Chapter 160: Traitor or Tool

Looking outside, Luke watched small flakes of snow drifting through the shattered window. The snow fell slowly, collecting in the corners of the sill, while cold wind slipped directly through the open gap. Being so close to the wall, the air here was colder. Heavier. The stone floor kept the chill even without wind. He exhaled and saw his breath mist into the air. He did it again, watching how the warm air dissolved in the room’s frigid stillness.

He was inside a house somewhere in the ruins near the great wall. The walls were cracked, wood rotted in places, and the ceiling barely held the weight of the snow piling up above. He had been tied up with chains, secured to iron hooks embedded deep into the concrete. The links were worn but held strong. Ropes bound his chest and arms tightly, restricting even the smallest movements.

“They really went all out…” he muttered.

His voice came out low, almost flat—more an offhand remark than anything sarcastic.

Luke couldn’t shift into mist. He was physically restrained—anchored to the material world. That restriction blocked one of his greatest advantages. It was a flaw in the nature of his skill, one that came down to soul-mana synchronization. His body, essence, and power had to align perfectly for the transformation to occur. Clothing worked because it was bonded to him, treated as an extension of his body. But things like ropes, cuffs, or foreign restraints? They disrupted the alignment. Anything external broke the harmony—and the skill would fail.

Every few minutes, his guard entered the room to check on him. Always the same pattern. Footsteps. A quick glance. Then silence again.

He sighed and turned back to the window. Nothing had changed. The world outside remained still, frozen, empty. His only real option for escape was to break the chains and hurl himself through the window. But he knew there were guards posted. Doing that would only make things worse.

“Human, why have you allowed yourself to be captured?” came the cold, emotionless voice from the black stone in his necklace.

Luke sat up—not in a rush, but slowly, feeling his muscles strain from being bound so long.

“Worried about me, stone?” he asked, a faint, ironic smile on his lips. Though he already knew the response would carry more contempt than concern.

He heard the stone click its tongue in annoyance. The sharp, dry sound was enough to tell him it was irritated.

“To watch you allow yourself to be imprisoned by these weak humans is humiliating for one who was once defeated by you,” the stone hissed. No respect in its tone. Just bitter indignation.

“You talk like you were the strongest thing in this place…” Luke muttered.

No other creature—not even a lord—could compare to what was in that castle. The two main threats Luke knew were the final challenge of this place: the Midnight King and the Witch.

“I think he just doesn’t want to stir up trouble for Allison,” Artemis said. “And maybe… maybe he didn’t like being treated like a criminal.”

“In a way, yeah. That’s part of it. And… I trust Allison,” Luke said.

Luke glanced toward the door.

“I want to hand over control of the second fortress to these people,” he said quietly. “And I owe Angelica a few favors. I’m not looking to fight anyone.”

Footsteps approached. The door burst open with force.

A man entered holding a torch in one hand and a rapier in the other. His presence pulled all focus, shifting the tension in the room.

“Who were you talking to?” the man asked, pointing the blade at Luke. His eyes didn’t blink. He wanted a real answer.

“A rock. And a soul,” Luke said.

The man glanced around the room. “Still with the jokes, huh?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes and pressing the rapier closer to Luke’s chest.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

It was Quinn, someone he’d known from his time at the Haven. The tension between them was palpable—fueled by everything left unsaid and unresolved.

“How are things downstairs? From up here it sounds like one hell of an argument,” Luke said.

Quinn stepped closer. “You’re a damn traitor. We should kill you for what you did to Angelica.”

Luke drew a breath, steady but sharp.

“You weren’t there,” he said. “Don’t speak about things you don’t understand.”

His words were low, but they hit hard. The memory of that night with Angelica wasn’t something he talked about—not because he was hiding guilt, but because explaining it would never be enough. People saw what they wanted. Explaining would be a waste of breath.

More footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Slower this time. Measured. Someone with a different purpose.

“Give me a few minutes alone with him,” a woman’s voice called. She didn’t raise her tone. She didn’t need to.

Quinn clicked his tongue, then left the room, slamming the door behind him. As his footsteps faded, the new figure leaned against the wall.

“Enjoying your stay at the hotel?” Evangeline asked.

“The channel lineup’s interesting,” Luke replied. “My only complaint is the room service.” His answer came dry, no smile behind it.

She walked over and sat down beside him on the floor.