Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls-Chapter 384: Tell me

The silence that fell after Sylphie's comment wasn't just tense—it was dense, like the frozen air of the dungeon itself. Kael's gaze swept across the cells once more, absorbing the brutal scene: lives hanging by a thread, breaths barely moving the air, pulses as fragile as the crack of ice about to break.

He clenched his fist.

"Let's finish this quickly."

Sylphie nodded, though her shoulders were stiff. Amelia remained restless, moving her staff from side to side, as if she wanted to discharge her own anxiety onto the wood. Irelia prepared herself with the lethal calm of someone who had been waiting for an opportunity for a long time.

"How long until they notice?" Amelia asked softly.

Sylphie closed her eyes and expanded her senses again. Tiny particles of green mana vibrated around her, like light dust.

"Two minutes," she replied. "Maybe less. The temperature is rising outside. Something caught their attention."

"My heat." Kael took a deep breath. "Great."

Amelia glanced at him sideways. "You say that as if it's a good thing."

"That's exactly what we want."

Kael took a few steps, positioning himself between the cells and the large door through which the witches would come. "I want them to come straight to me. No scattering."

Irelia approached.

"What if they cast a scatter spell as soon as they see your flame?"

Kael replied without hesitation:

"They won't have time."

Sylphie swallowed hard. "You talk as if they're slow."

"They're not."

He looked up at her.

"I'm just too fast."

The answer was simple, but there was a confidence there that made Sylphie take a deep breath and step back to make room.

She directed Amelia:

"Let's stay to the side. We'll provide support, but without drawing attention."

"Great, I love being the terrified support in the corner," Amelia murmured, but obeyed.

Irelia positioned herself to Kael's left, sword at a diagonal.

"If one escapes—"

"You cut it in half," Kael finished.

She smiled. "With pleasure."

A crack echoed.

Sylphie's eyes widened.

"They stopped. The witches… sensed something."

Kael closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. The black flame sprouted in his palm without even a gesture, as if waiting to be summoned. The light it emitted didn't illuminate—it devoured the red and blue reflections of the ice, leaving an undulating shadow on the wall.

"Then it's now," he said.

Sylphie gripped the staff tightly.

"Kael, just… please. Don't take too many risks."

He didn't answer—he only tilted his head, as if silently promising something.

Footsteps.

Loud footsteps. Firm. Dragging.

Two pairs.

The witches were coming.

And then, finally, they appeared.

They emerged from the narrow icy corridor like two distorted figures. The shadows stretched before their real bodies, extending across the frozen floor. The red heat trapped in the walls vibrated, reacting to the dense, putrid mana that oozed from them like smoke.

Both wore tattered robes, stained with dark spots that no one wanted to identify. Their hair fell like hardened strands, frozen only at the tips. And their eyes…

Their eyes were wells of liquid darkness.

One of them smiled crookedly when she saw that there was… no one around?

"Am I going crazy?" They questioned each other, "I clearly felt something here."

The two witches advanced down the narrow corridor, their twisted shadows projecting onto the walls like independent creatures. The air seemed to shrink around them, heavy with a cold that didn't come from nature—but from the corrupted magic they both carried like an invisible stench.

The first witch, the one with long, disheveled hair, narrowed her eyes.

"I clearly felt it. A strong fluctuation of mana."

Her voice was harsh, cracked, like broken ice.

The other, taller one, tilted her head, observing the empty corridor ahead.

"There's no one here. Maybe it's just—" 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

She didn't finish.

An awkward silence fell for a second. The tall witch turned her face toward her companion to continue the sentence… and stopped.

Blink.

Breathe.

Freeze.

Her companion was no longer standing.

Or rather:

Her body was still there.

But her head wasn't.

It fell to its knees before her with a muffled sound—thump—before tumbling forward, spraying a trail of warm blood that instantly evaporated against the red ice of the floor, creating a pink vapor.

The remaining witch stood rigid, unable to react for a fraction of a second.

Then, horror filled her eyes.

She opened her mouth to scream—

But a hand appeared behind her.

Swift. Solid. Relentless.

Kael's palm closed over her mouth before any sound could escape.

The witch's body arched automatically, trying to recoil, but Kael had already wrapped his other arm around her waist, locking her against him as if she were just another heavy object.

The black flame danced silently in his free hand, illuminating the witch's face with a glow that wasn't light—it was an absence of it. A shadow cut across her pale skin.

Kael leaned close to her ear.

His voice came out calm.

Low.

Dangerously quiet.

"We're going to talk."

The witch tried to let out a muffled roar. Her black nails scraped against his arm, but Kael didn't even move—he only tightened his grip on her mouth, preventing any escape of vocal mana.

The instant he took the first step to pull her further into the cell area, three presences emerged like specters around him.

Sylphie was the first.

Green vines erupted from the frozen floor like serpents, writhing and gripping the witch's ankles and wrists. They gripped tightly, pulling her back, away from the corridor, and dragging her into the darkest area of ​​the dungeon.

The witch struggled, corrupted mana crackling like wisps of purple smoke around her body—but before she could gather enough strength…

Amelia raised her staff.

"Prisus Vinctum."

Ethereal chains—translucent, yet with real weight—materialized around the witch, binding her arms against her torso. A snap echoed as the magical shackles tightened, with brutal firmness.

The witch gasped against Kael's hand, now completely powerless.

Irelia completed the encirclement.

With a swift, military step, she pressed the tip of her sword against the woman's neck, just enough for a trickle of blood to trickle down.

"If you try anything, you'll lose your head like your friend."

Kael finally released the witch's mouth—but only after Sylphie wrapped thin roots around his jaw, preventing any sudden movements.

The woman spat out air, gasping like a captured animal.

Sylphie tightened her grip.

"She can't scream," she explained, frowning. "My roots are blocking the flow of her throat and vocal mana. She'll only be able to whisper."

"It works for me," Kael murmured.

The black flame vanished from his hand, retreating as if swallowed by his own skin.

He crouched before the witch, drawing close enough for their eyes to meet.

And it was in that second that she truly understood.

His eyes showed no anger.

No hatred.

Not even haste.

They showed conviction.

And that was far worse.

"You're going to answer some questions," Kael said, without raising his voice. "And if you choose to lie…" — the other witch's decapitated head was still a few feet away, frozen on the ground — "you know exactly what happens."

The witch tried to spit in his direction, but the movement was immediately stopped by Sylphie's roots.

Irelia brought the blade closer, grazing the skin.

"Let's start with the basics," Kael continued.

"The king. Where is he?"

The witch laughed — or tried to. The trembling sound lost its force due to the vegetal prison in her throat.

Sylphie tightened her grip on the roots just a little more.

The witch arched her body.

Kael's shadow loomed over her.

"Don't make this difficult."

Amelia, sweating, gripped the staff tightly. "If she uses draining magic—"

"She won't use anything," Kael interrupted, his voice low as breaking ice.

The witch sensed the truth in those words.

And for the first time…

She truly feared.

Kael repeated the question, this time in a slower tone—almost soft.

"Where. Is. The king?"

The witch's eyes widened—black, liquid, distorted by corruption—and she tried to turn her face, as if she could escape Kael's fixed gaze. But the roots Sylphie had wrapped around her jaw prevented even that simple movement. The suffocating heat of the red ice vibrated around her, responding like a wounded animal.

Kael waited.

He didn't threaten.

He didn't tighten his grip. She didn't raise her voice.

His patience seemed like torture.

Irelia pressed the blade closer to the woman's neck, a fresh trickle of blood dripping and freezing before it even hit the ground.

"Answer me now," the knight growled.

The witch trembled—not from pain, but from pure rage. Her eyes darted to the sides, searching for any escape route, any opening. There was none. Amelia's magic enveloped her torso like real chains, and Sylphie's roots were firm, pulsing with green life, the direct opposite of the rot the witch carried.

Kael leaned in a little closer, bringing his face near hers.

"You lost your partner in less than a second," he said calmly. "You know very well you have no advantage here. So let's cut this conversation short."