Lord of Caldera - Chapter 286

Chapter 286: Chapter 286

“I-it’s an order from above! I don’t know the details!” the guard stammered, immediately switching to a more respectful tone.

“You could have just said that from the start,” Sylas replied, rising from his spot. He followed the guard out, where six knights stood waiting with grim expressions.

One of the knights held out a pair of restraints. “Hold out your hands,” he commanded.

“Why?” Sylas asked.

“This is a formal procedure! Even nobles aren’t exempt!” the knight shouted, his voice loud more from fear than authority.

Sylas chuckled and extended his hands. “If it’s formal, I guess I have no choice.”

The knights exchanged uneasy glances. Sylas’s compliance felt less like submission and more like a dangerous predator humoring his prey. The tension in the air was palpable.

One of the knights finally stepped forward and fastened the restraints around Sylas’s wrists. The restraints, made of black steel, were said to be ten times stronger than regular steel. Even the black lion had been unable to leave a scratch on them.

At last, the knights seemed to relax slightly. With Sylas restrained, they felt they had regained some measure of control.

“Now, move,” one of them barked.

“Let’s take it slow. I’ve been walking a lot lately, and I’m a little tired,” Sylas replied.

“Enough! That’s not our concern!” The knight’s tone carried a newfound confidence, bolstered by the sight of the unyielding black steel cuffs. The fool still thinks he’s in charge? they thought. He’s helpless now, restrained and without weapons.

“If you don’t move, then—”

Creak.

The knight’s words faltered as a strange sound came from Sylas’s restraints. Everyone froze, staring at the cuffs, which had bent slightly under Sylas’s casual twist of his wrists.

“If I don’t move, then what? Care to explain?” Sylas asked, his tone even but heavy with menace.

“…If you don’t move, it’ll waste precious time. Surely you wouldn’t want to tarnish our dignity as knights,” one knight stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I have no choice. A knight’s dignity is important,” Sylas replied, twisting his wrists again. Another creak echoed as he bent the cuffs back into their original shape, though faint marks remained from the stress.

The knights swallowed hard, their confidence rapidly eroding. What kind of monster are we dealing with? they thought. Resentment simmered beneath the surface—resentment they dared not voice.

Their ordeal wasn’t over yet, but it would soon be in someone else’s hands. They were escorting Sylas to a special chamber, where the so-called Butcher awaited.

“Let those two monsters deal with each other.”

As Sylas walked through the prison corridors, he noted his surroundings with curiosity.

“Oddly clean.”

Unlike most dungeons, where conditions worsened the deeper one went, this section was unusually well-maintained. The walls were freshly rebuilt, ventilation was decent, and even the floors showed signs of recent cleaning.

“This doesn’t feel like a dungeon. It’s more like a holding area for important prisoners.”

Sylas’s thoughts were interrupted by a commotion up ahead.

“Let go of me, you scum! Do you even know who I am?” a voice shouted.

“Shut up, traitor! You’re lucky we haven’t executed you yet!” another voice snapped.

“I’m no traitor! I served the rightful ruler of this land!” the first man protested.

A younger prisoner, clearly a knight based on his disciplined movements and physique, was being dragged forward by two guards. Sylas turned to the knights escorting him.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“A knight who served a rebel,” one of the knights replied curtly.

“What kind of rebel?”

“Well… one who… claimed to be the rightful heir to Drakenfels…” the knight trailed off, visibly uncomfortable.

Sylas smirked, piecing together the story. “Ah, he served a noble claiming Drakenfels’ succession rights?”

The knight’s silence was as good as an admission. Amused, Sylas fell in step beside the disgraced knight as they moved forward.

When they reached the final chamber, the guards shoved the knight roughly inside.

“Get in there!” one of them barked.

“You’ll regret this, fools! Mark my words!” the knight yelled as he stumbled in.

“And you—get in—” a guard began, turning toward Sylas. But before he could finish, the knights escorting Sylas sprang into action.

“Don’t interfere with our task!” one shouted.

“This isn’t your prisoner!” another snapped.

“What’s your problem? I was just—”

“He’s our prisoner, not yours! Stay out of it unless you want trouble!” the knights barked, their collective fury silencing the guard.

The guards reluctantly stepped back, leaving Sylas’s escort to handle him.

“Please, step inside,” one of the knights said respectfully.

“This way,” another added, bowing slightly.

“Thanks,” Sylas replied with a smile. He gestured to his cuffs. “But aren’t you going to remove these?”

The knights exchanged uneasy looks.

“W-wait a moment! Let me get the key…” one of the knights stammered as he fumbled to unlock Sylas’s restraints. However, the lock had been warped by the earlier bending, leaving the keyhole useless.

Sylas sighed and shook his head. “Looks like it’s broken. Guess there’s no helping it.”

Crack.

With minimal effort, Sylas tore apart the black steel cuffs, the so-called unbreakable restraints, as if they were made of paper. Every pair of eyes in the room widened in shock, particularly the two knights unfamiliar with Sylas.

“Is that… really black steel? Did someone grab the wrong cuffs? Maybe it’s just iron?” one of them muttered, his disbelief showing.

“Are you an idiot? Even iron doesn’t break like that!” the other hissed, his face pale.

Ignoring their mutterings, Sylas casually tossed the broken restraints aside and stepped into the cell. The other prisoner, still dazed, looked at Sylas as though he were seeing a ghost. The knights quickly locked the cell door behind him and left in a hurry, clearly eager to get as far away as possible.

Sylas surveyed the space. “It’s spacious,” he remarked.

The cell was indeed much larger than a standard prison cell—almost the size of a guest room in a noble’s mansion. It was an odd detail, given the circumstances.