Chapter 173. You Betrayed Noble Red Ch 173. You Betrayed Noble Red |
Tommy wasn’t in an interrogation room or jogging on a prison treadmill.
He was cautiously confined in a subterranean chamber beneath the Red Queen District’s Bureau, hands bound by glowing shackles, his bare back branded with a shimmering silver seal. Clad only in pocketless shorts, he was stripped of all possessions. His mouth was inspected for hidden false teeth—no ornaments or materials remained.
His contracted high-tier demon was dispatched by the Great Guardian in ten minutes. As a demon scholar, Tommy was disarmed, his mana sealed by Law Mages’ radiant bindings. While priests’ light mana healed and dispelled darkness, Law Mages’ turned it into shackles and seals.
Despite kneeling instantly before the Great Guardian, Tommy knew escape was futile. Fleeing would’ve drawn pursuit from griffins—or worse, the Great Guardian astride one.
He couldn’t outrun George alone, let alone with griffins. Even if he escaped, he’d be a wanted fugitive. As “Tommy Lloyd,” a towering figure in Lloyd District, anonymity was impossible.
Most crucially, he didn’t want to die.
The Great Guardian’s icy, furious gaze had chilled him. Without swift surrender, even if only wounded, Meg’s Word of Power would’ve killed him. But surrender wasn’t for a clean death—he was confident he could survive.
He held too many cards.
Tommy was certain Boca knew a fraction of what he did—less than a tenth.
He knew the dirt on two-thirds of the Round Table knights who’d sought his financial aid, with evidence meticulously preserved for over 80% of them. He knew Noble Red’s Avalon bases, codes, and embedded spies—their locations and roles. He knew which knights or families consorted with Star Antimony or Iris spies, and which prominent figures had committed grave crimes, with evidence stashed in various places.
Even as a fourth-tier peak demon scholar, he was a step from fifth-tier. He could conduct a ritual to elevate someone—or himself—to fifth-tier, a rare feat in Avalon. Failure risked soul damage or death, but his robust physique could withstand backlash. Producing multiple fifth-tier Transcendents—or becoming one himself, demonless and “harmless”—was valuable.
He could also serve as a living Transcendence Path detector, identifying suspects’ Path levels.
He was too useful, in every sense.
Thus, confinement only hardened his resolve. If he revealed his secrets, the Bureau would have to consider carefully. To keep him alive, they’d have Meg lift her Word.
Though sealed, he could still sacrifice himself to summon a demon—a scholar’s final act. Many secrets were too vast for memory alone, encoded in hidden texts requiring his ciphers. Memory searches caught recent events, not thoughts or skills. Without his codes, encrypted files were useless.
This was his defense against Law Mages’ memory probes.
“If I die, these secrets die with me,” he threatened.
The situation shifted to his forte—negotiation, a game of leverage.
If he didn’t cooperate, Meg’s curse would kill him. But if he died, Avalon would lose invaluable intel, unmatched by any other source. Many secrets were his alone, beyond memory searches.
His death benefited no one. Yet, with a three-day death sentence, the Bureau held the upper hand.
They were locked in a standoff. The Bureau needed him alive but used the threat to extract more. Tommy, knowing his value and their reluctance to let him die, held firm for better terms.
Instead of demanding the Word’s removal, he requested a 30-day reprieve, offering three recent secrets—including Aiwass’s whereabouts—as a first deal.
To prove his sincerity, he asked the interrogating Bureau Chief for names of disliked knights. When she named three hostile to the Queen, Tommy promptly detailed their crimes and evidence locations.
“Consider it a sample,” he said, eyes glinting slyly. “Verify it. If it checks out, ask Lady Meg to loosen the noose a bit… I’ll be even more valuable.”
The Bureau wasn’t naive. To keep control, they locked him in a secure basement, letting him stew.
A day passed; two remained. By the final day—or hours—his giant blood would cloud his cunning with panic. They’d negotiate then.
No food, no light, no voices.
Sealed in the silent, dark cell, Tommy lost track of time. It felt like three days had passed—or were imminent. Fear conjured hallucinations: childhood memories flashed like slides, faces of those he’d seen or killed appeared, their laughs and dying screams echoing. Curled on the bed, eyes open, he lay still.
A third-generation half-giant, Tommy was also a quarter-elf. His giant blood, only an eighth, had surged in a rare atavism, overshadowing his elven traits.
He should’ve been a volatile half-elf, but the giant blood dominated.
His father vanished before his birth; his mother died two years after remarrying. By three, his parents were unrelated by blood, yet his stepfather raised him—until, at five, Tommy’s uncontrollable rage broke his grandmother’s knee with a kick.
Beaten and abandoned in Lloyd District, he escaped becoming ritual material, as Noble Red hadn’t yet infiltrated Glass Island. His young giant heart, marrow, liver, or kidneys could’ve made potions, but at five, he passed as human.
An adult with valuables in Lloyd District was doomed; a child was a commodity, prized for assassin training.
Lady Greygreen, then a senior assassin, not a leader, served under her “mother,” who ran the trade. She took Tommy in for training, but his raging blood made stealth impossible.
Abandoned again, he was bought by the previous Lloyd, seeking more foster sons. Including Lloyd’s wife, Tommy had seven “parents,” yet felt no familial bond.
Unknown to all, he wasn’t chosen to inherit “Lloyd.” His sister, Rowita, fourth of seven siblings, was the favorite. Balanced Path-adapted, smart, beautiful, and ruthless, she earned a fortune selling overseas intel by her mid-teens. At eighteen, she befriended a prince, nearly becoming a princess before his cursed death.
Her charm and erudition made her a social darling and Lloyd Society VP.
Knowing he couldn’t compete, Tommy feared the “Children of the Serpent” ritual would strip his Path potential. So, he orchestrated a murder, cursing Rowita with bestiality, exposed with a bull, driving her to apparent suicide.
In truth, she survived. Tommy faked her death with another corpse, raping and sacrificing her alongside two brothers to summon his labyrinth demon.
He starved his foster father in the labyrinth, erasing suspicion. The Bureau investigated but found no bodies—either trapped in the maze or melted in the Dream Realm.
At sixteen, Tommy framed his brothers for theft, murder, and assault, taking six bullets to sell the story, clearing himself.
He felt no guilt.
The ritual encouraged fratricide; only Avalon’s laws forbade it. He’d outwitted both.
Killing thrilled him, especially as a non-human. If seen as a giant, murder was fine.
That thrill drove him to prowl Lloyd District’s nights, hunting wanderers for ritual materials, cursing daytime targets until his height made him conspicuous.
He nearly got caught, but “Jack the Ripper” took the blame for his crimes.
Later, Noble Red recruited him.
Speaking of Noble Red…
Tommy frowned.
Had the Bureau prepared anti-curse measures? Betraying Noble Red risked a curse—they could easily get his hair and kill him remotely.
His deal needed a priest for protection, ideally female, to dispel curses promptly.
Then, faint footsteps echoed.
His stagnant mind snapped alert. A second presence in the cell sparked joy—then wariness.
Why no light? Why no words?
Tommy sat up, muscles tensed, silent. Though his Path was sealed, his body was unharmed from swift surrender. Even under gunfire, his giant muscles could trap bullets.
“Tommy Lloyd, sir?” a low, raspy voice asked.
“…That’s me,” Tommy replied warily. “Who are you?”
A red glow appeared—the Noble Red ring.
They’re here to save me?
No, wrong.
“You’re here to kill me,” Tommy said, certain, sitting on the bed. “You’re Alastair. Who are you really? If you’re killing me, let me hear your true voice.”
After a brief silence, a soft, honey-sweet female voice replied, “Yes, I’m here to kill you.
“Because you betrayed Noble Red.”
Her words fell, and a shadow demon pierced Tommy’s body. No scream escaped—something coiled around his neck.
With his blood, he scrawled on the bed: “Alastair,” “woman,” “Noble Red.”
If I die, you’re going down too.
Tommy thought bitterly.
(Chapter End)