Chapter 42: Collecting the Loot
After twenty minutes of torture, Arthur stared at the messenger, whose body and face were covered in bloody wounds. The messenger’s eyes were unfocused, barely clinging to consciousness. His body trembled uncontrollably, and with the last remnants of his strength, he muttered and cursed.
"You’re a fake... a fake... just a fake, how?"
"You’ll die... they’ll avenge me... you’re just a fake..."
"You’ll die, just wait until the real Arvan comes."
Arthur continued staring at him in silence for a moment, listening to his mutterings with a trace of sorrow. In the end, he sighed.
"Torturing you wasn’t easy for someone like me... don’t worry. I’ll end your suffering now."
Slowly, the roots receded from the messenger’s chest. Arthur then stabbed him in the heart.
The messenger’s body froze. With the last of his strength, he raised his head and looked into Arthur’s eyes—and there, he saw an expression of pity, filled with sorrow. Unable to speak, unable to comprehend how a cunning tyrant disguising himself as a nobleman could show such a contradictory expression, the messenger died, his heart filled with burning rage.
Arthur pulled out the sword and took a step back, exhaling deeply.
Huff!
"I’m still of the same opinion... the evil tyrant persona doesn’t suit me."