Chapter 830 Purvon
Hours ago
A gasp echoed, and a man was ripped up from a vat of water. He shook violently, his hand almost instantly shooting up and ripping at his own throat.
It was only after he awoke that he barely managed to dodge to the side of his own attack. But he was still a hint too slow, his nail cutting across the side of his throat and nearly gashing an artery.
Blood drizzled out, and the man was fully awakened by the pain. And then came the confusion.
Where was he? How was he here? Wasn't he dead?
This man was none other than Drill Sergeant Veron, and he noticed far too late that he was actually very much not alone here.
It was only after his eyes snapped forward that he realized that Gregory was actually standing right before him. Well, right before the vat of liquid he was in.
Wait, was it Gregory? They looked very similar, but almost like they were closer to brothers than they were the same person.
"How did you die?" Gregory asked coldly.
He was far from the go-lucky, cheery man that Veron thought he had known. Where was the smile he always sported everywhere he went?
A cold shiver ran up Veron's spine as he felt hints of danger when he didn't answer immediately.
When had Gregory grown so powerful?
"I… I…"
"You killed yourself," Gregory finished his answer coldly. "Now tell me how."
"I… I don't know. I…" The stinging pain in his neck shook him again, and he quickly touched it to feel blood oozing down. "… All… All he did… was look at me… All he did was look at me."
"You Spawns… all have such weak and pathetic Wills. Why you didn't just accept death the first time is beyond me. What is the point of living out such an ignoble existence?"
Confusion colored Veron's face as he didn't quite understand what the man before him was talking about.
Gregory suddenly snapped his fingers, and Veron froze. Slowly, the latter's eyes dimmed until he seemed like nothing more than a puppet.
Images began to flicker in his eyes, and Gregory got a full replay of exactly what happened.
"Something is happening here… That is…"
Gregory's eyes flashed, and then came the rage.
That was the reason he had come to begin with, wasn't it? That place… he had been correct all along.
Madness.
He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails drew blood from his palm. His fury was palpable, so much so that his aura shattered the vat before him — and Veron along with it.
Gregory took a deep breath, and then another.
Then, he slowly exhaled.
If what he wanted was in Sylas' possession, then that meant things in the Amazonian Wilds should be reaching a fever pitch very soon, especially since Gregory knew exactly what Elen planned to do even though the man had kept many things close to the vest.
In this case, Sylas would have to fight the Arcane Madness soon and face the hurdle to becoming a True Madness Disciple.
This matter was more Taboo than one could put into words, so Taboo that Gregory himself hadn't even told his family about it… Not that his name was actually Gregory.
All this trouble, all this effort, so many years of planning, all for it to go up in smoke due to one moment of carelessness and a man's careless disregard for etiquette and playing nice.
It was so patently infuriating that it was a wonder Gregory was able to calm down at all.
But that, he eventually did.
That was because he knew that his rage wouldn't get him anywhere. What would get him somewhere, however, was his intelligence.
It was about time that he pushed his pawns to the middle of the table. He had prepared enough. The odds that this would come back to bite him in the ass were extraordinarily low.
With a wave of his hand, a black, corrupt flame swallowed up the entire space. All the vat, all the liquid, even a layer of the walls themselves were swallowed whole.
After he was done, he smoothed down his robes, and then his body began to shift and morph, his skin paling and a languid, almost lewd expression spreading across his face.
A slit appeared at his brow.
Then, he vanished.
When he appeared once more, he was in an empty corridor with a ceiling so tall that it was only possible to see it by looking straight up. If one tried to catch the faint sight of it by staring into the distance instead, you would strain your eyes long before you caught its faintest edge.
Gregory moved with calm, vigorous steps, but the moment he rounded a corner, his shoulders hunched, his gaze gluing itself to the floor.
Every person he passed, he nodded at their feet, not daring to make his presence too large. He wrung a hat in his hands like a lowly beggar, his posture even lower than a servant's.
However, he played his role well, not missing a beat no matter what happened or what was thrown at him until he finally reached another corridor where his gait changed once more.
He straightened up, his posture becoming that of a sickly playboy once again. He licked his lips, his eyes carrying a weird lewdness to them that made it seem like he was stripping down even the light fixtures.
And then he stepped into a new room.
This place was yet another nook in this castle, and it was hard to tell just how many of these he had… or how he managed to hide them from so many prying eyes.
In the center of this room lay a statue, and if Sylas had been there, he would have recognized it — not because it was one he had seen before, but because it was eerily similar to one he had.
And that made sense, because…
If Sylas had the Scorpion Warlord Armor…
This was the Tiger Warlord Armor.
But this was far from the most shocking thing about this matter.
Gregory's appearance changed again, this time to someone Sylas really had seen before.
[Aki Purvon]
[Level: ???]