Extra To Protagonist-Chapter 134: Translator

The silence didn’t last.

It never did, not in a place like this.

The door opened again, this time fast. Not loud. Just efficient. Like the sound of a knife being unsheathed in a quiet room.

Elara turned first.

The guard stepped through. Not one of the ones who had taken Merlin. Taller. Broader. Chestplate dull under the lights, but polished at the edges. No visible weapon. Which meant he didn’t think he’d need one.

She didn’t move.

No one did.

He looked at each of them in turn, then raised a small device in one hand, a narrow slate of metal with a dim blue screen that blinked once, scanning the room. Not them. The air.

Then he spoke.

It wasn’t a question.

Not in the usual way.

The words came sharp and clipped, syllables twisting in the back of his throat. Language she didn’t know. Didn’t even recognize the structure of. It wasn’t tonal. Wasn’t phonetic. Somewhere in between. The device didn’t translate. Just blinked again, like it was listening.

Dion squinted. "What?"

The guard repeated it. Same cadence. Louder. Not angry, just confident they should have understood it the first time.

Elara didn’t blink.

Mae looked at her, then at Seraphina, as if waiting for someone to raise a hand and say it made sense. No one did.

Seraphina tilted her head slightly, gaze still locked on the man. "It’s not a test," she said under her breath. "He’s expecting a reply."

"He’s going to be disappointed," Dion muttered.

The guard stepped forward once.

Elara didn’t flinch. Just held his gaze.

He repeated the phrase again.

Then pointed, two fingers toward Dion.

Elara’s shoulder shifted.

So did Seraphina’s.

Not obvious. Just enough.

The guard stopped.

His eyes flicked between them.

He wasn’t confused.

He was frustrated.

Another stream of words, short, low, now clearly directed at them. Like he was assigning roles. Or accusations.

The device blinked again.

Still no translation.

Elara’s jaw tightened.

’They didn’t think this part through. They expected answers. Not silence. Not defiance without a fight.’

The guard gestured again, sharper this time. Pointed to Dion. Then to Mae. Then held up three fingers.

No one moved.

The moment stretched.

And then the guard lowered his hand.

No warning.

He turned and left the room.

Door shut behind him.

Lock engaged.

Again.

Mae exhaled. "What the hell was that?"

"A question," Elara said.

"About what?"

"Didn’t matter."

Seraphina crossed her arms. "He’s probably going to bring someone else."

"Good," Dion muttered. "Maybe they’ll have subtitles."

But Elara didn’t laugh.

She turned her eyes back to the wall.

’They’re not improvising anymore,’ she thought. ’They’re reacting.’

She didn’t know how long it would take before someone walked through that door who did understand them.

But when they did?

She wasn’t sure they’d like what she had to say.

—

The man didn’t leave.

He stood there for another full minute, arms loose, eyes fixed, letting the silence do what most people wasted words on. Merlin didn’t fill it. He sat back, slow, posture casual in a way that was neither dismissive nor inviting.

Just prepared.

The man didn’t take the bait.

He turned, walked to the wall, pressed a panel. It opened with a soft click, revealing a cabinet of tools. Not medieval. Not surgical. Clean metal. Sleek handles. Industrial design. They didn’t need to be sharp. They only needed to work.

Merlin didn’t flinch.

The man didn’t pick one up.

He just let the cabinet stay open and walked back.

"You’re trying to outlast me," he said, voice calm again, not casual. "Don’t bother. I don’t burn out. And you—" he leaned closer, smile gone now, "you bleed like anyone else."

Merlin met his eyes, steady.

"If you wanted blood," he said, voice level, "you wouldn’t be talking."

The man’s mouth didn’t twitch, but something behind his eyes shifted.

A small flicker of something ugly.

Then he moved.

Quick, efficient, stepping behind Merlin and locking a strap around the chair’s back, one click, then another, binding his arms. It wasn’t rough. That would’ve been too generous. This wasn’t about punishment. It was about data.

Merlin didn’t struggle.

Didn’t look over his shoulder.

He listened.

The sounds behind him weren’t random. The drawer again. Something metal placed on the table. One at a time.

Click. Place. Click. Place.

The man circled again. Gloves on now.

"There are rules," he said. "But not for you. You came through unauthorized, in restricted territory, carrying a blade that shouldn’t exist, wearing fabric we can’t scan, and you speak in a dialect our machines can’t parse."

He stepped closer.

"You’re not a citizen. You’re not a soldier. You’re not even a smuggler. You’re something else."

Merlin watched the man’s eyes, not the tools.

"You want me to say I’m a threat."

The man nodded once. "I want you to admit something I can use."

"Even if it’s a lie?"

"Especially if it’s a lie."

Merlin tilted his head slightly. "You’re not very good at this."

That was the wrong sentence.

Or the right one.

The man moved fast.

Merlin didn’t see the strike coming. Not a punch. A press, something needle-thin jabbing against his shoulder, just beneath the collarbone. Cold spread out from it, not numbing, but slowing. Like his arm had forgotten what motion was for.

He inhaled through his nose.

Didn’t grunt.

Didn’t react.

The man watched his face. Watched it like a scale measuring ounces.

"I know a bluff when I see it," the man said.

Merlin spoke slowly. "You’re mistaking stillness for surrender."

The man’s smile returned.

But this time, he didn’t look amused.

He looked interested.

"That’s good. I want to know what you sound like after four more injections."

He turned again.

Merlin sat still, feeling the cold creep through half his chest.

He counted his heartbeats, slow, even, marking the spread.

One hand still free.

Still fingers. Still air.

He thought, very carefully.

And the system responded.

[INTERNAL TEMPORAL TOLERANCE: HOLDING]

[NERVE CONDUCTIVITY: SUPPRESSED]

[IMPACT: NON-LETHAL – RECORDING PAIN RESPONSE]

Merlin didn’t blink.

He just thought.

’Of course they’re watching this too.’

Another flicker.

[The Broken Herald: "Let him flinch."]

[The Smiling Witness disagrees.]

The man stepped forward with the second tool.

Merlin watched him.

Not the tool.

Not the hand.

Just the man.

Because pain wasn’t the trial.

Not here.

The real trial was still behind glass.

Watching.

Waiting.

Placing their bets.

—

The second injection didn’t come.

The man changed his mind halfway through lifting it. Merlin saw the flicker, a pause in the hand, a shift in the eyes. Not hesitation. Assessment. Recalculation.

Pain was useful, but not when it yielded nothing. This wasn’t a torture room. It was a balance sheet. And right now, Merlin’s silence was breaking their math.

The man lowered the injector and instead brought something else, something dull, square, palm-sized. It looked like nothing. Felt like threat. He pressed it to Merlin’s chest and waited.

Merlin didn’t ask what it did.

He didn’t ask because he already knew it wasn’t meant to harm. Not directly.

It vibrated once.

Then again.

Then a hum began to build, low at first, then rising, not in sound, but in sensation. Like his bones were tuning forks and someone kept striking them, harder each time.

His vision didn’t blur.

But he felt his pulse slipping from rhythm.

Still, he said nothing.

[NERVE CONDUCTIVITY: STRAINED]

[COGNITIVE STABILITY: MAINTAINED]

[The Messenger observes quietly.]

Merlin kept his breathing locked to the beat of the hum.

He didn’t count seconds anymore.

He counted how long the man was willing to wait before being disappointed.

Eventually, the pressure stopped.

Not all at once. Gradual. Like a hand being pulled away from something hot, slow enough to make the message clear.

Not mercy.

Just another angle.

The man stepped back. Not tired. Just done.

"Enjoy your silence," he said, voice flat again. "Next round comes with a mirror. You can watch yourself lose."

He turned.

Door hissed open.

And then—

[The First Lawkeeper: "End trial."]

[The Nameless Clockmaker restores 3 seconds.]

[Observation: Concluded.]

The man didn’t look back as he stepped out.

The hum left Merlin’s chest like a sucked-out breath.

He sat still.

Let the weight drain slow.

[Pain Index Recorded.]

[Memory Integrity: Stable.]

The door sealed again.

No new interrogator came.

No parting shot. No taunt.

Just silence.

And behind it, the faintest shift in the metal wall.

Like the gods themselves had leaned back in their seats.

—

The door opened again.

No hiss this time. No warning. Just the mechanical grind of metal and motion. Two guards stood outside, different from before.

Younger. Tired-looking. Their armor wasn’t ceremonial. It was functional. Reinforced joints. Weapon ports on the hip. Not made for looks. Made for compliance.

Neither spoke.

They didn’t have to.

Merlin stood. Slowly. No show of resistance, no limp to exaggerate. But the weight had settled differently across his spine. Not pain, just reminder. The body remembered what the mind refused to flinch at.

One guard took point. The other flanked his rear.

They didn’t cuff him. No restraints. But they didn’t loosen formation either.

’They think I broke,’ Merlin thought. ’Or they think I will.’

The corridor outside wasn’t the same one from before. This one had broader walls, a darker lighting strip, the faint smell of sulfur caught in the recycled air. Not industrial. Magical.

Which meant they weren’t walking him back to the cells through the same route.

Which meant they didn’t want him seeing who else was being moved.

’Not transporting a prisoner. Managing a variable.’

They turned left. Another left. Then a sharp descent.

A ramp, not stairs.

Clean, straight, angled just slightly off standard elevation.

Enough for design.

Enough for planning.

Then, light.

Artificial, pale yellow, flickering at the edge of a daylight filter. They passed through one final checkpoint, two more guards, no words exchanged, and emerged outside.

The shift hit him all at once.

Not in temperature. Not in pressure.

In sound.

Open space carried differently. Wind didn’t care about human structure. It knifed between buildings and scraped low over flat earth.

Updated from fr𝒆ewebnov𝒆l.(c)om