Help! I'm just an extra yet the Heroines and Villainesses want me!-Chapter 91: Investigation

The guards brought the mercenary back thirty minutes later, still unconscious and bleeding from his side wound. They carried him to a secure room in the estate’s lower levels—a space William hadn’t known existed until now.

"Interrogation room," his mother explained when she saw his expression. "Every major noble house has them. We don’t advertise their existence."

The room was stone-walled and windowless, with a single chair bolted to the floor in the center. The guards secured the mercenary to the chair with heavy chains, then stepped back.

Duchess Arabella gestured for William to follow her to an adjacent viewing room. Through a one-way essence-reinforced glass panel, they could see the interrogation room clearly while remaining hidden.

"The head interrogator will be here shortly," his mother said. "Master Veron specializes in extracting information from reluctant subjects."

"How often does our family need an interrogation specialist?" William asked.

"More often than you’d think. Noble house politics occasionally requires... unpleasant measures." She glanced at him. "You don’t have to watch this. Interrogations can be brutal."

"I need to know what he knows. I’ll watch."

They waited in silence for about ten minutes before the mercenary started waking up. He groaned, tested the chains, and quickly realized his situation.

"Shit," he muttered.

An older man entered the interrogation room—Master Veron, presumably. He was thin, unassuming, with the kind of face that would disappear in a crowd. Nothing about him suggested danger until William focused his essence sense on him and felt the controlled power radiating beneath the surface.

"Good evening," Master Veron said pleasantly, pulling up a stool to sit across from the mercenary. "I’m here to ask you some questions. How you answer will determine how unpleasant the next few hours are for you."

"I want a healer. My side is still bleeding."

"You’ll receive medical attention after you’ve been cooperative. Not before." Veron’s tone remained pleasant. "Let’s start simple. Who hired you to kidnap Lady Seraphine Cross?"

"I already told the kid—I don’t know. Contract came through intermediaries."

"Yes, but intermediaries have sources. Let’s discuss those sources in detail."

What followed was a masterclass in interrogation technique. Veron didn’t raise his voice, threaten or even use visible violence. He just asked questions with relentless patience, occasionally using small essence techniques that caused discomfort without leaving marks.

The mercenary resisted for maybe twenty minutes before the combination of blood loss, pain, and Veron’s methodical approach started breaking down his resistance.

"The contract came through a broker in the capital," the mercenary finally admitted. "His name is Darius. He specializes in connecting clients with contractors for jobs that need discretion."

"Describe him."

"He is in his fifties with grey hair and a scar across his left cheek. He operates out of a tavern called The Broken Shield in the merchant quarter."

Veron made notes without pausing his questioning. "And what were your exact instructions?"

"Kidnap the girl, and send a ransom note demanding William Cross withdraw from the Inter-Academy competition. Hold her until we received confirmation of withdrawal, then release her unharmed."

"And if he didn’t withdraw?"

The mercenary hesitated. Veron did something with his essence that made the man gasp in pain.

"If he didn’t withdraw in three days, we were supposed to kill her and leave the body where it would be found quickly. Then make it look like she died trying to escape."

William felt rage flash through him, he could barely control himself In the interrogation room, Veron continued calmly.

"Who gave these specific instructions?"

"Darius. He said the client wanted Cross out of the competition one way or another. Using family as leverage was supposed to be the clean approach."

"And there was a backup plan?"

"Yeah. If the kidnapping failed or Cross still competed anyway, there’s a secondary team that handles elimination during the competition itself."

"Describe this secondary team."

"I don’t know anything specific. Darius mentioned it in passing, he said they were the ’permanent solution’ if leverage didn’t work. Professional killers, not just contractors like me."

Veron leaned forward slightly. "How many people are on this secondary team?"

"He didn’t say. Just that they were already in position, waiting for the competition."

"And their target is specifically William Cross?"

"Yeah. The client wants him dead before the competition ends. It doesn’t matter how, just that it happens and looks accidental or natural."

William’s mother made a small sound beside him, though her expression remained controlled.

Veron continued questioning for another thirty minutes, extracting every detail the mercenary knew about the contract, the broker, the payment structure, and the timeline. Finally, he stood.

"Thank you for your cooperation. A healer will tend to your wound now. Depending on what we verify from your information, you may be released or face charges for kidnapping a duke’s daughter." He paused at the door. "I’d suggest hoping we verify everything, because Duke Cross is not known for mercy toward those who threaten his family."

Veron left the room and appeared in the viewing chamber moments later, bowing to Duchess Arabella.

"Your Grace. I believe he’s told us everything he knows. The information about the broker Darius should be verifiable, I’ll send word to our contacts in the capital immediately."

"Do so. And have the mercenary held securely until we confirm his story." She turned to William. "Come. We need to discuss this privately."

They returned to her study, and his mother immediately poured herself a glass of wine—something William had never seen her do before.

"They have assassins already in position at the competition," she said without preamble. "Professional killers, with instructions to eliminate you and make it look accidental."

"So the kidnapping was Plan A, and assassination during the competition is Plan B."

"Yes. And whoever orchestrated this has significant resources. Hiring mercenaries like the one we captured isn’t cheap. Having a secondary assassination team already positioned costs even more." She drank her wine in one gulp. "This level of investment suggests either immense wealth or powerful backing. Possibly both."

William thought about what how many times he might have died right until now, "They’ve planned this thoroughly."

"Too thoroughly. This isn’t a hastily organized attempt. Someone has been planning your death for months, possibly longer." His mother refilled her glass. "The question remains: why? What about you specifically threatens them enough to justify this investment?"

William couldn’t tell her about the curse or the loops, so he focused on what he could discuss. "Maybe it’s not about me specifically. Maybe it’s about what my success at the competition represents."

"Explain."

"I’m House Cross’s youngest son, previously written off as worthless. If I perform well at the competition, it challenges assumptions about me and potentially about our house’s strength. Maybe someone wants to prevent House Cross from gaining that kind of validation."

"It’s possible. Your father has political enemies who would benefit from our family appearing weak." Duchess Arabella considered that. "But assassination is extreme even for noble house rivalry. There are easier ways to damage a family’s reputation than murdering their children at public events."

"Unless they want to make a statement and show that even House Cross can’t protect its own."

"That’s... uncomfortably plausible." His mother set down her glass. "We need to operate on the assumption that you’re walking into a death trap. The competition venue will have hundreds of students, dozens of instructors, multiple noble families observing. There will be chaos everywhere. The perfect conditions for an assassination disguised as an accident."

"So what do we do?"

"We just have to prepare you to survive despite the odds." She stood and moved to her bookshelf, pulling out a leather-bound journal. "This contains techniques your great-grandfather developed specifically for fighting when outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Lethal techniques that noble families don’t officially teach because they’re considered too brutal for standard combat."

She handed him the journal. William opened it and saw detailed diagrams of combat techniques, essence manipulation methods, and tactical approaches that were definitely not in any academy curriculum.

"You have less than two weeks before you need to return to the academy," his mother continued. "During that time, I will personally train you in everything in that journal. You will learn how to kill efficiently, how to fight multiple opponents simultaneously, how to detect and counter assassination attempts. By the time you leave this estate, you will be as prepared as I can make you."

"And if that’s not enough?"

"Then you use every advantage you have. Your multi-elemental control, your combat skills, your intelligence. You stay aware, you trust no one completely, and you survive through superior preparation and execution." She met his eyes directly. "The mercenary said they have assassins in position. That means they’re committed to this course of action. There’s no avoiding the confrontation now, William. The only question is whether you’re ready for it when it comes."

"I’ll be ready."

"Good. Because I’m not losing another child to political scheming." His mother’s voice was hard. "Your father may have written you off, but I haven’t. And I don’t accept loss gracefully."

A servant appeared at the door, bowing quickly.

"Your Grace, Master Veron reports that he’s verified the broker Darius exists and operates in the capital as described. Our contacts confirm he’s known for handling sensitive contracts for wealthy clients."

"Excellent. Send our most discrete investigators to locate and surveil him. I want to know everyone he speaks with, every transaction he makes, every contact he has. Someone hired him to arrange this kidnapping, and I want to know who."

The servant bowed and left.

William looked at the journal in his hands, then at his mother. "When do we start training?"

"Romorrow. I’ll wake you before sunrise." She moved toward the door, then paused. "And William? What you did tonigt... it was the right choice. You acted on instinct to protect family, and you succeeded where careful strategy would have failed. That’s worth remembering."

She left before he could respond.

William sat there for a while, processing everything. Professional assassins waiting for him at the competition. A conspiracy with significant resources targeting him specifically. Two weeks to prepare for a death trap he couldn’t avoid.

At least now he knew what he was facing.

He opened the journal and started reading. The techniques inside were designed for one purpose: surviving when the odds were completely against you.

Perfect.

A soft knock interrupted his reading. Seraphine’s voice came through the door.

"William? Can I come in?"

"Yes."

His sister entered, now cleaned up and wearing fresh clothes. She looked exhausted and traumatized but physically unharmed.

"I wanted to thank you," she said quietly. "For coming after me. For fighting those men. For..." she trailed off.

"You don’t need to thank me. You’re my sister."

"I know, but..." Seraphine sat down in the chair across from him. "I overheard what they said. In the forest, before you found us. About what they were going to do if you didn’t withdraw from the competition."

William closed the journal. "You don’t need to think about that. It didn’t happen."

"Because you stopped it. Because you came after me even though Mother told you not to." She looked at him with those too-knowing eyes. "They’re trying to kill you, aren’t they? That’s what this is really about. The kidnapping was just to force you out of the competition so they could avoid killing you publicly."

"Seraphine—"

"Don’t lie to me. I heard what the guard said when they brought that man back." Her voice was shaking. "Someone wants you dead badly enough to kidnap me, and you’re still planning to compete anyway."

William considered how to respond. His sister deserved honesty, but he also didn’t want to terrify her more than she already was.

"Yes," he said simply. "Someone wants me dead. I don’t know exactly why, but they’re willing to go to extreme lengths to make it happen. And yes, I’m still competing."

"Why? Why not just withdraw and let them think they won?"

"Because withdrawing doesn’t actually solve the problem. If they want me dead badly enough to plan this elaborately, they’ll just try again later when I’m less prepared." William met her eyes. "At least at the competition, I’ll be expecting it. I can prepare, I can be ready. That’s better than waiting for them to try again when I’m not looking."

Seraphine was quiet for a long moment. Then she stood and moved around the desk to hug him tightly.

"I don’t want you to die," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

"I’m not planning to."

"Promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll come back."

"I promise I’ll do everything I can to survive and come back."

She pulled back, looking at him seriously. "That’s not the same as promising you’ll come back."

"It’s the only honest promise I can make."

Seraphine nodded slowly, accepting that. "Then I guess I have to trust you to keep yourself alive." She moved toward the door, then paused. "And William? I’m sorry for running away and causing all this trouble. If I hadn’t been stupid and emotional about the marriage discussion, none of this would have happened."

"The kidnapping would have happened regardless. They were looking for leverage, and you were convenient. If it hadn’t been kidnapping you, it would have been threatening someone else I care about." William’s voice was firm. "This isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of whoever hired those mercenaries. Remember that."

Seraphine nodded and left.

William sat alone in the study, the journal of lethal techniques on the desk in front of him, and allowed himself to acknowledge the full weight of what was coming.

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