The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 79: The Devil’s Mentor Pt2

Six years had passed since Ivan left Velinsk. Six years of cold training in the palace. Six years of learning to kill without feeling. Now he was fifteen, taller, stronger, and emptier than the boy who had once cried in a carriage.

The northern wind bit through his coat as he rode back to the borderlands. Snow fell around him like white ash. His silver mask caught the light, cold and smooth against his face. It had become part of him now. Sometimes he forgot what he looked like underneath.

The Czar’s orders were simple. "There’s a traitor at Velinsk. Find them. Kill them. No questions."

His horse stopped in front of the military base. It looked exactly the same. Gray stone buildings. Soldiers moving quickly through the snow. The same emptiness he remembered.

"You’re back."

Ivan turned. General Nikolai stood there, older now, his beard more gray than black.

"The Czar sent me," Ivan said, getting off his horse.

Nikolai’s eyes moved to the silver mask. "Good. We need someone who can handle dirty work."

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"Our battle plans keep reaching the enemy. Good men are dying because someone here is selling secrets to Venograd." Nikolai’s voice was cold. "Find the traitor. Kill them quietly."

Ivan nodded. Another job. Another death. He had stopped counting after twenty.

"You’ll stay with Ruslan," Nikolai said. "He’s been waiting for you."

Ivan’s heart jumped. Ruslan. The only person who had ever been kind to him. The man who had given him this mask.

"He’s still here?"

"Where else would he go?"

---

The soldiers looked at Ivan differently now. Before, they had laughed at him. Now they whispered and looked away. Fear had replaced their mockery.

"That’s the prince who killed with a fork."

"They say he’s killed dozens since then."

"Don’t look at him too long."

Ivan walked through the barracks. His footsteps echoed in the silence.

"Ivan?"

He turned. There was Ruslan.

The years had changed him. His face was more serious now, his shoulders broader. But his eyes were still the same warm brown that Ivan remembered.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Ruslan smiled. Not a big smile, just a small, quiet one.

"You came back," he said softly.

Ivan nodded. Something tight in his chest loosened, just a little.

That night, they sat at the small wooden table in their shared room. Ruslan had found bread and meat, just like before. They ate quietly, but it was a comfortable quiet. Like the old days.

Sometimes Ruslan would glance at the silver mask on the table. Sometimes Ivan would catch him looking. But neither of them said anything about it.

When they finished eating, Ruslan cleaned Ivan’s boots without being asked. Just like he used to do.

Ivan watched him work and felt something he hadn’t felt in years. Safe. Like he had a brother again.

---

Ivan woke up alone. Ruslan’s bed was empty. The room was dark except for moonlight coming through the window.

When Ruslan came back before sunrise, he moved like a ghost. Ivan pretended to sleep, watching through half-closed eyes.

"Where did you go?" Ivan whispered.

"Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk."

The next night, Ruslan disappeared again. And the night after that.

On the fourth night, Ivan decided to follow him.

---

The forest was full of shadows. Ivan stayed far behind, moving quietly between the trees. His heart beat fast as he watched Ruslan walk deeper into the woods.

In a small clearing, Ruslan stopped. A hooded figure came out of the darkness. Ivan hid behind a tree, trying to hear their whispered words.

Papers changed hands. Maps were passed. The stranger gave Ruslan a small bag before disappearing.

Ivan felt sick. His chest hurt like someone was pressing down on it. This couldn’t be real. Not Ruslan. Not the only person who had ever cared about him.

But he had seen it with his own eyes.

---

"You followed him."

General Nikolai’s voice was calm, but his eyes were hard. Ivan stood in the commander’s tent, his mouth dry.

"Sir?"

"Don’t lie to me. I saw you in the woods. I’ve been watching Ruslan for weeks." Nikolai drank from his cup. "Can you do what needs to be done?"

Ivan’s hands shook. "Maybe he has a reason—"

"There’s always a reason. But reasons don’t bring back dead soldiers."

The tent opened. Six soldiers brought Ruslan in, his hands tied, his face already bruised. When he saw Ivan, something flickered in his eyes. Surprise. Hurt. Understanding.

"Put him in the cell," Nikolai ordered. Then to Ivan: "Make him talk. If he won’t tell us, maybe he’ll tell you."

---

The cell was underground, carved from stone. One torch burned on the wall. Ruslan sat against the wall, watching Ivan with those same gentle eyes.

"So this is how it ends," Ruslan said softly.

Ivan’s voice cracked. "Just tell me why."

"Would it change anything?" Ruslan’s laugh was sad. "We both know how this ends."

"I don’t want to hurt you."

"But you will. Because they told you to."

Ivan picked up the iron bar from the table. His hands trembled.

"What if I told you I did it to protect you?" Ruslan whispered. "What if every secret I sold was to keep you from worse missions?"

The bar fell from Ivan’s hands.

"Don’t," Ivan whispered. "Don’t make this harder."

"Or what if I told you I did it for gold? What if I never cared about you at all?"

Ivan picked up the bar again. Tears blurred his vision.

"Which would hurt less?" Ruslan asked.

Ivan struck him once. Then again. By the third blow, he was crying.

Ruslan never screamed. He just watched Ivan with patient eyes, like he understood.

When it was over, Ruslan whispered, "Yes. I sold secrets to Venograd. I’m a traitor."

Nothing else. Just enough to seal his fate.

---

That night, Ivan couldn’t sleep. He sat on his bed, staring at his hands. They were clean, but he could still feel the iron bar.

Tomorrow they would take Ruslan to the capital. There would be a trial. A rope. A crowd cheering as he died.

Ivan stood up. His legs felt weak, but his mind was clear.

He couldn’t let it happen.

---

The guard was asleep. Ivan moved past him like a shadow, his feet silent on the stone steps. The cells were deep underground. The air smelled of damp stone and fear.

He had planned to pick the lock. To help Ruslan escape quietly. But standing before the cell, another idea came to him.

Fire. Fire would bring chaos. Fire would hide what really happened.

Ivan pulled out his lock picks and worked on the cell door. The metal clicked softly as the lock opened. He pushed the door ajar, just enough.

Then he took the torch from the wall. The flame danced in the darkness.

He touched it to old straw in the corner. Then to wooden boxes. Then to anything that would burn.

The fire spread faster than he expected. Much faster.

Smoke filled the hallway. The flames reached for the ceiling, hungry and alive.

Ivan turned and walked away into the darkness.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

---

Ruslan had been sleeping on the cold stone floor when the smell of smoke woke him. His eyes opened slowly, his mind still foggy from exhaustion and pain.

Through the haze, he saw a tall figure standing in the corridor. A silhouette against the growing flames. The figure was lighting fires, moving from place to place with a torch.

Ruslan tried to move, tried to call out, but his body was too weak. The beating had left him barely conscious. His vision blurred.

The silhouette turned for a moment. Tall. Familiar. Then it disappeared into the smoke.

Ruslan’s eyes closed again. Everything went black.

When he woke, the world was fire.

Flames covered the walls. Smoke choked the air. The heat was unbearable.

He staggered to his feet and pushed against the cell door. It opened. Someone had unlocked it.

But as he stumbled out, a burning beam crashed down from the ceiling. It struck his shoulder and face, pinning him to the ground. The flames ate at his skin, his clothes, his hair.

He screamed and fought, finally pushing the beam away. Half his face was ruined, melted and twisted. His shoulder was burned to the bone.

But he was alive.

As he crawled through the smoke toward the stairs, one image burned in his mind clearer than any flame. A tall figure lighting fires. Someone who had watched him burn. Someone who had walked away.

Someone who had left him to die.

The fire spread through the building like it was alive. By the time guards came with water, half the basement was burning. In the chaos, no one noticed that one of the cell doors stood open.

As he stumbled through the forest, using trees to stay upright, that image haunted him. The silhouette lighting fires. The figure who had watched and walked away.

In his pain and fever, the memory twisted. The boy who had tried to save him became the boy who had tried to kill him. Love became betrayal.

Ivan had betrayed him. Ivan had burned him. Ivan had left him to die.

And someday, Ruslan would make him pay.

---

Three days later, Ivan wrote a letter to the Czar.

"The traitor escaped in the fire. The building was damaged. No body found."

Around him, soldiers went about their work. None of them knew what he had done.

He had tried to save his friend. Instead, he had created something much worse.

A ghost with a burned face and a heart full of hate. A ghost who would remember this night forever.

Ivan put on his silver mask and went back to work. The fire between them had been lit. Now all he could do was wait for it to burn them both.

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