Chapter 35: Turning the tables [1]
Veythor swayed lightly on the chain, his eyes calm, almost amused. The silence after Veythor’s words was heavier than the chains that bound him. The night itself seemed to recoil, the pale moonlight trembling over the camp as though even the heavens feared what had just been spoken, as if the shadows themselves hesitated to move.
Dasha had gone somewhere after hearing Darius’s command. Shimi was also feeling dizzy from hunger. After all, they hadn’t eaten for a long time. Veythor was very confused: how was it that he wasn’t feeling any hunger or thirst at all? His mind examined it, but no pangs of need disturbed him, only an empty focus, cold and precise.
That’s right.... ever since my mother died in my first life, everything changed around me. When my mother was there for me, I hadn’t realized the real cruelty and harshness of reality. But as she died and vanished from my life, people changed. Those same old relatives who once cherished me, who had always been good to me, started to look at me like I was the most disgusting thing in the world. To them, I was a disgusting, dirty burden that no one wanted to take. The bitter taste of betrayal lingered in memory, sharper than any wound.
Still, I stayed good. I followed morals, stayed honest. But it only made me more and more naïve. It was too late when I realized the truth. It wasn’t that the truth wasn’t in front of me. It wasn’t that I was dumb or blind. It was my heart that refused to believe and see the truth. It was my heart that was blind. I blame no one but me for that.
His thoughts struck hard against his chest. After all, this was the very heart that once caused his blindness. Now, it carried nothing. It was empty. It only had hunger now the hunger to rest in peace. And for that, Veythor must destroy everything. Each beat of his heart felt like a drum announcing vengeance, silent but relentless.
Darius remained standing, glaring at him, his heartbeat a bit heavy. No one from the tribe remained there; the onlookers had gone to sleep. Shadows stretched unnaturally, twisting over the ground like silent witnesses to the standoff.
The deadline is till tomorrow night. I must escape today.
As he murmured inwardly, a blurry image of Shimi and Raika emerged before him. Veythor smirked.
What about them? Maybe let them be the sacrifice. Maybe that is their destiny. Who knows.
He laughed coldly in his heart, the sound dissolving into the still night like ice sliding over stone.
Suddenly, Darius’s voice cut through the night like an icy blade, slicing into both the silence and Veythor’s thoughts.
"You still have time, boy. Spit the truth."
Veythor stared at him, expressionless, before closing his eyes. A low chuckle escaped his lips, echoing faintly off the trees.
"Believe it or not, I told you the truth. If you still think I’m lying... then do what you want."
"Lies!" Darius roared, his voice almost cracking. "You expect me to believe that three mere children escaped from the grip of the notorious slave trader, Diharan Bulz?"
Veythor smirked.
"There’s no reason for me to tell you anything. Even if I told you everything, nothing would change. My destiny is to die... and I’ll be waiting for that."
"Oooh, very brave words." Darius’s voice turned into a low growl. "Let’s see how brave you remain under my sword."
At that moment, Dasha returned, a thin sword gleaming faintly in her hand. She approached Darius slowly and handed it to him. His lips curled into a smile as he took it, his masked face tilting toward Veythor.
"What do you think, little brave man? Will this sword be enough to execute you? Don’t judge it by how it looks."
The tip touched Veythor’s throat. Pressure followed. A thin stream of blood trickled down his neck yet his face remained calm, almost serene, until a smile tugged at his lips.
"Even a little knife would be enough to kill me, Mr. Darius. But the twist is... you don’t really have the guts to do it."
Darius pressed harder.
"Oh really? The brave little man thinks I won’t kill him? Let’s see if you’re right."
The blade sank deeper, the wound opening wider, crimson staining the edge of his chin.
"Suppose you do succeed in killing me," Veythor said coldly. "It might give you a fleeting sense of pleasure tonight. But what will you say to your tribe chief, Lady Emata? Kill me, and you’ll have to replace me with another child from your tribe. Would you really trade one of your own for a moment of satisfaction plus earn Lady Emata’s wrath? The choice is yours."
Darius’s grip trembled. Something unseen, heavy and oppressive, seemed to crush down on him.
Then Dasha’s voice broke through. "Yes, Big Brother Darius, don’t do this! Lady Emata would never forgive you!"
Darius’s head snapped toward her. "But mother would—"
"Lady Emata isn’t your real mother, is she?" Veythor’s voice cut in, cold and merciless.
The smirk that followed shattered what was left of Darius’s composure. He stumbled back, the sword slipping from his grasp. His entire body trembled, his breath ragged and uneven. Dasha reached for him, trying to steady him, but he shoved her away and staggered toward the huts.
"Watch them until morning," he commanded hoarsely, pointing directly at Veythor. "Don’t sleep. And don’t dare untie them—especially that boy."
Dasha froze, her eyes wide, confusion swirling in their depths. Darius disappeared into a small hut, one more modest than most within the tribe.
From the chains, Veythor began to whistle. The eerie tune slithered through the forest, weaving into the night’s unnatural stillness. The silence deepened, the entire forest seeming to hold its breath until only that whistle remained, lingering like a ghostly promise. Veythor’s ambition of destroying the world remains as a fleeting dream.