Chapter 211: Rinella’s Destiny is Her Own (4)

Chapter 211: Rinella’s Destiny is Her Own (4)

It was a room where not a single ray of light entered.

Following a slight furrowing of his brow, the man finally opened his eyes. Pitch darkness loomed over him.

Blinking a couple of times, his pupils gradually began to accept the dim light. The dark and damp underground had a bleak atmosphere of its own.

His tired gaze was directed towards my hands and feet.

Having his wrists and ankles bound by handcuffs and shackles respectively, he seemed to find it difficult to move around.

In the first place, it wouldn’t seem unseemly had he been screaming.

In a daze, he succumbed to sleep, only to rouse to the realization of being in a dubious locale, his limbs constrained. Despite the immense psychological pressure, he maintained a silent resolve.

That man showed no particular reaction.

Despite his golden eyes reflecting fatigue, his expression stayed utterly impassive. It was as though emotions had been drained away, leaving behind a wilted human.

As he struggled to stand, the sound of chains being dragged echoed.

In front of the man, there was a barred window. Beyond it, he could see a small round table.

A middle-aged man was sitting there.

His silver hair testified that he was not as young as one might think. However, his strong muscles and well-defined face indicated he was still in his prime.

He wore a black dress uniform.

Oftentimes, the color was used to indicate many things.

Black usually represented power and authority, and it also carried another important implication.

It was the color donned by those who moved stealthily through the night— the operatives of the Imperial Intelligence Agency.

If he went to the extent of wearing formal attire, it indicated that he was recognized as the highest-ranking official by the outside world.

The middle-aged man sipped the tea in his cup.

Upon opening his eyes, an illusion of blue will-o'-wisps manifested in the air. He quietly greeted the other person.

"Forgive the rudeness, Ian Percus."

He placed the teacup on the table with a thud.

Clasping the white gloves in his hands, the middle-aged man's expression turned deeply solemn as he conveyed his apology.

"Given your reputation as rather unpredictable, I trust you'll understand. You're a unique case— the more data we gather, the more enigmatic you appear to be."

The man who had been silently staring at the middle-aged man let out a faint sigh.

It was a response that suggested he had grasped the full context.

Regardless, the middle-aged man continued his speech.

"The Imperial family is closely monitoring the issue of the 'Dragonblood Script.' Therefore, I have to be a bit impolite, but I’ll do my best to ensure your safety as much as possible. By the way, this place is..."

"...The underground interrogation room of the Imperial Intelligence Agency headquarters."

The blunt statement came off as unexpected.

However, the middle-aged man fell silent at that one sentence from the other man.

Maintaining quietude, he glared at the man with cautious eyes.

"This is a high-standard confinement. And there's one, two... no, three hidden agents."

As the unenthusiastic voice continued, the middle-aged man's gaze became even more vigilant.

It was as he said.

Located in the heart of the Imperial Intelligence Agency headquarters, this underground interrogation room boasted stringent confinement measures.

Other than those masters present, the moment someone was placed inside this confinement, they wouldn't be able to use their mana.

Therefore, it would be correct to assume that man also couldn't use magic.

But how could he?

The intelligence agents currently concealed here were meticulously chosen elites, making it challenging to penetrate their disguise.

Even if possible, it required at least some use of mana. The presence or absence of mana created a significant gap.

As the middle-aged man's silence prolonged, the man asked indifferently.

"Do you intend to have a conversation with the window bars between us like this?"

The middle-aged man appeared lost in thought for a moment before raising the teacup with a slight smile.

Despite throwing hidden daggers several times, the agent couldn't find any amusement.

It was because the chain skillfully repelled the hidden daggers like a whip. Finally, after all the hidden daggers were thrown, the agent decided to switch to close combat.

He threw the last remaining hidden dagger in an instant.

The greater the number of hidden daggers flying towards the man, the larger the movements required to fend them off. The chains connected to the man's wrists swirled with a dragging sound, dispelling the hidden daggers.

In the meantime, the agent who had landed on the ground drew a sword from his waist.

Bent at the knees, he launched a swift attack utilizing the rebound.

He put his all into that strike.

Yet, it didn't reach its target.

Just before the agent's sword could touch the man, the space distorted, causing the agent’s sword and the man to narrowly miss each other. It seemed as if the positions of the two were rotating around the midpoint of the gap.

There was still an opportunity.

With that thought, the agent quickly adjusted his posture and prepared to cross swords once more.

A blade pierced through his shoulder.

It was a dagger.

All of Ian's weapons had been confiscated, leaving him with nothing but chains to fend them off.

In that case, one could reasonably assume that this dagger came from elsewhere.

It was the dagger that the agent had first thrown, coated with an anesthetic poison.

The dagger, which had been flying through the sky, was once again caught by the chains and thrown back, piercing through the agent's shoulder.

The anesthetic poison started to take effect in an instant.

With a numb tongue, the agent stammered out a question.

"H-how..."

It was uncommon for a thoroughly trained intelligence agent to be so flustered.

However, no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand.

His expertise in handling chains was exceptional, demonstrating a level of skill that was beyond what one would expect from someone who didn't primarily use them as a weapon.

Therefore, it was strange.

No one had received training in using ‘chains' as a weapon because it was highly inefficient and challenging to handle.

Using a whip or wire would have been more advantageous.

But only those who received special training, such as the Imperial Intelligence, were able to wield it as a weapon.

The answer to the agent's question was straightforward.

The weighty chain struck the side of the agent's head.

Even without it, the anesthetic poison circulating in his body already made it difficult for him to regain consciousness.

The agent soon lost consciousness.

Another body collapsed to the ground, piling up on top of another with a thud, and the sound marked the end of the fight.

Observing that sight with indifferent eyes, the man once again shifted his steps towards the middle-aged person seated at the round table.

He sat across from him without hesitation, pouring tea into an empty cup.

Rising steam emanated from the tea.

The middle-aged man maintained silence.

After a considerable time had passed, the middle-aged man finally spoke with difficulty.

"...Who are you, really?"

The man glanced at the middle-aged person with a tired gaze as he raised the cup.

The man responded after taking a sip of the tea.

"Ian Percus."

Then, the teacup landed on the table with a thud.

"...A loyal subject to the Empire."

Now, only two of them remained in the secret /genesisforsaken