Chapter 220: The Obsessed’s Wrath

As the others filed out of the chamber, Bartholomew sank back into his chair and called upon the Death Painting. The effort made the image waver, but the black panther in the darkness remained, always there, a silent omen of his death.

Is that it? Will I die in a rebellion? If Luke is still alive, I need to know everything he knows. And if he’s found the other fortress in that new area, I’m in trouble. If word gets out that I’ve had the first mechanism all along… I’m finished.

He would send the assassins after Luke. The tutorial must never be completed. Luke had to die. No one leaves this world.

Only one person lingered in the room with him. No one else would dare. No one else would be allowed. But this man was used to breaking those rules, Bartholomew’s newest pawn, his latest tool: Jonathan.

“Why, Bartholomew?” Jonathan’s tone dripped with irritation.

Bartholomew took a slow drink of water. He needed it. That meeting had been tense, and far too much important information had been exchanged.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the damned gate?” Jonathan demanded.

Bartholomew shot him a sidelong look. “Do I look like a messenger boy to you?”

Jonathan stepped closer. “I’ve been out there in the Wild Zone hunting people for you, doing Kruger’s dirty work.”

“And while you were doing that, I had Ronan handling other matters. That’s what a leader does, Jonathan. He delegates.” His tone was sharp enough to cut.

“But why keep the gate from me? We’re working together!”

Bartholomew set his mug down with a soft thud. “How was I supposed to guess the gate being opened had anything to do with this Luke? You’re the one who didn’t tell me he killed a Midnight Warden.”

Jonathan froze, his expression cooling. “I didn’t take him seriously when he told me. I thought he’d just escaped the mine. But now it all makes sense. Luke’s been to that gate before, and now he’s hiding there.”

“At least your revenge is complete,” Bartholomew said. “From what I’ve heard lately, I can assure you no one could survive a single night there alone. There’s a giant snake in that place, one that spits acid. Your target is dead.”

Jonathan chuckled darkly. “Dead? No. Luke’s a rat. He’s holed up somewhere, hiding like a coward. He’s alive, he has to be. Things can’t end like this.”

Bartholomew sighed. “Either way, you’re free from our arrangement. No reason for us to keep working together. Luke’s dead. Go live your life.”

“No!” Jonathan stepped in, voice low but firm. “Not yet.”

“If you want to keep working for me for free, that’s your choice. But I’ll keep giving you the nastiest jobs. You’ve gotten good at them,” Bartholomew replied with a faint smirk.

“I need to be ready,” Jonathan said. “Even if I have to cross over myself to hunt Luke down.”

With that, Jonathan turned and left. Bartholomew smiled faintly as the door shut behind him. That was how it worked. He had manipulated Jonathan perfectly, letting the man convince himself to stay.

He had plenty of soldiers, some even willing to do the dirtiest work. But Jonathan was different, blinded by the need for revenge, and because of that, completely manipulable. That made him useful, since leaving this world was no longer his goal.

***

Jonathan walked the halls of Bastion, his steps echoing against the cold stone. All the time he’d spent working for Bartholomew had left him with a question he hated admitting to himself: Was Luke right when he said Paul let Angelica die?

The possibility gnawed at him. Weeks had passed since her death. His rage had cooled just enough for doubt to seep in, but it hadn’t dulled the edge of his vengeance. Angelica had been too good for any of them. She had given him back the hope he had lost in this world. He remembered the moment he met her as if it had happened an hour ago.

When Jonathan first arrived in the tutorial, he’d been weak, bleeding, and half-delirious after wandering the Wild Zone alone. For two endless weeks, he’d crept through the forest, hiding and shaking at every sound. At night, the black-armored warrios appeared, the ones he later learned were called Midnight Wardens. He’d thought he was trapped in some kind of purgatory.

In those days, he had cried. He had screamed. More than once, he’d thought about ending it. And then he stepped through a thin line of trees and found himself looking at a street. It was so mundane, so absurd, that he was sure it was a hallucination. People were walking. Talking. Laughing.

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Still trapped in his own head, he wandered deeper, dazed, waiting for the nightmare to reassert itself. No one spoke to him, and he said nothing back. Somehow, without realizing it, he had crossed into the Safe Zone.

He kept moving, barely believing the people around him were real, until he stopped in front of a statue. A quest statue. He read the inscription and felt something inside him collapse. He had barely survived the forest, boars, wolves, even the teeth of scaled lizards, and now this? His mind teetered on the edge of panic.