The room was still, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Dante stood, unmoving, his piercing gaze fixed on the young man in the mask. The attacker was trembling now, not from fear of Dante's power, but from the weight of what was to come.
"I told you already," the masked man said, his voice strained. "I'm not under any obligation to tell you anything. And I won't betray my leader."
Dante's eyes narrowed, his presence growing even heavier, pressing against the walls of the chamber. There was no mercy in his eyes, only resolve.
"You are mistaken," Dante replied, his tone as cold as ice. "If you are referring to Iron Fist, I've already dealt with him."
The masked figure's eyes flickered with disbelief. He took a half-step back, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his weapon.
Dante's voice was low, almost a growl, but it carried an undeniable authority. "Now speak. Who is the one who hired you?"
The young man's silence was deafening, but Dante didn't wait for a response. His gaze never wavered. The room seemed to breathe in sync with Dante's commanding presence. There was no room for defiance here—not anymore.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, the masked man spoke, his voice dripping with venom. "I am under no obligation to tell you." He met Dante's gaze head-on, the anger in his eyes refusing to yield. "But you should know this, Knight of the Queen."
Dante stepped closer, his spiritual pressure rising, but the masked man stood firm, even as his resolve cracked beneath the weight of Dante's gaze. "Whoever hired us… is among you."
The words hung in the air, like a bell tolling in the silence of the room. Dante's eyes sharpened, but his face remained an impassive mask.
"What do you mean by that?" Dante asked, his voice still calm, but the weight of the question unmistakable.
The masked figure's lips twisted into a bitter smile, as if tasting the satisfaction of the truth finally leaving his lips. "You don't know. You've been too focused on the ones you can see, the ones you can fight. But your real enemy—your real betrayer—is already among you. And they've been pulling your strings from the very start."
Dante's expression did not change, but a flicker of something passed through his eyes. His grip on Lumina Blade tightened imperceptibly. "Who?"
The masked man shook his head slowly. "I will not say. I will not reveal them. But you will find out in time. The seed of betrayal has already been sown."
The words were like a dagger to the chest, a slow, deliberate cut. They rang out in the silence, leaving a heavy, lingering weight in the room.
Alessia, standing near the king, felt the chill run down her spine. Her hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of her sword, the realization sinking in like a stone in water.
Her voice, usually steady, wavered slightly as she spoke. "You're lying. This is just another trick to buy time."
The masked figure's eyes glinted with something dark and knowing. "Am I? No. The truth is far worse than you think."
Dante's voice was cold, unwavering. "Your time is up."
With a sudden, fluid motion, he reached forward, grabbing the masked figure by the throat with a force that lifted him off his feet. His spiritual pressure surged, crackling through the air, like a storm about to break.
"I've had enough of your games," Dante said, his voice low and lethal. "You'll answer me now, or I will make you."
The masked man's body convulsed against Dante's grip, his mask cracking slightly from the pressure. He tried to speak, but his words were muffled. His eyes—those wide, defiant eyes—locked onto Dante's, filled with something that could only be described as hatred.
"You think you're in control?" he spat, his voice a strained rasp. "You're a fool. You'll never see it coming. The traitor among you will destroy everything."
Dante's expression hardened. "Enough."
With a swift motion, he released his grip, sending the masked figure crumpling to the floor, unconscious.
The room fell silent, save for the sound of the masked man's labored breathing. Dante's eyes scanned the faces of the council, the nobles, and the guards in the room. They all felt the weight of the words just spoken. A traitor. Someone in their midst.
"Dante," Alessia said, her voice tight with unease. "You don't think—"
"I don't know," Dante replied, his voice a quiet growl. "But I'll find out."
He turned, his gaze shifting from the council members to the surrounding guards. His spiritual presence still clung to the room, a constant pressure that weighed heavily on all present.
"No one leaves," Dante ordered, his voice cold, cutting through the tension. "Not until I find out who is responsible for this."
He turned back to the nobles, his eyes narrowing as if he were reading their very souls. "The one who hired them is still here. And I will expose them. No matter how long it takes."
Alessia took a step forward, her hand still resting on her sword. "We'll handle it, Dante. But we need to be careful. If there's a traitor, we can't be sure who it is."
Dante's gaze was unwavering as he met her eyes. "That's why you'll stay close to the king, Alessia. Don't let anyone out of your sight. No one leaves the castle."
As the room began to stir with whispers of uncertainty, Dante's resolve remained unshaken. The mystery of the traitor loomed over them like a dark cloud. And the kingdom would never be the same again.
Everyone was accounted for except for few.