Double Dagger Delinquent

Chapter 126 Public Execution

“Look, Kalev… I’ve seen your strength,” Iryoku said, his voice low. “If that Death Tree bastard’s as strong as that asshole king, then you should be able to handle him with your techniques. But you’ve screwed this up so many times—first attacking us, then causing this whole mess.”

Kalev’s jaw tightened. “Let me tell you something. If you’d accepted my proposal and joined my ranks back at Babel, things would’ve turned out differently. We could’ve planned it—attacked with my entire army.”

Iryoku snorted. “And why the hell would I do that? My only goal is to get back home with my women. That’s it. All you killers and monsters keep dragging me into your damn schemes, trying to take pieces of me.”

Kalev’s eyes flashed. “At the canyon, I was trying to pull you back in—use the fact Alexander was hunting you so we could bait him and spring a trap.” Fınd the newest release on novel·fiɾe·net

“Well, you came in too fast. Looked more like you just wanted revenge—or maybe to grab me for the bounty.” Iryoku sighed, shaking his head. “Either way… doesn’t matter now, does it?”

He took a breath, then asked, “Since we’re on the topic—how the hell did you learn that technique? I gotta say, it’s insanely strong if used at the right time.”

Kalev lowered a finger to the ground, tracing lines in the dirt. “I could teach you… but it’s not easy. You need perfect focus. Build up your Ruach through your sword at the exact moment, absorb the enemy’s energy, circulate it through your own flow, then deflect it flawlessly—that’s just the Parade. You repulse their strike with their own force.”

She drew a circle with a line cutting through it. “But if you Riposte right after—layer your attack on top of theirs—you deal devastating damage. Of course, I use only the energy required. No waste.” She looked up at him. “Do you really think you can learn all that in a short time?”

Iryoku frowned at the strange symbols. “Just forget about it. I can’t even use Leben or magic or whatever—let alone do all that crap you just said.”

“But you used it with that weapon back at the canyon,” Kalev said sharply. “That attack was powerful.”

“Yeah—only with that weapon. That white rope thing with the blade attached… my harpoon. It’s the only time I can use Leben at all,” Iryoku admitted.

“Then the only option,” Iryoku continued, thinking aloud, “is for you to attack Alexander directly. Provoke him into using a heavy strike—then you parry and counter. I’ll jump in right after and finish him off. That’s only if you don’t freeze up again. Or, y’know… get tired—since you seem to burn out fast.”

Kalev’s fists clenched tight, her jaw locking.

“Also,” Iryoku said, lifting the fleshy chain between them, “being stuck together like this is a huge nerf on my abilities.” He smirked. “And on yours, too.”

The catgirl hesitated, then pulled a small bistoury-like blade from her pocket—one of Sigil’s frozen enchantment tools, used for cutting demon flesh.

Iryoku blinked. “You took that from him?”

Kalev’s hand began to glow as magic coated the blade. The air around it shimmered with frost, the edge humming with restrained power. Slowly, she pressed it against the fleshy chain binding them—first her arm. Bit by bit, the living material split apart, releasing faint, wet cracks as it froze and tore.

“It’s working,” Iryoku muttered, a faint grin forming as the restraints loosened and dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

Then she did the same for him.

“Now we’re separated,” Kalev said quietly, slipping the blade back into her pocket. “Now we can fight at full strength.”

Iryoku rubbed his wrist where the chain had been, flexing his fingers, then glanced at her.

Kalev met his eyes—hesitant, her heartbeat quickening.

Iryoku raised his hand in a casual two-finger salute. “See ya.”

A faint distortion rippled around him—then he was gone.

Only a whisper of displaced wind and the faint shimmer of dust marked where he’d stood.

The sound of shifting dirt faded into silence.

Kalev stayed frozen in place, staring at the empty space before her. She didn’t even try to stop him. Her body slumped, eyes wide, then her shoulders sank. For a moment, tears threatened—but she blinked them back.

“Figures,” she whispered weakly.

Kalev crawled forward and knelt beside the small mound of dirt. Removing her mask, she bowed her head. Tears fell freely as her voice softened, trembling—her true voice again.

“I’m back… here again… the same place.” Her hand brushed the dirt. “How long has it been, Kalev? Forty years? Maybe more…”

She dug carefully into the mound until her fingers touched something smooth. A skull—worn by time. She lifted it gently, cradling it like something sacred. Her thumb traced the curve of the bone, as if she could still feel his warmth there.

Then she turned her head, eyes drifting to the mark on the cave wall—the initials carved there long ago. Her gaze lingered on them in silence.

“I kept my promise, you know… I kept fighting. I survived. I tried to lead—to become a protector, just like you. I just—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed the skull to her forehead. “Please… give me strength. Give me the courage to face that monster. Because after all this time, I’m still… still just that weak little girl who couldn’t save you…”

Her words dissolved into quiet sobs that echoed through the cavern, mingling with the faint hum of wind outside—as if the island itself mourned with her.

Night had fallen. The air was cold. Kalev gazed up at the stars.

“It’s almost winter…” she murmured, her breath fogging in the chill.

No knights patrolled nearby.

She turned and began walking toward the back of the island. The mountain trail was rough, littered with uneven stones and half-buried roots. As she moved, a vision flickered in her mind—of a well-kept path once alive with laughter. People coming and going, picking fruit, carrying baskets, smiling beneath the sunlight.

She kept walking, caught in the pull of memory, until she reached the lakeshore.

The dark water shimmered faintly under the clouds. For a moment, the moon broke free—its light washing over the rocks and sand. Then, just for an instant, the emptiness shifted: wooden huts and hay roofs appeared where nothing should be, and the faint echoes of voices and laughter drifted through the night air.

Her eyes welled up again. She sank to the ground and stared at the lake in silence.

BAROOOOOOOOOOM

Then came a deep blare of horns.

The catgirl froze. She rose to her feet, ears twitching toward the sound.

She sprinted across the mountain paths, moving swiftly through the darkness toward the city. Reaching a high cliff, she crouched low, scanning the scene below. There were no warriors or guards patrolling the mountainside—only the glow of torchlight flickering from the city center.

At the square, every human citizen had gathered. Heavy drums thundered, and the horns blared again and again, demanding obedience.

At the center, on a carriage-throne, sat Alexander the Death Tree—surrounded by naked slaves. His women played music on a raised platform, dancers moving sensually under the firelight. Alexander’s expression was carved in rage, his eyes cold and burning.

A few meters away stood Vadia and Magnus, their faces and bodies bruised and bleeding, as if they’d been beaten repeatedly. Yet both stood tall, trembling slightly, desperate not to anger their father.

In the middle of a wide platform, many of Magnus’s slaves and servants—along with several handsome men belonging to Vadia—were tied to stakes above piles of dry wood. Their terrified screams echoed through the square.

“Please, master! Save me!”

“Ahhh—no, please!”

Only Laila was spared. She stood among the performing slaves, her regal presence and beauty setting her apart. Dressed in the same dark silk that revealed her body, she sang—a haunting, sorrowful melody. It was that voice, her rare gift, that had kept her alive.

To the right of the platform, a large rusted cage held dozens of demihumans—most of them children—trembling, exhausted, and starved. On the opposite side, three fleshy orbs pulsed faintly, each containing a prisoner, motionless but still alive.

From his throne, Alexander’s deep voice rose, rumbling over the square like distant thunder. He didn’t even need to stand.

“Kill them.”

The executioners obeyed immediately. Fire flared—and the stakes erupted in flame.

Screams tore through the air as the condemned struggled to break free, but the ropes and iron held fast. The crowd watched in silence—as if burning people alive was nothing new to them.

Alexander turned to his son and daughter. “This is your punishment for allowing the prisoners to escape—and for the death of Sigil. Now I’ll have to find someone else to continue his research,” he said, his voice thick with restrained fury. “You are forbidden from taking any new slaves or servants for one year.”

His gaze shifted to Magnus. “And the woman—Laila—will serve me now. Only me. Are we clear?”

Vadia and Magnus bowed their heads, faces pale and stiff—their recent beating written across every bruise and cut.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air as the screams faded into silence. Laila’s eerie song continued behind it all—a haunting counterpoint to the horror—her voice keeping rhythm with the dancers and instruments as if she, too, were bound to the nightmare.

When the flames finally died, warriors and knights moved quickly to drag away the charred remains and restore order to the square.

Kalev watched from the shadows, her face white with horror—at what had happened, and at what was coming next.

The fleshy cocoons were hauled up and chained to wooden frames. The cage holding the demihuman children was dragged forward and positioned beside them. Death Tree knights tightened the bindings, preparing for the next execution.

Then Alexander rose from his throne. Energy crackled across his body; even the air seemed to recoil. The music faltered—and Laila’s song cut off mid-note.

“Listen to me, bastard Iryoku Taiyou—killer of Count Maximilian, my eldest son, murderer of my trusted alchemist Sigil, slayer of my knights and warriors!”

Alexander’s voice thundered, amplified by his own power, echoing across the island. “Show yourself and pay for your crimes—or these people will burn in your name!”

The words hung in the air—a challenge and a threat that rolled over the silent city.

“You think those flesh prisons will protect her? That nun?!” he roared. “Let’s see how well she fares when roasted alive… until she boils inside!”

Silence. No response.

Alexander slowly sank back into his throne and waved a hand. “Begin with the flesh orbs.”

The executioners obeyed. Flames burst beneath the three cocoons, crackling as the heat spread. Inside, the captives—Moto, Goka, and Christina—remained motionless, their faint faces visible through the pulsating membrane. They were still untouched… but for how long?

Kalev’s eyes locked on Moto and Goka’s silhouettes inside the cocoons. Memories flickered behind her eyes—two children, each alone, crying amid the ruins of separate burning cities.

Ash fell like snow.

“Big sister… where are we going?" "Where’s my mommy?”

Her breath caught. She saw herself leading them through the devastation, finding more and more children along the way—small hands clutching her torn cloak as they followed through the smoke and corpses.

“Don’t worry, kids… I’ll take care of you,” she hushed them, her voice trembling as tears ran down her cheeks.

Then she blinked—snapping back to the present.

Alexander gestured again, casually, as if ordering wine. “Now, the children. We have far too many demihuman slaves as it is. Perhaps this will draw out the killer—he seems to care for their kind.”

The children’s terrified faces pressed against the rusted bars as the executioner approached.

Then—

“Stop!”

The shout tore through the square.

All eyes turned. A lone figure stood atop a nearby building—white hair glinting under the torchlight, cat ears twitching. Kalev. Her mask was on, her posture defiant.

The guards tensed, raising their weapons. Murmurs broke through the crowd.

“Look—a demihuman!”

“It’s the one that escaped this morning!”

Panic and disgust rippled through the citizens.

Alexander’s gaze fixed on her. “Who are you? You’re not that killer, Iryoku.”

Magnus and Vadia stepped forward quickly.

“Father,” Magnus said, “that’s the other prisoner—the one who escaped with Iryoku.”

Vadia nodded sharply. “That’s right. They were chained together.”

Alexander’s face twisted with annoyance. “I don’t care about useless trash.”

A mage threw a spell toward Kalev.

Her muscles tensed. Then, in a blur, she moved—dashing forward faster than the eye could follow. She dodged the spell and the knights’ blades, snatched a sword from one of them mid-motion, and landed in front of Alexander’s throne, skidding to a halt with a surge of energy.

“I was the one who killed your alchemist,” Kalev said, her voice cutting through the air. “I cut off his head.”

She raised her sword toward Alexander. “And now I challenge you—here and now—to a duel. Or are you too much of a coward to face me yourself?”