Chapter 57: Terrible Situation
At most...
He had remained indifferent.
But now...
Cole’s thoughts became increasingly heavy.
Perhaps everything had been different from what he had assumed.
Perhaps Markovich had simply been waiting.
Waiting until Cole’s father’s disappearance was completely confirmed.
Waiting until there was no longer any reason to maintain the pretense of family affection.
And now...
The moment had finally arrived.
Cole’s gaze gradually became colder.
If Markovich truly stood behind this...
Then the situation was far more dangerous than he had imagined.
Suddenly, Cole felt his entire body sink downward, as though an invisible mountain had been dropped onto his shoulders.
The mere thought of Markovich Saint openly turning against him caused a suffocating pressure to settle deep within his chest. That man was the second-most powerful figure on the physical path in Blessed Moon City, a terrifying existence standing far beyond anything Cole could currently contend with.
If someone of that level truly wanted him dead...
Cole wasn’t confident that he could even walk out of the Saint Family compound alive.
His thoughts rapidly changed direction.
What had initially been a simple mission to return to the Saint Family and save Trisha had suddenly transformed into something far more dangerous.
This was no longer merely a rescue mission.
It had become a battle for survival.
Cole’s eyes quietly swept across the surrounding guards.
The weapons.
The formations.
The powerful auras.
The sheer number of warriors surrounding him.
For the first time since entering the compound, Cole completely abandoned the thought of immediately resisting.
There was no point.
Not yet.
With all these thoughts running through his mind, Cole slowly lowered his hands and allowed the guards to approach.
Cold metallic chains quickly wrapped around his wrists.
Clink.
The sound of the chains locking into place echoed through the courtyard.
Cole didn’t resist.
He simply stood there quietly, his expression impossible to read.
Seeing this scene, Amorpheus couldn’t help but click his tongue.
"Tch..."
"Not so stubborn after all."
A trace of disappointment appeared within his eyes.
For some reason, he had been looking forward to seeing Cole resist.
He had imagined this scene countless times.
Cole would refuse to surrender.
He would attack the guards.
Then...
Amorpheus would personally step forward and crush him beneath his feet.
He wanted to see the arrogance disappear from Cole’s face.
He wanted to see the same person who had received everything he had ever desired reduced to nothing.
Because Amorpheus hated Cole.
He hated him to the very depths of his heart.
And the reason was simple.
Amorpheus was clearly more talented.
From childhood, his cultivation speed had been superior.
His understanding was superior.
His combat talent was superior.
He had worked harder than Cole.
He had achieved more than Cole.
Yet...
Whenever the Saint Family had important resources to distribute...
They somehow always ended up in Cole’s hands.
The good-for-nothing brother received the best resources.
The useless heir received the family’s attention.
The person everyone considered trash continued sitting on a mountain of opportunities that Amorpheus could only dream about.
No matter how much talent Amorpheus displayed...
It was never enough.
Every time he complained about this unfair treatment, he would look toward his father with frustration.
He had expected his father to understand.
To acknowledge the injustice.
To finally tell the elders to stop wasting resources on Cole.
But Markovich never did.
He would simply remain silent.
Those sharp eyes would calmly fall upon Amorpheus, without anger or sympathy.
Then...
He would always repeat the same sentence.
"When power speaks..."
"...reason takes three steps back."
At the time, Amorpheus didn’t understand.
How could his own father fail to see what was happening?
How could he willingly watch his talented son receive less while wasting precious resources on a useless brother?
Wasn’t that unfair?
Wasn’t that ridiculous?
But as the years passed...
Those questions slowly transformed into resentment.
Resentment became hatred.
And hatred...
Eventually became something far darker.
Amorpheus began to hate not only Cole...
But also Cole’s father.
The father and son became the source of everything he believed had been stolen from him.
Every opportunity.
Every resource.
Every moment of recognition.
Everything he believed should have belonged to him.
The hatred continued growing until it reached a point where Amorpheus was willing to take matters into his own hands.
To eliminate them...
He had even contacted that organization.
At the time, he had been absolutely certain Cole would die.
There was no reason to believe otherwise.
Everything had been arranged perfectly.
The attack should have ended Cole’s life without leaving behind any trace connecting it to him.
Yet...
That bastard survived.
Not only did he survive...
He somehow became even more troublesome.
His strength had increased.
His confidence had increased.
It was almost as though the heavens themselves were protecting this useless piece of trash.
Every time Amorpheus thought Cole was finally finished...
Cole somehow returned.
Alive.
Stronger.
More dangerous.
It drove Amorpheus almost insane.
But then...
An opportunity finally appeared.
That uncle of his...
Markovich’s brother...
Disappeared.
The entire Saint Family had been plunged into grief.
People cried.
Funeral preparations were made.
The family mourned the loss of another important member.
Everyone wore solemn expressions.
Everyone...
Except Amorpheus.
While the entire family mourned...
He was the only one celebrating.
Deep within his heart, he knew...
The shackles that had restrained him for years had finally disappeared.
And now...
The trash he had hated for so long was standing directly before him.
Captured.
Chained.
Completely surrounded.
Amorpheus’s lips slowly curled upward.
This time...
There would be no escape.
Soon, Cole was dragged toward the open execution stage at the center of the Saint Family compound, surrounded by heavily armed guards on every side.
The vast square was packed with members of the Saint Family. The inner members stood closest to the stage, while elders who normally maintained dignified and unreadable expressions watched from their elevated seats. Yet today, even those aged faces were filled with solemnity and killing intent as their gazes remained fixed upon the lone figure struggling against the heavy chains.
And then...
Cole saw her.
Trish.
His pupils contracted sharply.
At the center of the stage, a thick iron ring had been driven deep into the ground. Trish’s frail body was bound to it with heavy chains, forcing her to remain kneeling against the cold stone.
Her face was as pale as paper.
Her clothes were soaked in blood.
Her once-neat maid uniform had been reduced to torn pieces, with dark crimson stains covering almost every inch of the fabric. Her long hair was disheveled, strands sticking against her cheeks and forehead because of the sweat and blood covering her body.
Yet what truly made Cole’s expression change...
Were her hands.
If someone looked carefully, they could see countless tiny black worms writhing beneath the skin of her palms.
They were thin.
Narrow.
Almost like strands of black human hair moving beneath transparent skin.
Every few seconds, one of them burrowed deeper into her flesh, disappearing beneath a swollen vein before another slowly emerged somewhere else.
Puchi!
A tiny stream of blood trickled down her palm.
Trish’s fingers trembled violently.
Her entire body occasionally shuddered from the unbearable pain.
Yet...
She didn’t scream.
She didn’t beg.
She didn’t even look toward the people surrounding her.
Her eyes remained lowered, her breathing weak and ragged as she endured the torture silently.
Every moment...
Another wave of agony traveled through her body.
It was pain that an ordinary person could never imagine enduring.
Yet somehow...
Trisha continued holding on.
Because there was only one thought occupying her mind.
Young Master...
Wherever you are...
Please...
Don’t return to the Saint Family.
Her lips trembled faintly.
Although no sound escaped them, the prayer repeated endlessly inside her heart.
Please don’t come back.
Please...
Don’t return for me.
She knew exactly what would happen if Cole returned.
She knew the Saint Family would never spare him.
And she would rather endure any amount of pain...
Than become the reason for his death.
Unfortunately...
Her prayers were destined to go unanswered.
Because the person she desperately wanted to stay away...
Was already standing beneath the execution stage.
Above the stage stood a lone figure.
Markovich Saint.
The current Patriarch of the Saint Family.
And one of the strongest physical-path experts in the entirety of Blessed Moon City.
His tall figure stood completely motionless, dressed in a dark ceremonial robe that fluttered gently beneath the night breeze.
His face remained cold and stern.
There wasn’t the slightest trace of emotion within his eyes.
Yet the invisible pressure radiating from his body made the surrounding air feel heavy.
Even the powerful elders sitting nearby remained quiet beneath that pressure.
The atmosphere throughout the square had become almost suffocating.
Then...
Someone shouted.
"Kill her!"
The voice immediately attracted countless others.
"Chop off her head!"
"Feed it to the dogs!"
"Anyone who collaborates with the Abyssal Races doesn’t deserve to be buried!"
"Kill the traitor!"
The shouts rapidly grew louder.
One voice became ten.
Ten became a hundred.
Soon...
The entire square was filled with furious chanting.
"Kill her!"
"Kill her!"
"Kill her!"
Bloodthirsty expressions appeared on the faces of the crowd.
Their eyes were filled with hatred as they stared at the wounded woman standing upon the stage.
Yet...
Some of those very people had once smiled warmly at her.
Some had once called her Sister Trish.
Some had received medicine from her when they were injured.
Some had once asked her to prepare meals.
Some had laughed with her.
Some had thanked her for helping them.
Just a few days ago...
She had still been the kind and gentle maid who moved quietly through the Saint Family compound.
The same woman who remembered everyone’s preferences.
The same woman who helped injured members.
The same woman who smiled whenever someone called her Sister Trish.
Now...
Those same people were screaming for her death.
Their faces were twisted by hatred.
Their voices demanded blood.
And not a single one of them seemed to remember the person she had been before this moment.
Human beings were truly strange creatures.
Give them a convenient enemy...
Give them a convincing accusation...
And sometimes, all it took was a few words to turn kindness into hatred.
Trish slowly raised her head.
Her blurry vision wandered through the sea of hostile faces.
She recognized many of them.
Her lips trembled.
Yet...
She didn’t defend herself.
She didn’t curse them.
She simply lowered her head again.
Her bloodied fingers tightened weakly around the cold iron chain.
Young Master...
Please don’t come back.
Her eyes slowly closed.
If this was the price for protecting him...
Then she would endure it.
Even if it meant death.