Kyle moved without sound, his steps light as a shadow. Within moments, he stood right behind the gossiping soldiers.
They were still laughing, their voices carrying in the empty hall.
"He's probably sitting in it right now."
"Wonder how loud he'll scream."
"Damn shame no one's around to see it."
Kyle smirked. Pathetic.
Then, before they could notice, he spoke.
"Having fun?"
The soldiers froze.
A chill spread through them as they turned, their laughter abruptly cut short. Kyle stood right there, mere inches from them, watching them with a cold, piercing gaze.
For a moment, true fear flickered in their eyes. But then, almost as quickly, they relaxed.
"Oh! It's just the Young Master."
One of them scoffed, forcing a grin.
The others followed his lead, chuckling. Their expressions shifted from surprise to mocking amusement.
"What's the matter, Young Master? Shouldn't you be in the dining hall? It's beneath your noble status to wander around here"
Another sneered.
"Yeah, yeah! What would the Lord say if he found out his son was—"
The last soldier chimed in.
Before he could finish, one of them reached out—to grab Kyle's arm and guide him away, like a troublesome child.
Big mistake.
Kyle immediately pulled his arm back and leveled them all with a glare.
The shift was subtle—yet undeniable.
For the first time, the soldiers hesitated.
Something about the way Kyle looked at them was… different.
Gone was the nervous, weak, foolish Young Master they were used to mocking.
The Kyle standing before them now was calm, colder, his gaze piercing as if he were peering through their very souls.
But the soldiers refused to see it.
They convinced themselves it was nothing.
He was still the same weakling.
"What's wrong, Young Master? Did you come all the way here just to stare at us?"
One of them asked, feigning concern.
Kyle ignored their sarcasm. His voice was calm, yet sharp.
"Did you tamper with my chair?"
The question caught them off guard.
Their eyes flickered with momentary panic—before one of them forced a chuckle.
"Young Master, you're being ridiculous! Accusing loyal guards of something we'd never do? That hurts."
Kyle's gaze hardened.
They were lying.
Pathetic.
He could kill all of them right here. It wouldn't even take effort.
But that wouldn't serve him.
Instead, Kyle took a single step forward.
His voice was colder this time.
"I'll ask again."
he said, not as a question, but as a final warning.
"Did you tamper with my chair?"
The soldiers exchanged looks. They were still smirking—but now, it was forced.
Still, they refused to acknowledge what was happening.
"Heh, Young Master is being so serious today. Guess we should just—"
one of them chuckled, nudging his friend.
CRACK!
Before he could finish, Kyle grabbed the closest soldier by the collar—
And slammed his head into the stone wall.
Hard.
The impact echoed through the hall.
Blood splattered. The soldier let out a strangled grunt before collapsing, groaning as his body slumped to the ground.
The laughter was gone.
The remaining soldiers stared at Kyle, their faces draining of color.
Kyle brushed off his sleeve, as if he had just swatted away a fly.
Then, his piercing gaze fell on the rest of them.
Cold. Indifferent. Unmoved.
The same question remained in his eyes.
Answer.
The soldiers finally understood.
This was not the same fragile young lord.
This was someone else entirely.
The scent of blood filled the air.
Kyle's hand dripped crimson, a stark contrast against the dim glow of the torches lining the hallway.
The soldiers backed away instinctively, their previous mockery now replaced with wariness.
Their gazes flickered between the unconscious body of their companion and the calm, unbothered expression on Kyle's face.
Kyle didn't rush.
He walked forward at a steady, deliberate pace, stepping over the groaning body beneath him as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience. His polished boots left faint red footprints as he moved.
The remaining soldiers tensed, their backs pressing against the cold stone walls.
"Y-Young Master, wait! We were just joking, right? There's no need for—"
One of them stammered, forcing a nervous chuckle.
Kyle's cold gaze silenced him instantly.
"Joking? Is that how you justify your incompetence?"
Kyle's voice was quiet, but the weight of it crushed the air.
The soldiers flinched.
"You should stop now, Young Master. The Lord will be here any moment! If you don't stop, you'll—"
The second soldier tried, his voice more desperate.
CRACK!
Kyle grabbed him by the hair and slammed his skull into the wall.
The sound of bone meeting stone echoed through the corridor.
The soldier let out a strangled gasp before his body went limp, sliding down in a heap next to his unconscious friend.
Blood streaked the wall where his head had been.
The final soldier didn't move.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but his body was frozen in place. His breathing was uneven, and sweat dripped from his forehead.
Kyle turned to him next.
The man knew it was his turn.
He braced himself, expecting the same fate as his comrades, but—
Kyle stopped.
For the first time, Kyle did not reach out.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze unreadable.
"I have a proposal for you."
he said.
The soldier's body stiffened, his instincts screaming at him to run. But he forced himself to listen.
Kyle continued, his tone almost casual.
"You have two choices. You can either sit in the chair that was prepared for me…"
He said.
He let the words hang, his meaning unmistakable.
"…or you can join your friends on the ground."
The soldier swallowed hard.
His mind raced.
If he fought back, he'd lose.
But was this really happening?
This was the same cowardly Young Master who had always been too weak to lift a sword. Wasn't he?
Wasn't he?!
'He's bluffing.'
That had to be it.
Kyle had to be bluffing.
If he just waited long enough, if he just played along, then surely the Young Master would return to his senses.
So the soldier made his choice.
"I'll sit in the chair."
he said, forcing his voice to stay steady.
Kyle's lips curled slightly.
"Good."
He stepped aside and gestured toward the dining hall.
The soldier hesitated—but then, with stiff movements, he walked past Kyle and into the room.
He reached the chair.
He paused.
Then, slowly, he sat down.
A tense silence filled the air.
Kyle stood a few steps away, watching.
Waiting.
And the soldier?
The soldier prayed.