Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls-Chapter 385: Where is the King?

The witch held her defiant gaze for a few seconds—seconds that seemed like an eternity within the narrow, stuffy, and magic-laden walls. The air vibrated with tension, as if even the red ice around her awaited her answer.

Sylphie, Irelia, and Amelia watched in absolute silence.

Then, finally, the witch growled softly, almost a whisper choked by the restraint of her roots:

"I… I won't say anything."

Kael remained motionless.

Not a blink.

Not a sigh.

Just silence.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, like someone contemplating a curious detail in an object about to fall apart.

"Is that so?"

His voice held no sarcasm. No frustration.

It held certainty.

Like someone receiving the expected answer.

The witch maintained her stubborn expression—but the tremor in her fingers, however slight, betrayed the truth: she was bluffing with her own fear. Kael lifted only a corner of his lips.

A slow smile.

Controlled.

And profoundly… detached.

"If that's the case…" He breathed slowly.

"We can save time. I'll simply kill you and transform your body into a shadow soldier."

The witch's pupils contracted—instant, visceral despair.

Sylphie took an involuntary step back, as if the air had suddenly lost its oxygen.

Amelia swallowed hard, gripping the staff so tightly her fingers turned white.

Irelia frowned—not in judgment, but in recognition. Of someone who, deep down, had hoped this day would come.

And before the witch could formulate any muffled protest, Kael turned his head toward her companion's fallen body.

The decapitated head lay on the ground, frozen, its face still paralyzed in the instant of surprise. The blood, hardened in the ice, vibrated as if sensing the shifting mana in the air.

Kael raised a hand, extending it with open fingers.

There was no theatrics.

There was no frightening aura or burst of energy.

The mana manifested as a whisper of shadows—a dark, dense, silent mist—that spread across the floor like spilled ink, snaking toward the headless corpse.

"Kael…" Amelia murmured, not realizing she was saying his name.

Sylphie brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. She knew—they all knew—that Kael mastered necromancy. But knowing was one thing. Seeing was something else entirely.

Irelia maintained her posture, but her racing pulse betrayed the impact of the moment.

Kael didn't look at either of them.

His eyes were fixed on the corpse.

His voice echoed low, deep, as if drawing words from a very ancient place:

"Rise." The red ice around reacted immediately—it cracked, changed hue, a pulsating glow coursed through the fissures. The black shadow thickened, forming contours, clinging to the headless body.

First came the movement of fingers.

Then, the arm that contorted as if awakening from a forced sleep.

The torso arched, rigid, gasping for air it didn't need.

And then…

The shadow lifted the corpse from its knees.

The living witch let out a strangled noise of utter terror, her entire body trembling uncontrollably. Sylphie's roots could barely hold her now—not from strength, but from despair.

"What… what did you do—?!" she tried to scream, but the blocked mana rendered the sentence incomplete, broken.

The shadow completed its ascent, standing upright, headless, moving only by Kael's will. Darkness seeped from the cut in the neck like inverted smoke, rising towards the ceiling.

The creature took a step.

A single, heavy step.

Directed at the living witch.

She arched her body backward, writhing, trying to get away even though she was bound by chains and roots.

"Stop… STOP! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!"

Her voice finally came out, even strangled, in pure terror.

Kael didn't back down.

He just watched.

Calmly.

As if he were expecting the inevitable.

The witch, transformed into shadow, took another step—and reached out towards her living companion, fingers rigid, shadows rippling between them.

"STOP! PLEASE! I'LL SPEAK! I'LL SPEAK!"

The scream echoed through the entire corridor, traversing the dungeon and ricocheting off the ice walls like a desperate lament.

Sylphie's eyes widened even more.

Amelia almost dropped the staff.

Irelia simply exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, nodding very slightly, as if saying to herself: That's what I needed.

Kael finally raised his hand.

The shadow froze.

Immobile, like a dark statue.

The living witch gasped, tears streaming down in rivulets, mingling with sweat and fear.

Kael knelt before her again.

This time, the witch didn't turn her face. She didn't have the strength for it.

He inclined his head, as before—the same calm, patient movement.

"Excellent."

His eyes gleamed in the dim light.

"Then let's talk."

The witch swallowed hard, her whole body trembling. The newly raised shadow—the distorted form of her decapitated companion—stood there, faceless, breathless, just a dark outline that dissipated like smoke. Spectral hands hung by her sides, but there was something dangerous about her absolute stillness… like a predator awaiting a command.

Kael's gaze met the creature's.

She reacted with a slight tilt of her head, obedient, patient. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

He turned his attention back to the prisoner.

"Let's try again."

The tone was the same—calm, sharp, unwavering.

The witch kept her eyes wide open on the specter. Her breath was caught in her chest. Every part of her body seemed to want to flee in a different direction, but Amelia's chains and Sylphie's roots held her still.

"Y-you… you shouldn't… this isn't… it's not natural…"

Her voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper of pure horror.

"Natural?" Kael arched an eyebrow. "You're in a dungeon made of ice that traps heat. Surrounded by corrupted magic. You destroy kingdoms, kidnap people, drain lives… and you come here talking to me about natural?"

The specter of the dead witch took a step toward the prisoner.

She let out a muffled cry, trying to recoil even though she was bound.

"Enough." Kael raised his hand, and the shadow stopped immediately. "I don't need drama. Just the answer."

He crouched a little lower, looking directly into her eyes.

"The king. Where is he?"

For a moment, she hesitated. Her gaze wavered between Kael's face and the motionless shadow. The terror was evident—a terror so profound it shattered the typical arrogance of her corrupted kind.

Finally, she yielded.

"H-he's not here anymore…" Her lips trembled.

"He… he was… but he was taken recently…"

"Where to?" Kael asked, without altering his tone.

"T-the elder witches."

She breathed too fast, almost choking.

"T-they… took him to the palace. W-our leader wants… some information. I don't know what… I swear!"

The shadow behind her slowly raised its head, as if sniffing out the lie—but Kael held it still with a simple flick of his finger.

Irelia tilted her sword, frowning.

"When was he taken?"

"Just today…" the witch replied, her voice faltering. "As soon as the glacier was sealed… they dragged him up. They said… he couldn't wait."

Sylphie took a deep breath, looking at Kael.

"So he's in the palace now. In the center of the greatest concentration of magic."

Amelia swallowed hard.

"And with the oldest witches."

Kael straightened his posture.

"Great."

He breathed deeply, as if the answer was exactly what he wanted to hear.

The witch blinked, confused.

"...Great?"

A small smile—cold, calculated—appeared on Kael's lips.

"That means he's still alive."

The shadow behind him bowed slightly, like a dog awaiting its next command.

And the captive witch… She was as pale as the red ice that reflected her last shattered hopes.

In a swift, sharp movement, devoid of unnecessary cruelty, he turned his hand and struck the side of the witch's head with pinpoint accuracy. The blow was clean. Calculated. Restrained just enough not to break anything—but strong enough to knock her down like a puppet without strings.

The woman lost consciousness immediately, collapsing into Sylphie's roots, which automatically adjusted to hold her.

The shadow—the animated corpse of the other witch—still stood motionless, awaiting instructions like a statue made of liquid darkness.

Sylphie pulled her hand to her mouth, trying to hide the impact. Her pupils were dilated, her expression somewhere between horror and disbelief.

Amelia had stopped breathing for a few seconds.

Irelia… merely watched, but her posture was more rigid than before.

Kael didn't seem to notice any of this.

"Lock her in one of the empty cells," he ordered, already rising. "Tie her up. Magical and physical seals. I don't want any risks."

Sylphie, still a little shaky, nodded. "O-of course. My roots can keep her unconscious longer if you want."

"That won't be necessary. Just make sure she doesn't escape."

The three girls moved immediately. The roots carefully dragged the unconscious witch, Amelia reinforcing with ethereal chains and Irelia opening one of the less damaged cells. The metal door groaned, but held. In a few seconds, the prisoner was locked in, gagged by magic and bound in every possible way.

Kael didn't stay to watch.

He was already standing before the occupied cells.

The prisoners.

Thin, trembling bodies, some conscious, others on the verge of fainting. Their breathing was shallow, visibly affected by the cold of the place—and perhaps by days without adequate water or food.

Sylphie rushed to his side as soon as she finished. Her moist eyes widened.

"Kael… some of them… I don't know how many we can save."

"How many still have a pulse?" he asked immediately, his voice firm but not cold.

Amelia raised her hand, already finishing a quick scan with a vital tracking spell.

"Nine, counting the very weak. The rest…" She swallowed hard. "…didn't make it."