Lord of Caldera - Chapter 289

Chapter 289: Chapter 289

“So, the Butcher is a title because he butchers people for money?” Sylas summarized, his tone dripping with contempt.

“Y-yes,” Rat-Face admitted. “It’s… easier this way. Executing nobles directly causes too many complications, but if they ‘die by accident’ during a fight among prisoners, it’s another story.”

Sylas snorted. “They’re willing to sacrifice honor for convenience. Typical scum.”

Rat-Face quickly nodded in agreement, but the sycophantic tone in his voice grated on Sylas’s nerves. “I didn’t ask for your input,” Sylas snapped.

“I-I’m sorry! What will you do with the Butcher, my lord? Surely such a wicked man doesn’t deserve to live…” Rat-Face said, a scheming smile spreading across his lips. Other prisoners glanced at Sylas with hope, their eyes betraying their eagerness to see Isaac eliminated.

Sylas tilted his head, studying Rat-Face for a moment before smirking. “Should I kill you first?”

“Wh-what?!” Rat-Face stammered, recoiling in terror.

“Why do you keep questioning my decisions?” Sylas said, his voice dangerously low. “Can’t you see I kept him alive on purpose?”

“It’s not that, I just thought—”

“Don’t think. Just stay quiet until he wakes up. I’ve got questions for him.”

The room fell silent. The prisoners’ faces turned ashen as they realized they’d misread the situation entirely. Their hope of a power shift in the cell evaporated like mist. Rat-Face, desperate to salvage his position, suddenly turned toward one of the women who had served the Butcher.

“Then let me kill her, at least!” he blurted out. “She’s been his lackey, helping him commit all kinds of atrocities—urk!”

Snap.

Sylas’s hand moved faster than anyone could react, twisting Rat-Face’s neck with a sickening crunch. His lifeless body crumpled to the floor as the other prisoners recoiled in horror.

“Anyone else have something to say?” Sylas asked, his voice deceptively calm.

“N-no, sir!” the remaining prisoners stammered in unison.

“Good.” Sylas reclined on the plush bed, pouring himself another glass of wine. With such comfortable accommodations, he figured he could afford to wait for Isaac to recover.

Roughly six hours later, Isaac stirred, groaning as he regained consciousness. The swelling on his face had subsided enough for him to see clearly, though his body still ached all over.

“I’m… alive?” Isaac muttered, disbelief evident in his voice.

“Because I let you live,” came Sylas’s voice, smooth and unyielding.

Isaac flinched, sitting bolt upright despite the protests of his battered body. The pain was overwhelming, but fear overpowered it. His head snapped toward the source of the voice, where Sylas sat casually swirling an empty wine bottle.

“You’ve recovered faster than I expected. Impressive,” Sylas remarked.

“You… you—”

“Me?” Sylas said with an arched brow.

“No, I mean… you, sir!” Isaac corrected himself hurriedly. He might have been brash earlier, but after enduring Sylas’s punishment, he wasn’t foolish enough to challenge him again.

Sylas chuckled. “Not the most satisfying title, but I’ll let it slide. For now, come here. We need to talk.”

“T-talk? About what?” Isaac asked nervously.

“For starters,” Sylas said, setting the wine glass aside, “your bloodline.”

Isaac’s face went pale. He knew immediately what Sylas was referring to and felt a cold sweat trickle down his back. The worst secret of his life had been uncovered, and there was no escaping it now.

“Well?” Sylas prompted, his piercing gaze leaving no room for defiance.

Isaac swallowed hard. Damn it. Whatever happens, happens.

With resignation, he closed his eyes and began to speak.

Isaac’s father was, by any measure, the worst kind of man. Scoundrel, degenerate, trash—none of these words seemed adequate to describe the depths of his depravity. His profession as a mercenary was a thin cover for the truth: he was a hired thug who would take on any dirty job for the right price.

Isaac had no respect for his father. None at all. Yet, there was one thing about the man that even Isaac couldn’t help but admire—his strength.

This was a man who could effortlessly kill renowned knights and single handedly decimate entire mercenary bands.

“A monster!”

“He’s not human!”

These were the cries of those who had witnessed his father’s power. They would flee in terror, acknowledging him as a warrior beyond compare.

While Isaac despised his father, he coveted that strength. And, as fate would have it, Isaac inherited it.

As he entered adolescence, Isaac’s power began to grow exponentially. His small hands could tear apart stones and uproot trees with ease. The realization of his own strength filled him with elation. For a boy with no wealth or home, his raw power became his hope for the future.

“Once I’m old enough, I’ll leave my father behind. With this strength, I can become a mercenary—or maybe even more than that.”

Mercenary work was only the beginning of his aspirations. With his extraordinary strength, surely a knight would notice him. If he worked hard, he might even become a knight himself one day. His dreams grew alongside his burgeoning power.

Then, at the age of fourteen, an unexpected stroke of fortune came his way.

“From today on, I’ll teach you swordsmanship.”

“What?”

“‘What?’ You don’t want to learn?”

“N-no, I want to!”

Out of nowhere, his father, who had always neglected him, decided to teach him swordsmanship. Isaac didn’t dare question the sudden change. He poured himself into his training, knowing that proper sword skills could determine success on the battlefield.

But his father’s generosity extended only to the lessons themselves. After their sessions, the man would vanish, gallivanting about as usual.

“At least he’s teaching me something,” Isaac thought bitterly. “I should just be glad he even remembers I exist.”

Isaac had long since given up expecting anything from his father, so there was no disappointment. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the man’s heinous behavior.

“P-please, spare me! I have nothing left to give!”

“If you’ve got nothing, then pay with your life.”

“No! I have a family! Please, have mercy!”

“Oh? Then I’ll send your family to join you.”

When not working, his father indulged in his strength, terrorizing others for amusement. He would occupy entire villages and act like a king, killing bandits and thieves in the most gruesome ways for his own entertainment.

Though Isaac didn’t consider himself virtuous, he found his father’s actions revolting.