Chapter 138: Chapter 137: Interrogation Under Moonlight
The echoes of battle faded slowly, like the last tremors of a storm retreating into distant mountains. Smoke no longer rose in heavy, suffocating plus; instead, it drifted in thin, wavering strands, dissolving into the cold night air as though even it had lost the will to linger. The scent of scorched earth and burnt fur still clung to the basin, a stubborn reminder of how close the convoy had co to disaster, but the violence itself had passed—at least for now.
Around the camp, recovery unfolded with quiet urgency.
Broken crates had been dragged aside and stacked into rough piles, their splintered wood forming jagged silhouettes against the flickering firelight. Guards moved through the periter with sharpened awareness, checking positions, reinforcing weak points, and casting frequent glances toward the darkness beyond the basin’s rim. The wounded had been treated where they lay, the Spirit Fairy’s lingering influence softening pain and slowing blood loss while more conventional thods followed—bandages, splints, and careful reassurances.
The students, though still shaken, had stopped trembling uncontrollably. So sat in small clusters near the central fire, speaking in hushed voices, while others remained wrapped in blankets, staring blankly at the ground as they attempted to process what they had witnessed. Fear had not left them—but it had settled into sothing quieter, heavier, and far more real.
The camp was damaged.
But it lived.
And in the aftermath of survival, a different kind of tension began to take shape—one that had nothing to do with claws or blades.
It was the tension of unanswered questions.
Of unseen enemies.
Of intent that lingered even after the attackers had fallen.
At the center of the basin, beneath a wash of pale moonlight, that tension converged on a single point.
A man knelt there.
His hands were bound behind his back with reinforced spirit chains, the faint glow of their runic etchings pulsing intermittently as they suppressed any attempt at resistance. His mask had been removed, revealing a face marked by both experience and defiance—blood traced a thin line from the corner of his lip, drying slowly against his skin, while one shoulder hung unnaturally lower than the other, dislocated during the final monts of the fight.
Despite his condition, his posture remained rigid.
His eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned those around him with a mixture of calculation and restrained hostility.
He was not a broken man.
Not yet.
Around him stood Instructor Rowan, four guards, and—at a slightly greater distance—a handful of students who had edged closer out of curiosity before being firmly ordered back. This ti, no one argued. No one lingered longer than necessary.
Because Aether had stepped forward.
And that alone was enough.
The shift in authority had not been formally declared, yet it was undeniable. Where earlier commands might have been questioned, now they were accepted instinctively. The battle had done more than secure survival—it had redefined hierarchy.
Rowan crossed his arms as he studied the prisoner, his expression stern but thoughtful.
"We can hand him over to academy law officers once we return," he said after a mont, his tone asured. "Interrogation will be more... structured there. Proper channels, official records, and—"
"He’ll be dead before sunrise."
Aether’s voice cut through the air with quiet certainty.
No emphasis.
No hesitation.
Just fact.
The guards stiffened.
Rowan’s brow furrowed as he turned his gaze toward Aether.
"You’re certain?" he asked.
Aether t his eyes briefly, then looked back at the prisoner.
"Yes."
The simplicity of the answer carried weight.
Rowan considered it carefully.
Anyone capable of organizing two separate ambushes along a guarded route was not reckless. They were deliberate. Calculated. And above all—efficient.
Loose ends were not tolerated in such operations.
If the prisoner remained silent, he was expendable.
If he spoke, he beca a liability.
Either way—
He was marked.
Rowan exhaled slowly, then uncrossed his arms.
"Then we don’t have the luxury of waiting," he said. "Do what you intended."
No further questions followed.
Trust had already shifted.
Aether stepped forward.
The moon hung high above the basin, its light pouring down in soft, silver streams that painted the scene in muted tones. It reflected faintly off the spirit chains, off the edges of broken weapons, off the subtle sheen of tension in the air itself.
Aether crouched in front of the prisoner, bringing himself level with the man’s gaze.
For a mont, neither spoke.
The prisoner studied him closely, his eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to reconcile the image before him with the chaos he had witnessed earlier.
Then he spat blood to the side.
"...Child," he said, his voice hoarse but laced with contempt.
Aether ignored the insult entirely.
"You led the strike," he said.
Silence.
"You knew the convoy structure," Aether continued, his tone unchanged.
Silence again.
"You were instructed to take
alive."
For the first ti—
A reaction.
It was subtle.
So slight that anyone not watching closely might have missed it entirely.
But Aether did not miss it.
The prisoner’s eyes flickered.
Just for an instant.
A tightening of the pupils.
A fractional pause in breathing.
Enough.
Behind Aether, Rowan’s expression hardened as he noticed the sa.
The guards exchanged quick glances.
Confirmation.
Aether leaned slightly closer, his gaze unwavering.
"If killing had been your priority," he said calmly, "you would have opened with ranged attacks. Arrows from elevation. Crossfire from concealed positions."
He gestured faintly toward the surrounding terrain.
"If robbery had been your goal, you would have targeted the supply wagons first. Disable transport, seize goods, withdraw before resistance forms."
A brief pause.
"If chaos had been the objective, you would have attacked the students. Maximum panic, minimum structure."
His voice lowered slightly—not in volu, but in focus.
"You did none of those things."
He t the prisoner’s gaze directly.
"You ca for ."
The prisoner’s lips curled into a faint, cold smile.
"And yet..." he said slowly, "...you still breathe."
Aether’s expression did not change.
"Yes," he replied. "And you still talk."
The words landed with quiet finality.
Then—
The air shifted.
A presence erged behind the prisoner.
At first, it was little more than a distortion in the moonlight—a ripple that did not belong, a shadow that moved independently of its surroundings. Then it took shape, gradually resolving into the form of the Fallen Succubus.
She did not fully manifest.
Not completely.
Instead, she hovered at the edge of perception, her figure half-ford, as though woven from smoke and silver light. Her eyes glead with amusent, her smile faint but unmistakably predatory.
The guards reacted instinctively, stepping back despite themselves.
Even Rowan’s Granite Bear let out a low, uneasy growl.
The prisoner froze.
For the first ti since his capture—
True fear entered his expression.
"...What is that?" he asked, his voice tightening despite his effort to remain composed.
Aether did not turn.
"Your mistake," he said.
The Succubus leaned closer to the prisoner, her movent fluid and unnaturally graceful. She bent near his ear and whispered sothing—soft, intimate, and utterly inaudible to everyone else present.
The reaction was imdiate.
The prisoner’s body convulsed.
His breath hitched violently as sweat broke across his brow, his composure cracking under the sudden weight of sothing unseen yet overwhelming.
Rowan watched, his eyes narrowing.
"This is interrogation?" he asked quietly.
"This is efficiency," Aether replied.
The prisoner clenched his teeth, muscles straining against the invisible pressure.
"...No imperial order..." he forced out, the words dragged from him as though each syllable resisted.
Aether’s eyes sharpened.
Not denial.
Specific phrasing.
He leaned slightly closer.
"No imperial order," he repeated. "But palace funding?"
The prisoner’s eyes widened—
And that was enough.
Aether straightened.
"That’s sufficient."
Rowan blinked.
"You extracted all that from two lines?" he asked, disbelief creeping into his tone.
"I extracted what matters," Aether said.
He spoke calmly, but the implications settled heavily over those listening.
No imperial order ant no direct command from the Emperor. No formal sanction from ministries. No official deploynt of state forces.
But palace funding—
That ant private channels.
Retainers.
Unofficial resources.
Royal factions acting independently of formal authority.
Rowan’s expression darkened.
"The Crown Prince..." he began.
"Likely," Aether corrected. "Do not assu beyond evidence."
Yet even as he said it, the direction was clear.
Lion Solvaris.
But Aether did not stop there.
He crouched again, his gaze returning to the prisoner.
"There was another team on the ridge," he said.
The reaction this ti was stronger.
The prisoner flinched—not from pain, but from surprise.
A deeper, more instinctive response.
"They weren’t yours," Aether continued.
Silence.
The Succubus smiled.
Then, without warning, she pressed a single finger lightly against the prisoner’s forehead.
The man gasped sharply, his body stiffening as fragnts of mory surfaced—uncontrolled, broken, incomplete.
"...observers..." he muttered.
"...not sa employer..."
"...searching... irregulars..."
"...humanoid..."
Rowan looked sharply at Aether.
A second force.
Separate.
Unaligned with the Crown Prince’s interests.
Watching.
Investigating.
Searching for sothing beyond simple revenge.
Two enemies.
One driven by pride.
The other by purpose.
The prisoner’s resistance shattered.
"I only take jobs!" he shouted suddenly, desperation overtaking restraint. "I don’t know nas! I get marks, routes, paynt instructions—and that’s it! Then I disappear!"
Aether studied him for a mont.
rcenaries.
Compartntalized by design.
Useful.
Disposable.
Ignorant of the larger picture.
He believed part of it.
Not all.
"Next attack," Aether said. "Where?"
The prisoner hesitated.
The Succubus’s presence lingered.
"...Third bridge," he said finally. "...at dawn."
Rowan reacted imdiately.
"Then we break camp now," he said. "We move before they can—"
"No."
The word stopped him.
Everyone turned.
"If we rush," Aether said calmly, "they scatter. If they scatter, we learn nothing."
He glanced toward the dark ridges beyond the basin.
"If we remain visibly unprepared, they commit."
A pause.
"And if they commit..."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"...we remove another layer."
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"You were already planning retaliation."
"No," Aether said.
"I adapted."
The distinction mattered.
Orders were given.
The prisoner was secured—bound to an inner wagon, guarded, and—unexpectedly—fed.
The man blinked in disbelief.
Aether did not explain.
He did not need to.
Fear spread further through those who survived than through those who died.
Let him live.
Let him speak.
Let the ssage travel.
Later, when the camp settled once more into controlled vigilance, Rowan stood beside Aether near the edge of the basin.
The moon lood large above the mountains, casting long shadows across the terrain.
"You’re taking this too calmly," Rowan said.
"A prince uses unofficial forces. A hidden faction tracks unknown targets. And sohow—you’re the center of both."
Aether looked toward the distant horizon.
"No," he said quietly.
"I’m the intersection."
Rowan fell silent.
Because that was worse.
Much worse.
Aether closed his eyes briefly, his thoughts settling into clarity.
Lion Solvaris.
Predictable.
Arrogant.
Driven by wounded pride.
And the shadow faction—
Patient.
Layered.
Observant.
Far more dangerous.
Either could be dealt with.
But not yet.
The National Championship ca first.
Power.
Visibility.
Resources.
Legitimacy.
Those would shape everything that followed.
Revenge could wait.
But when it ca—
It would not be reaction.
It would be decision.
The camp grew quiet once more.
The prisoner trembled softly in his chains.
Guards whispered in low voices, their perceptions altered.
Rowan adjusted plans.
And Aether sat beneath the moonlight, still and composed.
Because so enemies attacked the road ahead.
And others—
Built the road themselves, never realizing where it truly led.
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