Legendary Extraction: Kingdom Builder in a Ruined World-Chapter 34: Interrogation [3.]

After freeing herself, she didn’t rush to attack. Instead, she waited patiently, only making her move once everything had settled and the caravan’s guards were down. Then she struck—fierce and without mercy.

Veran’s group had barely escaped. Many of their men were killed.

Even worse—she had the terrifying ability to possess the bodies of weakened soldiers.

A single being... capable of taking many forms and spreading death wherever she went.

Elias shivered at the thought.

Now, it made sense why the other races feared the Arcane so much that they had once united just to fight them.

Of course, whether the arcane race was truly as evil as Veran described, Elias wasn’t sure. After all, history was written by those who won. But that wasn’t his biggest concern at the moment.

The injured arcane woman was now targeting the group of survivors—and they had taken shelter in his territory. That meant she would likely come for his territory next. And such an unknown threat was indeed the scariest kind. He needed to be careful.

Elias pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a soft sigh.

"How troublesome..." he muttered, his brows furrowed deep in thought.

An arcane race member hiding within Embergrove Forest... A dangerous opponent. Unpredictable, powerful, and far more difficult to deal with than most enemies he had faced since arriving in this world. Just the thought of someone who could possess others and even split herself to control multiple bodies was enough to make anyone uneasy.

But just as Elias started thinking of the worst-case scenario, an arrogant and annoying voice cut into his thoughts—it was the system.

> [What’s with the worry? That arcane member may be strong, but she couldn’t even wipe out a caravan that was already weakened. And don’t forget, she got injured—worse than both Kael and Veran. With your strength and Vael’s, you already have more than enough power to face her.]

Elias nodded. From Veran’s description of the woman she had possessed, he believed he and Vael could take her down. But his concern wasn’t her strength—it was her unpredictability. Her ability to possess others and split her body to control more victims... that was the real danger.

> [Possession? Please. Vael is undead—his body is immune. And you, dear Host, have me. I protect your mental space. As long as I’m guarding you, no arcane influence will ever take hold. So long as you don’t drag a bunch of weaklings with you when you face her, there’s nothing to fear.]

Elias frowned slightly but then gave a slow nod. What the system said... made sense.

Vael’s undead nature made him an unsuitable target for possession.

And as for Elias himself, with the system’s ability to guard his mental domain, along with the Lord’s Seal, there was definitely no risk of him being turned into a puppet.

That meant, as long as he and Vael acted alone, the arcane spy’s greatest strength would be completely useless.

Even in the worst-case scenario, both of them had high speed stats. If they couldn’t win, they could always run—and she wouldn’t be able to catch them.

That, in truth, had been his backup plan from the very beginning.

Even when he left earlier that day with Kael, part of his confidence came from knowing he could escape if things went bad.

With that matter settled, Elias leaned forward and shifted his focus to the parchment spread across the table before him.

A roughly drawn map, its lines jagged and uneven, took up the surface.

Veran’s handiwork.

Elias studied it with interest.

If he wanted to grow his territory into something more than just a small plot of land, he needed to connect with the outside world. That meant opening routes, building trade paths, and setting up communication lines. And all of that began with understanding the geography.

He already knew the Ashgrave Ruins—where his current territory was located—were part of the human-controlled continent. But beyond that? Not much.

So during Veran’s interrogation, Elias had asked for a map. A sketch of the nearby terrain, towns, roads, and any useful landmarks.

Veran had complied.

And while the map was crude... it was still helpful.

Elias’s lips curled into a small grin.

"Nice, nice," he muttered, tapping the parchment lightly.

But just as he leaned in to inspect one of the trade routes marked on the map, Veran’s voice croaked from across the room.

"Lord Elias..."

Elias didn’t look up. He simply nodded, signaling for him to speak. Veran obeyed and continued at once.

"Lord Elias, I’ve done everything you asked," he said, his voice dry and weak. "I’ve cooperated... told you everything I know... gave you the map... please... I beg you..."

Elias slowly lifted his gaze.

"...Spare my life."

Veran’s face was pale. His eyes were red and bloodshot, lips trembling as he spoke.

"You can enslave me if you want," he continued desperately. "Chain me, bind me—I’ll serve. I’ll do anything. But please... don’t kill me..."

Elias stared at him for a long moment, unblinking.

Then he suddenly burst out laughing.

It was sharp and cold—the kind of laugh that filled the room with ice.

When he finally spoke, all humor had vanished from his voice.

"How many people have you killed, Veran?"

The room went quiet.

"How many slaves have you punished? Beaten? Humiliated? Raped?"

Veran opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Elias’s fists clenched at his sides. His jaw tightened.

Memories from his past life slowly crept into his mind.

People like Veran...

People who crushed others just for fun.

People who climbed over the backs of others just to feel tall.

He hated them—more than monsters. More than creatures that tore through human flesh.

Veran was a parasite in human skin. Someone who fed off others to grow fat, never caring what became of those he drained dry.

"I’ve known people like you all my life," Elias said, his voice trembling with barely contained anger. "You always smile when you’re in control... but the moment you lose power, you beg and snivel like cowards."

He took a slow breath to calm himself.

He had already decided that Veran would die today. That hadn’t changed.

But killing him here and now? That would be far too easy.

Someone like Veran—who had caused so much pain—deserved more than a quick death.

So why not let the true victims decide?

The ones outside waiting. The ones who had suffered under Veran’s cruelty.

Let them decide his fate. Let him taste even a fraction of the pain he had caused.

Without another word, Elias stood and turned toward the door.

Behind him, Veran’s mouth opened in panic.

He wanted to beg again, to plead for his life, but he knew Elias wouldn’t care to hear it.

Elias motioned to Vael.

"Bring him."

Vael gave a silent nod and grabbed Veran by the collar, dragging his bruised and battered form behind him like discarded trash as they exited the room.

---

The moment Elias and Vael stepped into the hallway, dragging Veran behind them, the crowd outside stirred like a hive suddenly awakened.

They had been peeking through the open doorway for some time now, hoping to catch a glimpse—any sign of what was going on inside.

Now they had their answer.

On one side stood Elias—the young lord who had broken their chains.

On the other was Veran—the man who had caused more pain than anyone else in their lives.

The crowd’s expressions were a mix of awe... and boiling hatred.

Elias walked forward calmly, his steps steady, his presence calm yet commanding. Veran stumbled behind him, dragged along like trash by Vael’s grip.

When they reached the entrance, Elias stopped.

He cleared his throat.

At once, the crowd fell into silence.

"For a long time now," Elias began, "you have suffered."

His voice was firm and clear, reaching every ear.

"Much of that pain—the beatings, the fear, the scars you carry—came from this man."

He pointed at Veran, who lowered his head, shrinking under the weight of so many angry eyes.

"But today," Elias continued, "you are free."

He looked across the crowd, meeting their gazes one by one.

"And the one who tormented you... has been captured."

He let that hang in the air for a moment.

"I hate men like him," Elias said, voice harder now. "Those who hide behind power just to hurt others. Monsters in human skin."

He turned back to Veran, who trembled in Vael’s grasp.

"If it were up to me... I would’ve killed him in that room."

Veran’s eyes widened in fear.

"But I wasn’t the one he tortured."

Elias turned back to the crowd.

"You were."

A quiet hush fell again.

"So I won’t pass judgment today."

He stepped aside.

"I’ll let you decide."

He looked at Vael and gave a small nod.

Vael released Veran.

Veran’s knees hit the ground hard. His hands were still bound, his face full of panic.

Then the crowd moved.

Veran screamed.

"NO! NO, PLEASE! YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED ME, YOU SAID—!!"

But no one was listening anymore.

No one cared.

Fists flew. Feet stomped. Sticks slammed down. Everything around Veran became violence.

Elias turned away and walked back into the building, the sound of screams, pain, and breaking bones echoing behind him.

He didn’t say a word.

---

Back in his room, Elias stood by the window, listening quietly.

He could hear it all.

The shouting. The curses. The sharp cracks of bones breaking.

Some in the crowd were crying as they struck Veran—tears mixed with anger and justice.

It didn’t last forever.

After some time, the sounds began to fade.

Elias peeked through the curtain.

Veran was lying in the middle of the crowd, barely alive. His body was battered, covered in blood and bruises.

The people surrounding him were breathing heavily, eyes still burning with hate.

"He’ll die soon," someone muttered.

Another shook their head. "That’s too easy."

"We should make it last," someone else said.

Then the suggestions started coming.

"Stone him?"

"No, that’s too quick."

"Hang him?"

"Still too easy."

"Burn him?"

"Don’t waste wood."

Elias rubbed his forehead and sighed.

"Gods..."

The ideas were getting darker.

Some were oddly creative. Far too creative.

Torture had a way of stirring imagination—especially in those who had lived through it.

And then, one voice rose—quiet and sharp like a blade.

A woman stepped forward, her tone cold and steady.

"I say... we cut his balls off."

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