"Kill him! Hehe, just let Edlyn act. Edlyn will kill him for you," a childish voice giggled in Lillia's mind. It tugged at her emotions, stoking the flames of her anger even higher.
Lucian snorted coldly, glancing at the dishevelled Lillia. Inwardly, he sneered.
Two months with a steady supply of Moonlight Praise... I've solidified 131 mental runes. In terms of quantity, his foundation far exceeded Lillia's, and in purity, his results surpassed her Greybone Meditation Technique by a wide margin.
For her to attempt intimidating him with a spiritual pressure release? It was laughable—a moth throwing itself against a steel wall.
"Alright, let's keep this a discussion. It's hardly worth escalating into a fight," Bennet interjected, attempting to diffuse the tense atmosphere. He offered Lillia some soothing words before turning to Lucian.
"Lucian, I hear you've uncovered some ancient fae script. How about we trade for that instead? I don't have much use for the potion at the moment."
"Fair enough." Lucian stashed the vial of Moonlight Praise with a flick of his wrist, ignoring Lillia's sour expression. He began negotiating with Bennet, leaving her simmering in frustration.
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Elsewhere,
"Mercy, my lord wizard, mercy!"
A young man, dressed in the plain garb of a farmer, knelt trembling on the ground.
"My family... they're counting on me..." His desperate pleas were abruptly silenced by a vine that coiled around his mouth, stifling his cries as he thrashed, his wide eyes brimming with the primal fear of death.
Before him, two half-fae wielding strange magical tools scrutinized his blood with meticulous precision.
"Will this do?"
"Sea Sprite bloodline—too diluted, barely worth mentioning," the other replied dismissively, his words condemning the farmer.
A vine lashed upward, piercing the young man's heart in a single, precise motion. Blood gushed from the mortal wound, pooling around his still form.
The gruesome display sent the other captives into hysterical sobs and screams within their vine-woven cages. Their eyes reflected terror, knowing this could soon be their fate.
"Quiet."
The half-fae who had analyzed the blood spoke again. Her voice carried the weight of a third-tier apprentice's aura, augmented by a peculiar resonance emanating from the antlers crowning her head.
A wave of spiritual pressure swept through the area, dulling the minds of the prisoners. Their cries faltered, their struggles ceased, and they became eerily still, like hollow marionettes.
But there was one exception.
"Uncle... Uncle!"
A gaunt youth stared at the farmer's corpse, his trembling growing violent. The spiritual wave seemed to inadvertently trigger something buried deep within him. His eyes turned a feral, bloody red.
"RAAHH!"
An animalistic roar erupted from his throat as a savage aura surged from his body. Veins bulged grotesquely across his emaciated frame, and his thin body swelled like an overinflated balloon.
Muscle piled atop muscle, transforming him from a scrawny youth into a hulking brute in moments.
Rip—
The youth flexed his newfound strength, tearing apart the vine cage as if it were paper.
"You dare!"
A second-tier apprentice half-fae sneered, activating the woodland power within his own lineage. He conjured dozens of sharp wooden spikes, launching them at the berserk youth in a deadly volley.
Any normal person would have been skewered into a bloody sieve.
But the youth didn't even attempt to dodge. His blood-red eyes fixated solely on the two half-fae, blind fury driving him forward.
"Die!"
Thwack!
The spikes pierced his arm, spraying crimson. Yet the wound didn't hinder him—his muscles squirmed unnaturally, knotting together to seal the punctures in seconds.
In the blink of an eye, the youth was upon the half-fae. His massive fists swung toward them, carrying the weight of his primal rage.
"Bind!"
Dozens of vines erupted from the ground, entwining the youth's limbs and torso with unrelenting force.
Though the berserk boy's strength was monstrous, the vines' tenacious grip proved too much. He was reduced to futile thrashing as the vegetation wrapped tighter and tighter, binding him into a solid cocoon.
"A latent berserker awakening, huh?" The second-tier half-fae sighed with relief, though his eyes lingered warily on the subdued boy.
"Filthy bloodlines like his, even if they possess power, it's just—"
"Enough, Lok."
The antlered third-tier apprentice cut him off, casting him a cold glance. "If I hadn't stepped in, you'd already be one with nature."
Lok opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. Instead, he turned his ire on the now-comatose youth.
"Sister Lou, let's just kill him. Now that his war spirit has awakened, even if he had a faint trace of fae blood, it's been corrupted beyond use..."
Lok's gaze flickered, his tone cautious.
Lou laughed softly, her expression as unreadable as her thoughts.
"You know," she began, "he could be a valuable asset—a perfect vessel. With the right conditioning, he'd become a loyal servant. Perhaps a few modifications would even let him challenge third-tier apprentices."
Her tone turned icy. "Of course, if you can offer something valuable enough to sway me, I wouldn't mind letting you deal with him yourself. Can you afford it, Lok?"
Lok bowed his head quickly, his breath catching.
He knew better than to cross his sister. The repercussions of angering her might even surpass the wrath of their leader. For him, Lou wasn't just a sibling—she was a living nightmare he dared not provoke.