Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 90: ’Do You?’

The air in the dungeon felt heavier than before, thick with damp rot and sothing unseen, sothing insidious. It pressed down on Florian’s shoulders as he followed Lancelot and the knights deeper into the dark.

Each step echoed against the stone, the sound swallowed almost imdiately by the oppressive silence. The flickering torches lining the corridor cast long, writhing shadows along the walls—shadows that seed to stretch toward them like grasping hands. The further they walked, the colder it beca, the air turning stale, suffocating.

Behind him, Heinz and Lucius moved in unspoken unison, their presence a silent warning. Neither spoke, but their tension was palpable. This was not a place any of them wanted to be.

Lucius finally broke the silence. "Are we truly certain this is a good idea?" His voice was calm, asured, but Florian caught the faint strain beneath it.

"The rogue seems willing to talk," Heinz replied, his tone clipped. "But only if it’s Florian who speaks to him."

That only made the knot in Florian’s stomach tighten.

’Why ? Why now?’

He didn’t let the uncertainty show, keeping his expression neutral. Even Lancelot, usually composed, seed uneasy. Florian could sense it in the way his steps were sharper than usual, the rigid set of his shoulders.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel. Nerves? Anger? Maybe even fear?

But as they reached the iron door, he realized he felt none of it.

The heavy door groaned as it swung open, revealing the man inside.

Arthur was slumped against a chair, chains biting into his wrists and ankles, holding him in place. His body was marked with bruises, a deep cut along his cheek still fresh. Dried blood crusted at his temple. And yet—despite his injuries, despite his situation—he was smirking.

The mont Florian stepped inside, Arthur let out a low, breathy chuckle.

"Well, well... color surprised. You’re still alive, Your Highness."

His voice was hoarse, but the amusent in his tone was unmistakable.

Florian t his gaze, head tilting slightly. His own voice was steady when he spoke. "It takes a lot to kill ."

Arthur laughed—a short, sharp sound that scraped against the silence like a blade on stone. The others remained still, watching. Waiting.

"You wanted to talk," Heinz cut in, his tone flat. "Florian is here. Speak."

But Arthur didn’t even glance at him. His attention was fixed solely on Florian, his dark eyes gleaming with sothing unreadable.

"You already know, don’t you?" he mused, voice laced with sothing between mockery and intrigue. "That only Charles knew the information you’re looking for? You’re not getting anything from ."

Lancelot moved before anyone else could react.

A sharp yank—the sudden, sickening sound of hair being wrenched back—Arthur’s head snapped upward as Lancelot grabbed a fistful, forcing his gaze higher. Arthur grunted, but that smirk didn’t falter.

"Then what was the point of calling for the prince?" Lancelot’s voice was low, ice-cold. "Did you just want to waste our ti?"

Florian watched the scene unfold, but to his own surprise, he felt nothing.

No unease at the violence. No disgust at the cruelty.

Just... nothing.

His heart beat steady, his breathing slow. It should have unnerved him, this emptiness—but it didn’t.

Arthur grinned through the pain, his voice raspy yet amused. "No, no. I was just curious." His gaze flickered over Florian, sothing dark gleaming behind his eyes. "I wanted to see if I finally broke the unbreakable prince. But look at you... still standing, still composed. It’s eerie, you know? Almost inhuman."

Florian didn’t flinch. Didn’t react at all.

Arthur chuckled again, the sound scraping, hollow. His next words, however, struck like a blade between the ribs.

"I even killed Levi just to see if it’d crack you."

Florian’s breath stilled.

The air in the dungeon seed to thicken, pressing down on his chest, making it harder to breathe.

Lucius and Heinz exchanged sharp glances, their unease shifting into sothing colder—sothing wary.

"...Levi?" Heinz finally asked, his brow furrowing.

Arthur laughed, louder this ti, as if the re question was amusing. He ignored Heinz entirely, his gaze locked onto Florian, dark and glinting with sothing Florian couldn’t quite na.

"You forgot about him already?" Arthur tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointnt. "Cold. But I suppose that’s expected from a royal." His smirk widened, curling at the edges like a blade ready to cut. "Levi—the rogue who helped you. The one who gave his life for you. The one you didn’t even think to rember when you spoke to your dear king."

Florian’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.

A flicker of sothing—rage, guilt, sothing else entirely—clawed at his ribs, threatening to surface. He shoved it down, burying it beneath the sa empty composure he had always worn. But Arthur saw it—sensed it.

"Oh? That struck a nerve?" Arthur taunted, licking at the blood on his split lip, eyes alight with cruel amusent. "Did you ever bother wondering why he was a rogue in the first place?"

Arthur leaned forward as much as the chains would allow, his voice dropping just slightly, the mockery never fading.

"He had a sister, Florian. A sick, dying sister, wasting away in the Village of Forgotten Waters. He turned against the crown to get her the dicine she needed." Arthur scoffed, the sound edged with venom. "And guess what? That village? It’s just one of hundreds, left to rot under your owner’s rule."

The words struck harder than they should have.

Florian’s breath faltered for a fraction of a second.

’This... wasn’t in the novel. Was it? Was there sothing like this? I knew Heinz neglected his duties, but this...’

The weight of it settled in his chest, cold and heavy.

Before he could respond, before he could even think of what to say, Lancelot’s patience snapped.

His fist connected with Arthur’s face in a brutal strike. A sickening crack echoed through the cell.

Arthur’s head jerked to the side, blood splattering onto the stone floor.

But he laughed.

Low, rasping, hoarse—choked with blood, but genuine.

"Enough gas!" Lancelot hissed, his voice like a blade against stone. "Tell us what you know!"

Arthur spat blood to the side, red staining his teeth as he grinned up at them. "Sure," he rasped. "But let ask sothing first."

His gaze flicked back to Florian, eyes dark, calculating.

"Did you know, Your Highness," Arthur murmured, voice dipping into sothing almost conversational, "that Lancelot and his fellow knights have killed countless so-called criminals?" His smirk sharpened. "And not just criminals—people who only fought for their rights. Citizens of this kingdom."

Lancelot moved to strike him again, fury crackling through his stance.

But before his fist could connect, Florian lifted a hand.

"Stop."

Lancelot hesitated, his glare burning into Arthur. But he obeyed, lowering his arm.

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Florian t Arthur’s gaze, his own expression unreadable. "Why are you telling this?"

For the first ti, Arthur hesitated.

It was subtle, a barely-there flicker in his eyes, a slight falter in his smirk. But it was there.

Then, just as quickly, he recovered, grinning like the devil himself. "Because, as much as I despise you, you seem like the only one with a functioning brain."

He leaned forward, chains clinking softly, his voice dipping into sothing quieter, sothing almost conspiratorial.

"What happened to you? That’s just the beginning. This wasn’t just a simple kidnapping. The people are mad, Little Prince. And they will stay mad."

A slow, crawling unease curled through Florian’s veins.

Arthur let the silence fester for a mont before continuing, his smirk stretching wider, more sinister.

"And the only thing I know about our boss?" He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming. "They’re mad too. The kind of mad that doesn’t end until everything is burned to the ground. The ruthless and neglectful king. The nobles. The royal family."

The weight in the room shifted.

The air felt suffocating, thick with sothing unspoken.

Arthur studied Florian, and then—almost lazily—sighed. "And I don’t know why, Florian, but for so reason?" His grin widened, teeth stained red. "They really, really hate you."

A sharp, icy silence filled the space.

Sothing coiled in Florian’s gut, sothing tight and unreadable. He had suspected as much. But hearing it aloud, spoken with such certainty, sent a slow, creeping unease through his spine.

"And you?" Florian asked, his voice careful, asured. "Where do you stand?"

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "?" His eyes glead with sothing Florian couldn’t quite na. "I’m just a pawn, sa as you."

Then, almost casually, he sighed. "But at least I know the ga being played."

He grinned, sharp and cruel. "Do you?"