In pursuit of the artifact of Taiwanese novels, .
Kariel, covered in blood, returned to his Hideout. Two people were already waiting for him in the dark room.
The Haunter sat on his haunches in the corner of the room, absently filing his nails. His black hair fell carelessly over his forehead, his face was smeared with blood, and scraps of flesh hung from his body.
Seeing this, Kariel realized that he had likely torn someone to pieces again.
As for the second person…
Kariel looked at her. The woman was unconscious. Her metallic right arm was gone, torn off at the very shoulder. Judging by the jagged wound, the Haunter had most likely simply ripped her arm out.
"Is he dead?" the Haunter asked suddenly.
"Dead," Kariel replied. "By the way, could you step out for a moment, Haunter?"
"Why?"
"You reek too much, Haunter, that is why. I believe we agreed that you would maintain your personal hygiene."
The Haunter frowned. "You are covered in blood yourself."
"Do not misunderstand me, Haunter."
With a strained smile, Kariel removed his blood-soaked cloak, threw it out the door, and, smirking, pulled up his decrepit chair and sat down.
"Any more questions?"
"..."
The Haunter said nothing more, turned, and walked out. His hearing allowed him to clearly hear everything happening in the room even from a great distance, so his presence or absence did not actually matter.
However, he still did not understand why Kariel insisted that he leave. Perhaps someday he would understand.
The rickety door closed with a creak. The smile on Kariel's face vanished instantly. His muscles relaxed, and a sense of tranquility settled on his pale face.
"It is time for you to wake up," Kariel said. "Pretending to be asleep is not the best choice."
The woman slowly opened her eyes. She was very calm, seemingly well aware of her situation.
Unfortunately, not entirely.
"So the avenging spirit has assistants…" the woman said slowly. "But you probably do not even know what your assistant has done?"
"He killed several people who deserved it."
"Before everyone's eyes, he tore apart my car, tore apart my bodyguards… And before I was forced to leave, I managed to tell those despicable bastards my name. Soon, House Skraivok will learn what happened here."
A predatory smile, full of unconcealed malice, slowly appeared on the woman's face. She described her kidnapping as a "forced departure."
How amusing.
The smile returned to Kariel's face, which had just been calm.
"Really? And to which house do you belong? To which Count?"
"You know a lot…" the woman smirked coldly. Kariel's words seemed to confirm some thought of hers.
Covered in blood, she sat pathetically on the filthy floor, but behaved as if she were the master of the situation.
At this, Kariel's smile grew even wider. He remained silent, only breathing slowly, as if plotting something.
The woman took this omen of doom for something else.
"If you do not want to be tortured for a decade, you had better let me go… You cannot escape, avenging spirit."
She looked with hatred at Kariel sitting on the chair, pronouncing his ridiculous nickname with special emphasis.
"I do not know who stands behind you, I do not know who provided you with technical support and even gave you an iron golem with primitive intelligence…"
At this point, she screamed, "But House Skraivok will find you! And your only chance to survive is to let me go from this filthy, God-forsaken place!"
Kariel finally laughed quietly.
"Iron golem… Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…"
His laughter echoed through the dark room.
"Do you truly think he is one of those killing machines created by artisans…"
"And is he not? Do not try to deceive me!"
"You are very witty, lady," Kariel said quietly. "But I cannot stand wit."
He stood up and kicked the woman without hesitation. The force of the strike was calculated perfectly: in the stomach, so that she felt intense pain but did not lose the ability to speak.
For aristocrats, this was a trifle.
They had an entrenched tradition: throwing their growing offspring into the Underhive so that gangs and commoners would hunt them. Only survivors could claim a title in the lineage.
The woman spat blood. She struggled to rise and, with her remaining left hand, struck the floor furiously. "For this, I will skin you! You wretched bastard! Who do you think you are?!"
Kariel kicked her again silently. This time, the strike was a bit stronger. Enough to inflict injury and humiliate her, but not enough for her adrenaline level to peak.
He needed her to feel fear, not to drown it out with rage.
Kariel could precisely control his strength, so he achieved this easily. This was one of the many reasons he had survived on Nostramo until now.
The woman flew back and crashed into the spot where the Haunter usually liked to sit. Two ribs were broken, and several teeth flew out of her mouth.
After a painful groan, full of humiliated rage, she rose without hesitation and rushed at Kariel, indistinctly shouting curses.
A pale hand shot out from the darkness, stopping her blind impulse and grabbing her by the neck. Feeling this real, raw power, fear finally appeared on the woman's face.
She finally understood that this so-called avenging spirit, who for the past year and a half had been killing in the Underhive with impunity, was not what they had assumed.
He was not a private soldier sent by some aristocrat before the Great Cleansing, and he was not a pre-inserted agent…
He did not give a damn about the "rules of the game" that the aristocrats knew and observed!
Grabbing her by the neck, Kariel dragged her out of the room. Meanwhile, the Haunter had already climbed onto the roof of the Hideout and, like a wild beast, sat there on his haunches, silently watching what was happening below.
And on this night on Nostramo… it was still raining.
The night was endless, but the neon lights with which the gangs marked their territories pierced the gloom, creating bizarre shadows in the sky. Acidic-stinking poisonous rain fell from the sky, and it seemed it was only intensifying.
Under the pouring rain, Kariel spoke slowly, "I suppose you are racking your brains right now, trying to understand who supports me, since I dare to do such a thing."
With her remaining left hand, the woman desperately struck his right, trying to force him to loosen his fingers. The lack of oxygen and the fact that her feet did not touch the ground robbed her of the strength to fight.
"But no one is behind me," Kariel said. "No aristocrat supports me, no house stands behind my back. Incredible, isn't it?"
With a smile, he opened his hand. The woman fell pathetically to the ground, clutching her neck and greedily gulping air, alternating breathing with heavy coughing. Kariel, without looking at her, spread his arms, enjoying the streams of rain.
Stinging pain radiated from the exposed areas of his skin, but he did not care.
He had long been used to it.
He crouched down.
"Let me tell you something, lady."
Kariel looked into her eyes and said quietly, "Not everything in this world obeys your rules."
"For hundreds, thousands of years, Nostramo has lived by your laws. The people of the Underhive lived like dogs, gnawing at each other in the dark. Gangs divided the territory, collecting taxes for you and oppressing the people."
"And you? You just sat in your palaces and enjoyed life, inventing more and more ways to indulge your depraved existence."
Kariel bared his teeth in a smile, revealing white teeth in the damp air.
"And this displeases me very much… To be honest, I am furious."
He raised his right hand, showing the woman the tattoo on his wrist. Her eyes widened sharply, and she immediately cried out a name, "Lohars!"
"You guessed correctly…"
Kariel smirked, stood up, and made an elegant courtly bow, his voice turning low.
"The last scion of House Lohars, Kariel Lohars, greets you, lady."
The woman finally let out a frightened scream and, pushing off with her hands and feet, crawled back, trying to escape. But Kariel had already lunged at her with a predatory smile.
Pieces of flesh flew.
...
"I thought you were going to interrogate her."
"Mm-hmm."
"But it seems you achieved nothing from her."
"Ah, really?"
"You did not let me kill her, but you killed her yourself."
"…Could you let me be silent for a while, Haunter?"
Kariel turned irritably and looked at the Haunter sitting in the darkness. "I am planning what to do next!"
"Oh."
Silence.
Kariel closed his eyes, but in the end, he couldn't stand it and grimaced. He turned again and asked, "You are probably curious about what that woman was talking about?"
"She called out your surname and seemed scared to death," the Haunter nodded. "Why? Did she know you?"
"No, she did not know me, but she knew this tattoo."
Saying this, Kariel raised his right hand and showed the tattoo to the Haunter.
"A bloodied knife?" the Haunter asked with bewilderment. "What could this drawing mean?"
"It means a house," Kariel smirked sarcastically. "A house that specialized in executions. Their methods were so cruel that even those aristocrats who loved torture and torment could not bear them. That is why she was afraid."
"The previous and last Count of this house bore the name Guy Lohars, also known as the 'Count-Executioner.' He was a cruel executioner, devoid of all morality and humanity, who adored killing."
"As for House Lohars… its founder was one lucky bastard. Five hundred and thirty-one years ago, he rose from the very bottom. In the aristocrats' game called the 'Great Cleansing,' he turned from a filthy gang hound into one of the oppressors."
"So you are an aristocrat too?" the Haunter asked.
"No," Kariel shook his head. "Do not compare me to them, Haunter."
"House Lohars broke the rules of the game during the Great Cleansing twenty years ago. Guy Lohars attempted to kill one of the lords and seize his domains. His actions were revealed by a traitor from his own family, and the entire house was sentenced to the ultimate punishment."
"Did they all die?"
"Yes, they all died."
"But…"
"But?"
"But you did not die."
"Yes," Kariel smiled faintly. "I was a traitor, so I did not die."
Having received the explanation, the Haunter not only did not relax his furrowed brows but, on the contrary, knitted them even tighter. "But your age does not add up… Twenty years ago, you were still a child; how could you have informed?"
"A child born in sin. A child who came into the world from the blood of victims and was fed on their flesh," Kariel corrected him softly. "The traitor was someone else, and I…"
He shook his head.
"I betrayed this entire damned class of aristocrats," he said. "To believe or not is for you to decide, Haunter. As for the truth… ha."
He chuckled quietly. "The truth has long since scattered on the wind."