."

Balthor’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as his fists clenched.

Torwan’s grin widened, cruel and hollow. "In the end, just as Father always wanted, I was king. Maybe not in name, but it was my hand pulling every string. The puppet wore the crown, but I was the one giving the orders. I had the power and it felt good."

"You’re insane," Balthor muttered, his voice breaking between anger and grief. He shook his head slowly, as though trying to banish the image of the boy his brother once was.

Torwan chuckled, unbothered. "Don’t act like you wouldn’t have wanted the same, brother. You were too weak, too content drowning yourself in ale while I shaped kingdoms."

Balthor’s eyes hardened. "You’re wrong. Strength isn’t in turning people into tools. Strength is standing for them, protecting them. And you—" his words came sharp, final, "—you’ve already lost that chance."

Torwan tilted his head, still grinning faintly, though his voice carried a thread of bitterness. "And what now? You’ll play the hero? You’ll fix everything the little brother ruined?"

Balthor took one slow step closer, lowering his head so their eyes met directly. His voice rumbled like stone grinding against stone. "Aye. I’ll repair everything my younger brother has broken. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure Tharvaldur recovers from what you’ve done. That’s the difference between us, Torwan. You played with lives because you could. I’ll save them because I must."

The two dwarves stared at one another in silence — not as brothers, but as enemies bound by blood.

Balthor’s shoulders sagged, the fire in his eyes dimming into something colder. He stared at Torwan for a long, painful moment before finally shaking his head.

"You’re no brother of mine," he said, voice low but firm. "Whatever you once were... it’s gone. I’ll carry the burden you left behind, but you’ll never again be family to me."

Torwan smirked faintly, though blood stained his teeth. "Good. I never wanted to be."

Without another word, Balthor turned away, his heavy boots echoing as he left the chamber. For the first time, the two brothers stood on opposite sides of a line that could never be crossed again.

The silence lingered until Nicolas stepped forward, his expression sharp. "Enough sentiment. We still need information. Are there more factories? Who did you sell to? Who else is part of this network?"

Torwan coughed, his breath ragged. "Factories... buyers... you think you’ll fix it all by asking?" His voice cracked into a chuckle — and then suddenly cut short.

Blood began to drip from his mouth. His eyes widened as a stream of crimson spilled down his chin. He gagged, coughing harder, and more blood poured out, splattering the stone floor.

Nicolas froze. "What—?"

Torwan’s body jerked violently against his restraints. His tongue swelled, dark and grotesque, bleeding endlessly until his throat filled. His voice strangled into gurgles, but he forced his head toward Noel.

Through the choking and convulsions, he rasped with a manic gleam in his eye: "I’m... not done... with you."

The blood drowned his words, and his final stare locked onto Noel as his body convulsed one last time.

Noel clenched his fists, his jaw tight. ’Crazy bastard...’

Torwan collapsed, lifeless, the pool of blood spreading beneath him.

The silence in the chamber was suffocating. The only sound was the drip of blood hitting the stone floor in uneven splatters.

Nicolas exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "Shit. He definitely had more information... and now it’s gone."

Noel stepped forward, his voice steady. "Not all of it. I interrogated him before you returned. He slipped enough." He looked Nicolas in the eye. "There are two in Valor. One still here, in Tharvaldur. And another on the islands."

Nicolas’s eyes widened for a fraction before he nodded. "That’s... enough to start with."

Noel turned then, glancing at Balthor. The dwarf hadn’t moved, his gaze fixed on the bloodied corpse of his younger brother. "How do you feel?" Noel asked quietly.

Balthor’s shoulders trembled once, but when he looked up, his eyes were firm, no tears shed. "...Like I’ve lost him three times. The first when I thought he died fifty years ago... Once when he betrayed us. And now, when he died." He paused, then added with a gruff nod, "Thank you. For telling me the truth back at the Drunker Hammer..."

Noel gave a faint nod in return, saying nothing more.

The three of them stood in silence, the corpse at their feet a reminder of both victory and unfinished business.