The Regressed Villainess Tore Up The Annulment Papers - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Northern Lords' Assembly (5)

While the revelry in the banquet hall reached a fever pitch, shaking the very foundations of the manor...

Down in the dungeons, dust rained down on the two figures, dislodged by the tremors from above.

"Things seem lively up there," a woman remarked.

"Keh! You're a dead woman walking," a man snarled, his body battered and bruised, his eyes burning with hatred as he glared at the woman standing calmly before him. "You dared to lay a finger on a servant of the Demonic God. You'll pay for your insolence."

Her hair, as white as freshly fallen snow, framed a face of captivating beauty. Her violet eyes, captivating and alluring, held him captive with their intensity.

She was a vision of loveliness, a masterpiece worthy of a painter's brush.

But the man's gaze held no lust, no desire. Only fear, the primal terror of a prey animal facing a predator.

"Quiet down," the woman said, her voice calm and unwavering. "I can guess what's happening. Your allies have arrived, haven't they?"

"Y-Yes! And now you're finished! You won't die peacefully, not after interfering with the Cult!"

"I believe I made it quite clear that you have no right to speak to me in such a manner," the woman, Aria, said, her voice dropping an octave. "Are you incapable of learning?"

Crackle—!!

"Aaaaaargh!!"

A surge of violet electricity erupted from Aria's hand, jolting the man's body.

He convulsed, his muscles spasming as the current coursed through him.

'How did things end up like this?' he thought, his mind reeling.

He had been a lowly dark mage, struggling to survive on the fringes of society, until fate intervened, granting him entry into the Demonic Cult.

The cult was a haven for those who couldn't operate in the light, a brotherhood of outcasts and rebels.

It promised power, prestige, and the chance to ascend to a higher plane of existence, a chance to become a true servant of the Demonic God.

And finally, he had been given an opportunity to prove himself.

He had received intel that the heir to Dustin County was a Spirit Mage, a rare and powerful individual who had formed a pact with a spirit, channeling pure elemental energy.

A Spirit Mage's body, cleansed and purified by their connection to the spirit realm, was the ultimate sacrifice, a coveted offering for the Demonic God.

And so, he had acted, driven by ambition and the promise of reward.

He had infiltrated Dustin County, hoping to capture the Spirit Mage and earn his place within the cult's hierarchy.

'But then that damned spirit caught me, and I ended up in this cell.'

He hadn't been worried, not initially.

He had been stripped of his magic, his limbs bound, but he remained confident that the cult would rescue him.

It wasn't simply blind faith in his comrades. He knew they wouldn't abandon a valuable offering like a Spirit Mage.

'Especially the High Priest, the temporary leader of the North. He's a powerful man, imbued with divine power, capable of single-handedly wiping out an entire battalion of knights. He wouldn't hesitate to rescue me.'

With the High Priest and his followers at his back, the destruction of the Dustin family was inevitable.

All he had to do was wait for the chaos to unfold, then escape in the ensuing confusion.

He might have failed to capture the Spirit Mage himself, but survival was paramount. He would have other opportunities to prove his worth.

That had been his plan.

"I can hear your pathetic schemes from here," a chilling voice interrupted his thoughts.

Crackle!!

Another surge of electricity coursed through his body, forcing him to roll on the floor, his screams echoing through the dungeon.

Ever since this woman, this angel of death, had entered his cell, his carefully laid plans had been unraveling.

She had appeared before him, alone and unguarded, her beauty both mesmerizing and terrifying.

She wielded a terrifying array of magic, torturing him relentlessly, forcing him to reveal everything he knew about the Demonic Cult.

'Damn her...'

He had resisted at first, scoffing at her demands, weaving elaborate lies and half-truths.

- "Don't underestimate me," she had said, her voice deceptively sweet. "I'm quite skilled at discerning truth from fiction."

She saw through his every deception, her intuition uncanny, her punishments swift and brutal.

If she had resorted to physical violence, to the typical methods employed by the Dustin interrogators, he might have endured it.

But her methods were far more insidious, more creative. She electrocuted him, suffocated him, force-fed him water, even burned his flesh with fire, then meticulously carved away the damaged tissue, her beautiful face a mask of serenity as she inflicted unimaginable pain.

"Hmm... it seems you've finally run out of information. And I'm starting to worry about Eugene. Things are getting rather noisy up there."

It's time to go.

He felt a surge of relief at her words, a glimmer of hope that he might escape this torment.

But his relief was short-lived.

"Now that you're no longer useful... I can't have you escaping during this commotion. It would be best to deal with you now."

"W-Wait! I told you everything I know! Please, spare me! I won't try to escape!"

Aria ignored his pleas, her brow furrowed in thought.

Then, a sinister smile spread across her lips, as if inspired by the tremors that continued to shake the dungeon.

"I have a wonderful idea."

It was a cruel smile, one she would never show Eugene, a smile that revealed the darkness hidden beneath her beauty.

She leaned closer, her face inches from his, her voice a chilling whisper.

"Every guest deserves a parting gift."

"What? What are you talking about...?"

"Well, I don't think you'll be needing those cumbersome limbs anymore, do you?"

And then, his screams filled the dungeon, a symphony of pain and terror that echoed through the stone walls.

***

The ceiling of the banquet hall had completely caved in, revealing a sliver of the night sky, the moon shining down on the chaotic scene below.

"Are you alright?" Eugene asked, shielding Julian from the falling debris.

They had moved quickly, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the collapsing ceiling.

"Yes, I'm fine. What about you, Eugene?"

"I'm fine."

Eugene turned his attention to the dust cloud that filled the air, his eyes narrowing.

Whoosh!

A black orb shot out from the cloud, hurtling towards him.

He reacted instantly, his fist connecting with the projectile, deflecting it with a practiced ease.

"Sylph!"

Julian summoned a wind spirit, instantly dispelling the dust cloud.

"Impressive," a voice drawled from within the clearing smoke. "To think you could deflect that with your bare hands."

A man in black robes, a smug smile playing on his lips, stood amidst the debris.

As if on cue, more figures clad in black robes descended from the opening in the ceiling, landing gracefully within the banquet hall.

"A pleasure to meet you all," the man said, his voice oozing with a sinister charm as he approached them.

He conjured another black orb, similar to the one Eugene had just deflected, but the energy it radiated was far more potent, more menacing.

There was no time for hesitation.

"I am the High Priest of the glorious Demonic Cult... Gah!?"

Crash!

Eugene grabbed a nearby marble table, laden with food, and hurled it at the approaching figure.

The table, a solid mass of stone and metal, connected with the man's chest, sending him flying across the room. He slammed into the opposite wall with a sickening thud, his body crumpling like a discarded rag doll.

"Uh... Eugene...?"

Julian, stunned by his friend's sudden and violent outburst, stared at him with wide eyes.

The other nobles, initially frozen by the unexpected chaos, started to react, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

Even the black-robed figures surrounding their fallen leader seemed to hesitate, their eyes darting nervously between Eugene and their unconscious High Priest.

Everyone in the banquet hall stared at him in disbelief.

'These kids... they've gotten soft since leaving the front lines.'

Eugene stomped his foot on the ground.

Boom!!

The impact reverberated through the hall, leaving a deep crack in the floor.

He surveyed the scene, his gaze sweeping across the stunned faces of his peers.

"What are you all waiting for? We have guests."

His words sparked a flicker of recognition in their eyes. The initial shock gave way to a steely resolve, their faces hardening as they reached for their weapons.

He nodded, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"That's right. Let's give them a proper Northern welcome."

The intruders, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, began to back away, their confidence faltering as they clustered together, their eyes darting nervously.

Eugene didn't hesitate. He charged into their midst, his fist connecting with the leader's skull, crushing it like an overripe melon.

"The Northern way."

The warm, sticky sensation of blood and brains splattered across his hand, a familiar feeling that ignited a primal urge within him. His lips curled into a savage grin.

And then, like a pack of wolves unleashed upon their prey, the Northern nobles surged forward, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight.

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