novellaaa Chapter 106 A Fish That Escaped the Net?
Chapter 106 A Fish That Escaped the Net?
Chapter 105 A Fish That Escaped the Net?
"Your face is the thing you care about most in this life. So I'll start with your face."
As Lorraine finished speaking, the air in the secret room seemed to freeze.
The countess gripped the chair armrests tightly, her nails digging deep into the wood grain.
She tilted her head back, trying to find some room for maneuver in Lorraine's expression.
But all she saw was calm.
A calm that scrutinizes its prey, more terrifying than rage.
"What—does that mean?"
Lorraine did not answer her.
He turned to Anna and asked a seemingly unrelated question.
"Anna, your entropy power can affect the time dimension, right?"
Anna nodded slightly.
"After the fourth level, my control over 'entropy' has expanded. In addition to accelerating the thermal decay of matter, it can also accelerate the aging process of organisms."
"To what extent exactly can it be done?" Lorraine continued to ask, her tone as if she were discussing a recipe with Anna.
Anna thought for a moment.
"If it's at full power, an ordinary person can go from youthful years to death in three seconds. But if the dosage is precisely controlled, I can—prolong this process."
"How long will it be stretched?"
"How long would you like?"
Lorraine looked down at the Countess in the chair.
The woman was staring at him with an almost crazed look, her lips trembling as she tried to say something, but fear choked her.
"Ten days," Lorraine said.
Anna nodded. "No problem."
"Ten days?" The Countess's voice shrill. "What are you going to do to me? Lorraine! I am your father's wife! I am from the Frostwolf family—"
"You are a criminal who murdered the lord's bloodline."
Lorraine crouched down to be at eye level with the Countess. The pale firelight shone from the side, casting sharp shadows on his face.
"According to the law, your crime is punishable by three death sentences. Murdering the eldest son of the lord is enough. But the death penalty is too lenient on you."
He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from the Countess's temple.
Her hair was jet black and shiny, clearly indicating that she had used a lot of good products to maintain it.
"How many years have you spent trying to look young? Ten? Fifteen?"
Lorraine's fingers traced a strand of black hair. "Alchemy Anti-Aging Cream, three hundred gold coins per month. Magic Rejuvenation Technique, once a quarter, five hundred per session. And that bottle of essence on your dressing table, transported from the Southern Territory, is more expensive than its weight in magic crystals."
The Countess's lips trembled even more violently.
"This money is enough to feed the poor in the lower city for a whole winter." Lorraine withdrew her hand and stood up. "But you don't care. You only care about that ageless face in the mirror."
"So my verdict is that Anna will give you back your time."
"Within ten days, you will slowly age. You will get older day by day. On the first day, you will notice a few more wrinkles at the corners of your eyes."
On the second day, your hair will start to turn gray. On the third day, your skin will begin to sag. The fourth day—the fifth day—"
Lorraine's voice was soft and slow, as if she were describing a sunset that was destined to come.
"On the tenth day, you will become a frail old woman. Then you will die."
The room was deathly silent.
The last trace of color drained from the Countess's face.
She jumped up from her chair, took two steps back, and knocked over the box of gold coins behind her. The coins scattered all over the floor with a clatter, but she didn't care.
"No! You can't do this! Kill me—just kill me!"
"Killing you would be pointless." Lorraine shook her head.
"Lorraine! I beg you! Give me a quick death!"
The Countess's knees buckled, and she stumbled and fell to her knees amidst the pile of gold coins, her hands gripping Lorraine's trouser leg tightly.
That meticulously maintained face was twisted and distorted; all the restraint and dignity of a nobleman crumbled at that moment.
Please.
Lorraine lowered her head and looked at her calmly.
"When you threw Anna at White Wolf Outpost, did Anna beg you to say the same thing?"
The countess froze.
Anna stood still, her expression unchanged.
But her hand clenched slightly.
Lorraine bent down and pried open the Countess's fingers, one by one, which were gripping his trouser leg.
"Anna, let's get started. The amount for the first day."
Anna stepped forward.
She knelt down, extended her right hand, and gently touched the Countess's forehead with her index and middle fingers together.
The countess froze.
A faint gray light seeped from Anna's fingertips into the Countess's skin. The light was so thin it was almost invisible, but its effect was immediate.
Three fine lines quietly appeared at the corners of the Countess's eyes.
The skin around her lips lost its full luster and became slightly dry.
Two or three strands of hair at her once jet-black temples have turned white from the roots.
Anna withdrew her finger.
"The amount for the first day."
The countess touched her face, trembling.
She touched the wrinkles.
A scream rang out from her throat, sharp as a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
She frantically rummaged through the pile of gold coins on the ground, pulled out a silver hand mirror, and held it up to her face with trembling hands.
The face in the mirror looks five years older.
Not many, just five years old.
But for a woman who loves beauty more than anything, this is worse than death.
"Not the same! No, no, no, not the same!"
The countess's hand, gripping the mirror, trembled violently, and the mirror surface flickered in the candlelight.
Lorraine straightened up and patted the dust off her trousers.
"Lock her up. Anna will come every day to increase her dosage. After ten days, if she's still alive, let her go. At that point, being alive will be the greatest punishment for her."
He turned and walked towards the door.
He paused at the threshold.
"Oh, and take stock of those gold coins and jewels. Put them into the territory's public account."
Behind me came the Countess's hysterical screams and the clinking of gold coins.
Lorraine didn't even turn her head.
The group walked back along the underground corridor. Victor followed behind Lorraine, his expression complex.
"My lord, your methods—" Victor carefully chose his words, "are ruthless enough."
"She deserves it," Lorraine said.
Victor didn't say anything more.
They came up from the basement and walked through the main hall of the inner fortress.
Many things in the hall were smashed, but the overall structure remained intact. Lorraine's gaze swept over the fallen chandelier and the half-broken stained glass window, but did not linger.
"Young Master," Anna suddenly spoke, "there's one more person whom I deliberately spared from killing."
Lorraine paused in her steps.
"Who?"
"The Grand Steward of the Countess. The one who manages the daily affairs of the inner castle." Anna spoke at a flat pace, "Back when I was in Frostwolf, he was under my jurisdiction."
Lorraine turned to look at Anna.
Anna's expression remained calm and serene, but Lorraine noticed that her left hand was unconsciously rubbing the back of her right hand—there used to be a scar there, which had been restored by the advancement ceremony, but the habitual movement remained.
"How did he treat you?" Lorraine asked.
"In winter, we were forced to kneel in the yard as punishment, until the skin on our knees froze together with the ice and couldn't be peeled off. We ate the swill that was dumped from the kitchen. If we made a mistake, they would burn the back of our hands with a red-hot iron bar."
Anna spoke in a calm tone, as if she were describing someone else's story.
But in the secret corridor, Victor's jaw was clenched so tightly it was grinding.
Even Lyra's black and gold heterochromatic eyes flashed with anger.
Lorraine was silent for two seconds.
"Ohm, scan around, where is the Grand Steward?"
Ohm's voice came immediately, "In the storeroom in the inner castle's backyard. He ran away when the shelling started and wasn't with the Countess. He's currently huddled in a corner, and his vital signs indicate he's in a state of extreme fear. His heart rate is 140, his blood pressure is high, and he shows signs of mild incontinence."
"take me."
The storage room wasn't far away; it was in a low building behind the main building.
Anna pushed the door open forcefully.
The door slammed against the wall with a loud bang, and a scream came from the storage room.
A short, stout middle-aged man huddled behind a pile of dilapidated furniture, trembling like a leaf.
The moment he saw Anna, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
"Anna?!"
Anna didn't speak, she just stood in the doorway, the pale firelight shining through her back, casting a long shadow of her into the storage room.
The head steward tumbled out from behind the pile of furniture with a "plop" and crawled to Lorraine's feet.
"My lord! My lord, spare me! I was blind and foolish! I was blinded by greed!"
He lay face down on the ground, his forehead slamming heavily against the stone floor with a dull thud.
Once, twice, three times.
Blood quickly seeped from his forehead, smearing his face with dust and tears.
"My lord! I am willing to offer up all my possessions! Everything! Not a single copper coin will be left behind!"
The Grand Steward pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket, held them high above his head, and said, "My savings of twenty years—gold coins, gems, and three bottles of magical essence smuggled from the Southern Territory—are all yours in the inner fortress cellar! I only beg you, sir, to spare my life!"
Lorraine looked down at the fat man lying on the ground and smiled.
"Even if I kill you, your property will still be mine. What do you have to offer in terms of terms?"
The chief steward's body stiffened for a moment, then trembled even more violently.
"My lord—my lord, have mercy—the state—" However, Lorraine changed the subject.
The chief steward suddenly raised his head, a glint of desperate hope flashing in his eyes.
I won't kill you.
The head steward gaped, unable to believe his ears.
Lorraine crouched down, grabbed the head steward by the greasy collar, and brought his face close to hers.
"You will live the same way Anna did before, starting today. You will kneel in the yard in winter, eat swill, and have your hands burned with a red-hot iron bar if you make a mistake."
The chief steward's eyes were blank.
"Weren't you quite good at managing people?" Lorraine released his grip, letting his face slam back to the ground. "Now it's your turn to be a slave. How long you live is up to fate."
The chief steward lay sprawled on the ground, his body looking as if his bones had been removed.
Five seconds later, he slowly and laboriously pressed his forehead back onto the stone floor.
"Thank you—thank you for your mercy, my lord."
The voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, but it was definitely a thank you.
Lorraine stood up and refused to look at him again.
"Victor, have two men keep an eye on him. Start today."
"Yes, ma'am."
Lorraine stepped out of the storage room and looked up at the gray sky.
The sky over Frostwolf City finally quieted down.
There was no gunfire, no shouts of battle, only the low whistling of the wind as it blew through the ruins.
"Let's go." Lorraine straightened his collar. "We still have important business to attend to."
a■8na Eye Frost Wolf City Lower District.
The alley deepest in the slum was narrow and dark, with the buildings on both sides crookedly squeezed together, almost blocking out the sunlight overhead.
Melted snow dripped from the eaves, mixing with mud and water to form murky streams on the stone path.
A young man dressed in coarse linen clothes emerged from the alleyway.
He kept his head down, his hat brim pulled low, his face buried behind his upturned collar, and walked slowly through several corners before finally disappearing in front of a hotel whose sign was no longer legible.
Percival closed the door, bolted it, and leaned against the door, panting heavily.
The room was small, containing only a wooden bed that was barely big enough to lie on and a table with a missing leg.
The window was half-blocked with tattered rags, and the light that leaked in drew a crooked bright spot on the ground.
Percival walked to the window and cautiously peered out through the gap in the cloth strip.
There was no one in the alley.
He breathed a sigh of relief, took off his hat and threw it on the bed, then sat down.
After the envoy removed the transformation spell, his face returned to its original appearance.
A face so ordinary that it would be easily lost in a crowd.
He didn't have Lorraine's well-defined features; he had no sharp angles or edginess, and his dull eyes were like two pebbles mixed in with sand.
This face used to be his greatest shame.
But now it has become his only camouflage.
Percival gripped his hat tightly, his knuckles turning white.
Seeing that things were beyond repair, he fled from Frostwolf Castle and went into hiding under an assumed name.
Percival bit his nails, the same thought repeating in his mind.
Lorraine was unaware of his existence.
He was certain of this; all those in the know had been killed.
Lorraine was unaware that someone was parading around Frostwolf City with his face on their person.
But the problem was that Percival suddenly stood up and paced back and forth in the small room.
The Countess knew.
What if Lorraine interrogates the Countess?
What if the Countess betrayed him to save her own life?
Percival's pace quickened, his coarse linen shoes scraping against the wooden floor with a harsh sound.
"She won't," he murmured. "She won't betray her own son. She won't—"
But he himself didn't believe that statement.
He knew his mother all too well. The Countess cared about only two things in her life: power and face.
If betraying him could give her a chance to survive, she wouldn't hesitate for a second.
Percival stopped, braced his hands on the broken table, lowered his head, and breathed heavily.
He wanted to run away.
But where can we run to?
Before the snow season was over, a sudden and unexpected event swept across the entire snowfield.
It takes seven days to travel from Frostwolf City to the nearest territory, with no supply depots, no inns, and no protection from the demon fire along the way.
With his mortal body, leaving the city would be suicide.
Then we'll have to stay in the city.
Stay in the city and pray that Lorraine will never know that a man named Percival once lived with his face for several months.
Percival slowly sat back on the bed, his back against the cold stone wall.
A distant commotion drifted in from outside the window; judging from the accents, it was the commoners in the lower city discussing something.
He pricked up his ears.
"—The people from Babel Tower have come out—it seems like they're arresting people over in the inner fortress—"
"Who are you arresting?"
"I don't know, I heard they arrested officials and church people. An old man named Wang who sells vegetables saw a white flame shoot down from the sky and go straight into the church."
"White fire?"
"Indeed. None of those officials who did wrong escaped. Tsk tsk, that new lord is really something... 'Shh! Keep your voice down! Someone might hear us!'"