The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master-Chapter 141: Playing Unconscious

Vencian let his body hang slack, breath shallow, eyelids heavy enough to pass for spent. The stone pressed cold through his back as he was dragged along, boots scraping, hands careless with his weight. He counted those sounds, measured the pull, the rhythm of movement, and stored them away.

Ahead of him, Seris walked first.

Her hands were laced behind her head, elbows angled outward in forced compliance. Her posture stayed upright, chin level, the line of her shoulders unbroken. That alone told him more than words would have. She was playing along, or she was constrained by something sharp and close.

He did not need to guess which.

Behind her, Aline was held tight in a man’s grip. The servant, Malox, pressed a knife to her throat with practiced certainty. The blade stayed steady as they moved, guided rather than shaking. Aline’s steps were short, careful, dictated by the pressure at her neck. She kept her eyes forward, jaw tight, breathing controlled in shallow pulls.

Beside them walked the maid.

Therell.

The name surfaced later, lifted without effort from the servant’s careful address earlier.

She moved with a loose, pleased gait, hands clasped behind her back as if escorting guests through a garden. Her head tilted from side to side, smile coming and going on its own terms. She watched the corridor as though it belonged to her, walls and doors included.

Vencian kept his eyes slitted, lashes low, vision blurred on purpose. From what he had seen and felt earlier, the pieces settled into place with unwelcome ease.

The servants moved when she allowed it. They paused when her attention drifted. The baron’s compliance earlier had carried the same hollow certainty, as if choice had been filed down long before tonight.

He had the informations about arksprens and which arche provided which power.

That narrowed the possibilities to a small, ugly set.

Silent Communion, or Death Lotus.

Third arc, at least.

Maybe higher.

The pause in their journey. The insistence on this mansion. The sudden hospitality. None of it had been chance. The path had been shaped long before they stepped into it, and he had walked it with eyes open, thinking himself cautious.

Another trip beyond the safe walls, spoiled right on schedule.

Seris being taken narrowed the field further. He refused to accept that she had been cornered by a mere servant. Since she herself is an arkspren. Whatever held her now had weight enough to bind an Arkspren in motion. That left Malox. The knife was a tool, but the pressure behind it felt deeper.

Therell walked on, humming under her breath.

Vencian shifted his thoughts inward, careful to keep his body slack. If she was listening through the servants, feeling for resistance, he gave her none.

He ran the limits again. Distance. Angles. Few bodies in sight, fewer than the stories suggested. A baron’s house did not carry an army, only a thin skin of servants and a handful of guards.

Therell’s glances toward him earlier had carried that weight. Interest sharpened into fixation.

He would not give her the satisfaction of reaction.

For now, unconscious suited him.

The turns told him enough. They were heading deeper into the mansion, away from the main exit and the carriage doors. He counted the steps between corners, the slight incline beneath his dragged heels, the shift in air that suggested inner corridors rather than outer halls. Whatever waited ahead, it was chosen for privacy rather than speed.

Therell drifted a little faster and came level with Seris.

She did not address her directly at first. Her gaze slid over Seris from hairline to boots, slow and unembarrassed, as if assessing an object set out for inspection.

"So this is her," Therell said lightly. "The heretic our pervert master asked to bring."

Seris kept walking. Her face stayed calm, eyes forward.

Malox’s grip on Aline tightened a fraction. "Watch your mouth," he said. "That phrasing twists things. His interest carries purpose."

Therell laughed under her breath and tipped her head back. "There you go again, correcting things I didn’t mean. I said what I said."

"You enjoy stirring filth into clean words," Malox replied. "Speak with care."

Therell turned her head, smile sharp. "Care is overrated. Everyone carries it inside. Desire, fixation, hunger. Call it what you want. People dress it differently, that is all."

Seris spoke then, voice cool. "If you’re trying to get under my skin, you’re doing a poor job."

Therell’s eyes brightened. " I’m not trying. I’m pointing. Take him," she continued, gesturing vaguely ahead, "he wraps his wants in doctrine. You probably wrap yours in discipline. Different packaging. Same appetite."

Malox exhaled through his nose. "Enough. Do not project yourself onto them."

Therell’s smile thinned but she let the remark pass. "Such a serious man," she said. "Always guarding meanings."

They walked on. The corridor narrowed, walls closer, the light dimmer. The banter faded as quickly as it had begun, replaced by the soft scuff of shoes and the faint clink of the knife as Malox adjusted his grip.

Vencian stayed limp and listened.

The exchange settled something in him. This lacked the cadence of the Pentarch.

Seris, too, did not react as she would to an old enemy. Her silence felt measured. That absence of tension mattered.

She was the reason. Aline was leverage, held close to keep Seris walking. That explained the care, the pace, the refusal to escalate.

As for him, he was excess weight, dragged along because the woman found him interesting.

Therell hummed again, distracted now, interest wandering. Malox focused ahead, posture rigid, attention split between path and hostage.

Vencian let the conclusion settle, provisional but steady.

Whoever they served, it was unlikely to be the Pentarch. And whatever game this was, Seris had stepped into it before, or at least brushed close enough to recognize its edges.

The corridor ended in a door set deeper than the others, its surface unmarked, hinges hidden. The air here felt thicker, the quiet heavier. Vencian felt the change through the drag of his body, the way the servant hauling him slowed and adjusted grip, as if the space demanded care.

The door opened inward.

They entered a room stripped of comfort. Stone floor, bare walls, a single table set near the center. No windows. The light came from a fixed source overhead, pale and steady. Vencian counted the steps as he was pulled inside, noted the echo, the lack of soft furnishings. This was a place built for work rather than living.

Malox stopped and turned his head toward Therell. "Prepare the device."

Therell let out a long, irritated sound and rolled her shoulders. "You always pick the dull parts for me."

"You handle it best," Malox said. "Focus."

She clicked her tongue. "Fine. I will need quiet."

As she spoke, the servant holding Vencian released him. His body hit the stone with a solid thud, breath knocked loose by design rather than accident. A second later, the same servant stiffened, swayed, and collapsed beside him, joints folding as if their strings had been cut.

Therell glanced down and winced. "Oops."

She crouched and dragged a cube from beneath her apron, setting it on the table. It was palm-sized, matte on all sides, etched with shallow grooves that caught the light. She placed both hands on it and closed her eyes.

The room changed in small ways. Sound dulled. The pressure behind Vencian’s ears shifted. He let his limbs lie where they fell, and listened.

Seris broke the silence. "What are you doing."

Malox adjusted his stance and pressed the knife closer to Aline’s throat. "We are moving you," he said. "You are the priority."

Aline flinched as the blade touched skin. Seris’s gaze flicked to her, sharp and fast.

"And her," Seris said. "She walks free."

"If you cooperate," Malox replied. "She leaves this place alive."

Seris’s jaw tightened. "You speak as if choice sits in your hand."

"It does," Malox said evenly. "Right now."

Seris’s eyes moved past him, taking in the room, the fallen servant, the cube beneath Therell’s hands. "You plan to separate us."

"Yes."

"And him," Seris said, her voice steady as she nodded toward where Vencian lay. "What happens to him."

Therell snorted softly, eyes still closed, fingers shifting along the cube’s edges. "You worry too much."

Seris turned toward her. "Answer."

Therell opened one eye and smiled. "He stays."

Seris’s voice cut in, cool and edged. "You will leave him here."

Therell tilted her head. "I will keep him."

Malox drew a breath, slow and controlled as he showed the knife on Aline’s throat once more with a glare. He shifted his eyes on Therell. "Focus on the device."

Therell returned her attention to the cube, fingers tracing a pattern along its grooves. "Already doing it."

Vencian lay still, mind racing, the weight of her words settling over him as the room grew quieter around the table and the device began whatever work it was meant to do.