Chapter 47: Wrath of the Count

The air inside the underground facility was thick with smoke and blood. Shadows danced along the cracked stone walls, flickering in the dying light of shattered lamps. The stench of burnt flesh mingled with the metallic tang of spilled blood, creating an atmosphere that was both suffocating and electric with dread.


Count Vareon Faulmont stood frozen in the center of the chaos, his breath uneven, his fingers trembling as he watched the swirling portal vanish into nothingness. The afterimage of its violet and black light still burned behind his eyes, mocking him with the memory of escape.


Gone.


The dragon—his most valuable experimental material, the one he had subjected to countless procedures, the key to his greatest ambitions—was gone.


And with her, the masked intruder. That wretched, infuriating shadow who had slipped through his fingers, who had undermined months—years—of careful planning with a single act of defiance.


The realization sank in like molten iron, burning away the last vestiges of composure. A low, animalistic growl built in his throat, growing louder until it erupted in a wordless scream. His aura flared wildly, a tempest of raw power that cracked the stone walls and sent terrified lab assistants sprawling for cover.


Then—


BOOM!


A wave of destruction exploded from him, obliterating the nearest creatures. The monstrous abominations he had so painstakingly created—Korvax, his army of living weapons—were reduced to mangled flesh and broken limbs in an instant. The survivors cowered, their grotesque bodies trembling under his murderous gaze.


“DAMN IT!” he roared, his voice echoing through the labyrinthine corridors. His gauntlet-clad fist slammed into the ground, sending debris flying and shattering a table laden with alchemical instruments.


The nearest lab assistants flinched, shrinking back as if hoping to become invisible. One particularly unfortunate mage hesitated a moment too long, his eyes wide with terror.


Vareon’s gaze snapped to him, and in that instant, the room seemed to freeze. The Count’s eyes glowed with unrestrained fury, and the mage took a trembling step back.


“You incompetent filth!” Vareon snarled, his voice a razor’s edge. He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, his hand shooting forward to grip the mage’s throat.


“L-Lord Vareon—” the mage choked, clawing at the Count’s fingers as his feet left the ground.


“Why didn’t you release the Korvax earlier?! You had one job!” Vareon’s grip tightened, his knuckles whitening with effort. The mage’s eyes bulged, his face turning a mottled shade of purple.


“P-please…! I… we didn’t have orders…”


CRACK.


The man’s body went limp as Vareon crushed his throat with ease, tossing the corpse aside like discarded waste. The other mages took an instinctive step back, their faces pale with terror.


Vareon exhaled sharply, forcing himself to regain composure. His fury hadn’t subsided, but mindless destruction wouldn’t undo his failure. He straightened, rolling his shoulders, and swept the room with a cold, calculating glare.


“The rest of you, get back to work,” he spat. “If I see another mistake, you’ll wish you died instead.” His voice was cold, controlled, and terrifying.


The mages scrambled away in fear, tripping over each other in their haste to obey.


Just then, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. One of his mercenaries arrived, panting heavily, sweat pouring down his face.


“Lord Vareon! We found Baron!”


Vareon’s head snapped toward the man, his expression darkening further.


“Oh? That traitorous bastard finally decided to crawl out of whatever hole he was hiding in?”


The mercenary smirked, emboldened by the Count’s attention. “We caught him trying to flee the territory. He’s begging for mercy.”


Vareon chuckled. It was a cruel, humorless sound. “Mercy? Let’s hear what he has to say first.”


Baron was on his knees, his face drenched in sweat and tears. His arms were restrained by two mercenaries, and his body was already covered in bruises from his rough capture. The torchlight cast grotesque shadows on his features, highlighting the terror etched into every line.


“P-please, Count!” Baron sobbed, his voice cracking. “I-I was forced to— I never meant to betray you!”


Vareon crouched in front of him, tilting his head with mock curiosity. He studied Baron’s face as if examining an insect pinned to a board.


“You expect me to believe that?” he asked, his tone almost amused.


“I swear! The masked intruder—he tricked me! H-he was too strong! I had no choice!” Baron’s words tumbled out in a frantic rush, desperation making his voice shrill.


Vareon sighed dramatically, as if disappointed by the performance.


“You see, Baron, there’s something about betrayal that I just can’t stand. Especially when it comes from a rat like you.”


Baron paled, his lips trembling. “N-no, wait! I can be useful! I know things! I’ll tell you everything—!”


Vareon’s lips curled into a smirk, the expression cold and predatory. “Oh, I know you will. The difference is, you won’t get to decide how.”


He turned to the mercenaries, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Extract every bit of information from him. I don’t care how.”


Baron’s eyes widened in pure horror. “NO! NO, PLEASE—!!”


The mercenaries dragged him away, his screams echoing through the halls. The sound was raw, animalistic, a symphony of agony that reverberated off the stone.


Vareon didn’t bother to watch. He already knew how this would end.


Baron’s screams tore through the halls, growing weaker with each passing moment. The mercenaries were thorough—pain was their language, and Baron had no choice but to listen. They worked methodically, breaking him down piece by piece, until all that remained was a whimpering shell.


At some point, his struggles ceased. His body trembled, his voice barely a whisper. His bloodshot eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, empty of resistance.


A broken chuckle escaped his lips. “So this was your plan from the start…” His voice was hoarse, barely above a breath. “Just… what did I do to deserve this?”


No one answered. The mercenaries had no interest in his regrets. Vareon had already turned away, uninterested in the fate of a traitor.


Baron’s last bit of hope crumbled into nothing.






Unbeknownst to them, a pair of keen elven eyes with red observed everything from the shadows. Hidden within the maze-like tunnels, an elf scout remained still, heart pounding as she witnessed Baron’s agonizing fate.


This was no longer masked boy.


Vareon’s operations were bigger than expected. The dragon, the experiments, the tortures—it was more horrifying than any rumor suggested.


The elf clenched her fists, bile rising in her throat. She pressed herself deeper into the shadows, forcing herself to remain silent as Baron’s screams faded into pitiful sobs.


But she had seen enough. She’d watched, heart pounding, as the masked intruder—identity still a mystery ( to everyone -- thalos, girls,vareon) —had fought his way through a horde of Korvax, the black-scaled dragon at his side. She’d seen the dragon, battered and barely standing, tear open a swirling portal of violet and black. She’d seen both vanish into it, the masked figure’s movements sluggish, blood trailing behind him.


And she’d seen Baron Thalos dragged before the Count, then hauled away for interrogation—his fate sealed.


She had to get out. She had to warn the others.


Moving with the silent grace of her kind, she slipped away, her footsteps barely a whisper against the cold stone. Every sense was alert, every nerve on edge. She knew the price of discovery in this place.


She paused once, glancing back at the flickering torchlight and the distant echo of cruelty. Her jaw set with grim resolve.


Her comrade had to know what was happening here—and more urgently needed to know the masked intruder and the dragon had escaped, but were badly injured and vulnerable. They had to find them before Vareon’s hunters did. And Baron Thalos? He was as good as dead.


Silently, she vanished into the labyrinth, a ghost among the dead—bearing news.


-----------
Days passed.


Vareon’s fury did not abate. If anything, it grew sharper, colder, more dangerous with each report of failure.


His forces scoured every possible hiding place, yet the masked intruder was nowhere to be found. His rage grew with each passing moment. His mercenaries reported nothing. His spies found no traces.


The facility itself became a place of dread. The staff moved in terrified silence, flinching at every sound, every shadow. The Count’s mood was a storm, unpredictable and deadly.


In the privacy of his chamber, Vareon paced like a caged beast. The walls bore the scars of his temper—deep gouges, shattered glass, bloodstains from those who had failed him one too many times.


He replayed the escape over and over in his mind, searching for the moment he could have changed, the decision he should have made. Each time, he saw only his own failure.


He sat in his chamber, fingers digging into the armrests of his chair, eyes burning with hate.


“Just where the hell did you go…?”


He stared at the maps spread across his desk, the lists of names, the reports from every corner of his territory. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.


He wanted blood. He wanted revenge.


But for now, there was nothing he could do.


Little did he know—


The masked person was far beyond his reach.


For now.






To be continued...