Chapter 211: The Lash
"Trying to run?" Ever since he was subdued and bound by blood, Saedus had struggled countless times. At first, he could still catch his breath from within the Mana Harness, but once Leon stepped into the ranks of Ninth Circle Archmages and possessed nine Mana Harnesses, Saedus finally lost all his fight...
The power of nine Mana Harnesses pressed Saedus down so hard he couldn't even lift his head, leaving him at Leon's mercy. Any hint of resistance was immediately crushed by the combined force of the nine harnesses. For Saedus, these days were pure torment, each one darker and more agonizing than the last...
Now, for the first time since Leon let him out, Saedus finally had a chance to build his happiness on someone else's suffering. There was no way he'd show Hubert any mercy.
"Damn it, I can't even escape—how dare you try?"
Saedus transformed into flaming chains that wrapped tightly around the Dragonblood Beastman, binding him with a scorching heat so intense that Hubert let out a miserable scream.
"I just went out for some air, I swear I wasn't trying to run!" Hubert flailed desperately, like a drowning man, struggling with all his might.
But no matter how hard he struggled, how could Hubert hope to break free from Saedus? Saedus was a true Prime Flame Sprite—just his human form was already at the peak of a Ninth Circle Mage. Now, in his elemental state, his power was almost at the level of a Title Mage.
Hubert was, at best, a Ninth Circle Swordmaster—and not even one with much formal training. In front of Saedus, he was hardly stronger than an ant...
"Lord Saedus says you tried to run, and you still dare deny it?" The Prime Flame Sprite was furious, hanging Hubert from the carriage and whipping him with blazing chains—each lash cracking through the air and searing his flesh.
He whipped Hubert over a hundred times, until his flesh was torn and bloody. Only then did the Prime Flame Sprite feel somewhat appeased: "Let’s see if you dare try escaping again!"
"Never... never again..." The pitiful Dragonblood Beastman was barely alive when freed from the flaming chains, lying in the carriage swearing he’d never run again, while secretly cursing: Damn it, I’m not crazy—after being beaten like this, you think I’d still try to escape? What do you think I am, addicted to pain?
"Smart move." Saedus snorted coldly, then turned back into a ball of flame, hovering in the spacious carriage.
This time, Hubert didn’t dare think it was just a harmless Light Spell. Saedus’s lesson had nearly cost him his life. All night, he barely moved, and every time he saw that bright flame above his head, a chill rose in his heart.
Only at dawn did Leon recover from deep meditation. He glanced at Hubert in the corner of the carriage, saw the scorched marks crisscrossing his body, and instantly understood what had happened.
How did you sleep?
Very well... very well... Hubert’s tears and snot flowed, but he still forced a stiff smile, nodding repeatedly to insist he slept well.
Looks like you and Saedus are getting along." Leon smiled, beckoned Saedus back, then pulled a palm-sized Viperbolt Crossbow from his pocket. "I still need to study that Beastfang Necklace, so I can’t return it yet. Use this crossbow for now."
Huh?
What do you mean, huh? Don’t touch it—it's poisonous!
You’re really giving this to me?" Hubert knew full well it was poisonous. Highland Orcs are called the rats of the orc tribes not only because of their vile morals, but also because they're masters of poison. From the lowest warriors to the most revered elders, all are experts in toxins. The tribe’s shamans, seen as its soul, are born and raised among poisons—every drop of their blood and every breath is laced with deadly venom.
As a Highland Orc, Hubert knew better than anyone that the crossbow was poisoned.
The problem was—the poison was far too potent.
Hubert only had to sniff it from a distance to know: the poison on this crossbow could drop a Level-20 magical beast in an instant. Worse, the crossbow itself carried powerful magical attributes; it was the perfect blend of magic and venom. It even seemed to possess a kind of sentience, and just holding it made Hubert feel an unprecedented surge of power.
Hubert even felt that, with this crossbow, defeating a Swordmaster would be almost effortless.
Why... why? For the first time, fear appeared on Hubert’s dark red face.
Bumpkin, do you even know what kind of contract you just signed?" Before Leon could speak, Lord Shaun’s voice rang out from the ring: "You signed seven contracts in total. Don’t bother with the details—just know that you’ve sold every part of yourself to Merlin. From the moment you signed, you became Merlin’s personal property. Of course Merlin’s going to be generous when protecting his property."
The Dragonblood Beastman’s face turned pale. He looked at the crossbow in his hand, then at Leon’s calm expression.
Calling you personal property is a bit much. Maybe I could be more tactful..." Leon thought seriously, then asked under Hubert’s hopeful gaze, "Would calling you a pet be any better?"
...
After breakfast, the joint expedition team left the Silvermoon Mercenary Company’s camp. For the next two days, they trudged along rugged roads. The journey from Seaview City to Four Seasons Gorge would take about five days. During the tedious trip, the leaders of the Nine Great Factions of Seaview City would occasionally visit each other's carriages for idle chit-chat.
Leon’s carriage, in particular, was the most frequently disturbed.
Besides familiar faces like Salomon and Kadgar, even leaders Leon barely knew found excuses to climb aboard and exchange pointless pleasantries about the weather before politely returning to their own carriages. For two days, it was nothing but a waste of time.
It was strange...
Normally, Leon was stingy with his time, but these past two days he seemed like a different person—politely hosting every visitor and sending them off just as courteously. He knew they were all there to show their stance; if he refused, they’d feel insecure, worried they’d done something wrong, or even fear retaliation from the Gilded Rose. If a couple of bold ones tried something reckless, it could backfire.
So, no matter how busy Leon was, he always made time to chat with these leaders. The content didn’t matter—what mattered was that they’d talked.
After two days, almost every leader had spoken with Leon—except for Fran.
There was no helping it; Fran simply couldn’t come. That day, Leon’s delayed Fire Dragon Roar nearly killed him. Thanks to alchemical potions, Fran’s wounds had mostly healed, but the trauma lingered.
That day, Leon stomped Fran’s head into the mud right in front of everyone.
After such humiliation, Fran was nearly suicidal. If not for his obsession with Vaughn’s Vault in Four Seasons Gorge, he’d have left for Mercury Tower long ago—instead of lingering in the expedition team, enduring gossip and stares.
After leaving the Silvermoon Mercenary Company’s camp, Fran spent two days in his carriage, claiming injury and refusing to set foot outside. Tonight, Lance couldn’t stand it any longer. After dinner, he brought a bottle of alchemical burn ointment to check on Fran.
"I warned you, didn’t I…" Lance saw Fran’s expression and knew his wounds had healed long ago. He was hiding out of shame, not pain.
But hiding forever wasn’t a solution either...
With Four Seasons Gorge just ahead, Fran was sent by Mercury Tower to claim a share of the spoils. He couldn’t just hide in the carriage and expect a cut.
Besides, who’s to blame?
You stood up for Lise, demanded a fair fight, and you struck first. So who’s to blame? Merlin was too strong, too fast, or shouldn’t have stomped your head into the mud? You’re just being unreasonable...
Enough, Lance. You don’t need to say any more. I won’t forgive Matthew Merlin." Fran’s eyes blazed with hatred at the memory, and even glared at Lance with a hint of animosity.
Fran hadn’t returned to Mercury Tower because his thirst for revenge kept him going. He secretly hoped the team would reach Four Seasons Gorge and Vaughn’s Vault as soon as possible.
To Fran, that was the perfect place for revenge.
Matthew Merlin may be powerful, but we’ll see how he fares in Vaughn’s Vault—the domain of the Third Dynasty’s last Worldshaper, the true home of alchemists. I’ve been a Grandmaster for over a decade; I refuse to believe I can’t handle him.
Then I’ll show you just how severe the consequences are for insulting a Grandmaster.