Chapter 127. I’m the One Asking You!
Just one second before Galahad’s withered hand could touch his collar—
HUM—!
Without any warning, the air seed to solidify into liquid tal.
A terrifying pressure descended upon the cramped room.
It was the full, unrestrained mana suppression of a Fifth-Tier Archmage—like an invisible hand pressing heavily down on Galahad’s shoulders.
Thud.
The old man’s legs gave out. It was as if his spine had been ripped away, and he collapsed heavily back into the worn chair.
His anger and roaring were instantly choked off in his throat, replaced by a suffocating sensation of near death.
Logaris West sat in his chair, still not lifting his head. But the slight rise in his tone betrayed that his mood was far less calm than it appeared.
“Understand your situation.”
Logaris leaned forward slightly, his crimson right eye glimring with an eerie light in the dim room.
“I’m the one asking you. You are not interrogating .”
“Second, that so-called ‘bastard man’—I am looking for him as well. If you know who he is, you’d better tell now, so I don’t have to dig through archives all over the world.”
“Third.”
Logaris paused, his voice turning ice-cold.
“Elvira is dead. She died ten years ago.”
That single sentence struck like a hamr, completely shattering Galahad’s last psychological defense.
The old man froze.
All resistance drained from him in an instant, and he slumped like a deflated sack.
“Dead…?”
Galahad stared blankly at the floor, his eyes unfocused. “How could that be… She was so intelligent, so talented… how could she…”
“Pulmonary disease.”
Logaris’s voice was cold to the point of cruelty. “She died in a drafty wooden hut. No money for dicine. No money to hire a priest.”
“Now—have you cald down?”
As the final word fell, Logaris withdrew the suffocating pressure.
The air began to flow again.
Galahad sat collapsed in the chair, gasping for breath like a man just pulled from the water.
He covered his face and let out a deeply suppressed sob.
This was a man in his fifties, utterly breaking down upon hearing of his sister’s death.
Logaris said nothing. He simply took out a cigarette case, pulled out a cigarette, and held it between his lips without lighting it.
He watched quietly, his gaze devoid of much sympathy.
If you loved her so much, why didn’t you go looking for her?
If she was truly the cherished jewel of your family, how did she end up like that?
After an unknown amount of ti, the irritating sound of sobbing gradually faded.
Galahad wiped his face roughly with his sleeve. The wrinkled face seed to age another ten years in an instant.
The last trace of a fallen noble’s forced composure shattered completely, leaving behind only the desolation unique to a man nearing the end of his life.
He moved to sit on the edge of the bed. With trembling hands, he pulled out a silver flask from his chest and tilted his head back, taking a large gulp of strong liquor.
The burning liquid slid down his throat, seemingly giving him just enough strength to speak.
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to know how she left.”
Logaris fixed his gaze on the old man’s eyes. His heterochromatic right eye flickered with an eerie glow in the dimness.
“Do not tell so nonsense about being abducted. I knew that woman. Even though she beca sowhat unstable later, she was proud to the core. An ordinary man—even by force—could not have taken her away.”
At the ntion of that na, Galahad’s body visibly trembled.
He lowered his head, staring at the worn flask in his hand—its patterns long since rubbed away. After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“Twenty-two years ago…”
The old man’s voice was soft, like soone recalling an unpleasant dream.
Back then, the West family had not yet fallen into its current state. Though not among the top aristocracy, they were still a baronial house with real power in the Northern Territory. Their fur trade was highly profitable, and the people they dealt with were all respectable.
And Elvira—
She was the brightest jewel of the entire family.
She was beautiful, intelligent, and possessed astonishing magical talent.
Galahad still rembered a phrase their father used to repeat every day:
“As long as Elvira does well, our family will one day trade that ‘Baron’ title for a ‘Viscount.’”
But, as in all clichéd aristocratic tales, the family’s ambitions were not ant to be realized through the daughter’s talent—but through her body.
“Father arranged a marriage for her to secure his promotion.”
Galahad let out a bitter laugh and took another drink.
“The other party was a Count, a man of imnse power. If the marriage succeeded, the West family would obtain a royal trade license in the capital through his influence.”
Logaris sneered. “Selling your daughter for status. That suits the style of minor nobles like you.”
Galahad did not refute it. He rely nodded numbly.
“Elvira refused. She made a scene at ho, went on hunger strikes, and even smashed Father’s favorite antique vase. Back then, she was so fierce—she pointed at Father’s face and cursed him, saying she would rather die than marry that useless pig who had nothing but a title.”
“And then?” Logaris returned the cigarette to its case.
“And then…”
Galahad’s gaze grew distant, as if he had returned to that stormy night.
That night, the rain was especially heavy. Thunder shook the windows.
A man suddenly appeared in the manor.
No one knew how he entered. He simply appeared in the hall out of thin air, wearing a long black coat, not a single drop of rain on him.
Even after more than twenty years, Galahad still rembered the feeling that man gave off.
Danger.
Utter, absolute danger.
The man did not make a move. He did not even release any magical fluctuations.
He simply stood there, his gaze sweeping across the guards in the hall. Everyone—including the third-tier knight hired at great expense—froze like frogs being stared down by a venomous snake, unable to even draw their swords.
That inhuman pressure, that mixture of allure and brutality as if crawling out of the abyss—back then, Galahad truly felt he was facing a demon wearing human skin.
“That day…”
Galahad took a deep breath, his tone unbearably complex.
“In front of all of us, he asked Elvira a question.”
Logaris raised an eyebrow. “What question?”
“He asked her: do you want to stay in this cage and live as a pampered canary… or co with and see the world beyond?”
“He said that following him would be dangerous. She might die tomorrow, or spend her life on the run. But he could give her one thing—”
“Freedom that only exists within a storm.”
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