Hearing someone's voice, other squads approached them, drawing their swords from their sheaths.
"What is it? Did you catch them?" one of the soldiers asked.
"No sign of the rebels. But I did find someone suspicious."
One of the soldiers replied, keeping his sword pressed against Hastora's neck.
"Strange man?"
"Yes. I saw this man eavesdropping on your conversation."
"What!"
All the soldiers' eyes glared at him sharply.
He could feel their immense killing intent.
He swallowed hard, sweat tracing down his jaw.
There was nowhere to run—only the sword at his throat and the silence of fear.
"You! Are you one of the rebels?!"
One of the soldiers shouted.
Hastora's face hardened.
His jaw clenched tightly.
Rage surged within him.
"I—I... I'm not a rebel. I don't know anything about them."
Hastora replied, trembling.
This situation cornered him, leaving him helpless.
If he tried to fight back, the sword near his neck would pierce his throat.
The soldier furrowed his brow.
It didn't make sense. No—it was impossible.
How could this man have heard their voices? They had used Selective Sound!
The soldier's conviction that the man was one of the rebels grew stronger
He was about to strike him down when one of his comrades stopped him.
"Stop. Don't kill him!"
Instantly, he obeyed like a puppy scolded by its owner.
He sheathed his sword, bowing his head.
"...Sorry. I got carried away," he said, returning to his previous position.
Hastora observed them all with a calm gaze, though his mind was in utter chaos.
Based on his observations, each squad had five members.
With five squads, that made a total of twenty-five soldiers.
As he tried to move his fingers to use magic, the sword pointed at his neck drew closer and closer.
It seemed the soldier had noticed his intention.
He decided to stop and remain silent, offering no resistance.
"So, this is the stalker?"
One of them stepped towards him.
He was a man with a thick mustache and short black hair.
He was physically larger than all the other soldiers present.
His attire also differed from the others.
On his chest was the royal emblem with five stars above it.
He didn't look like an ordinary soldier.
The aura he emitted was completely different from the others.
Now Hastora realized it.
This man wasn't just any soldier; he was the general leading this special force.
"My name is Darnel Versk. I am the leader of this squad."
The man, Darnel, said, staring sharply at him.
"You'd better confess. Are you one of the rebels hiding in Solvareth?!"
He asked in a firm tone.
His voice and gaze were unwavering.
If Hastora didn't answer honestly, he was certain he would be destroyed by Darnel.
"I'm not lying... I really am not one of the rebels you—"
Darnel kicked him hard in the stomach.
Hastora collapsed in pain, vomiting blood.
As he tried to stand, another kick landed on his head, slamming his head hard against the asphalt.
"W—What are you—"
Darnel stepped on his head.
"You brought this on yourself—for lying."
Darnel spoke coldly, looking down with a chilling gaze.
Hastora tried to free his head from Darnel's foot, but failed.
He tried to break free, using Flamma Internus in desperation.
He gathered his mana in his palm when suddenly a sword pierced his hand.
"Arghhh!"
Hastora felt excruciating pain in his right hand.
Fresh blood stained the street.
Now he realized it.
'Who is this Darnel? This character never appeared in the novel!'
Darnel's appearance truly bewildered him.
The general leading this special force was completely different from the one in the novel.
In the novel, the Glazareth special forces were led by General Drevic, not Darnel.
So, where did Drevic go?
Was he fired or replaced?
Both were guesses with a high probability of being true.
Neither was more or less likely.
Both were equally possible.
"Last warning. Tell me the truth—unless you want to die for real."
Hastora snapped out of his thoughts when Darnel spoke in a cold voice.
He was so focused on his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the pain in his hand.
He glared at Darnel with murderous intent.
He was getting annoyed with the man's attitude.
However, he also realized he couldn't do anything.
All he could do was answer.
But what should he answer?
The man wouldn't believe him if he didn't confess to being one of the rebels.
But he really wasn't a rebel.
These people were incredibly stubborn.
"I'm asking seriously. Are you one of the rebels hiding in Solvareth?"
Darnel asked.
His voice was calm yet threatening.
His gaze turned bloodthirsty, ready to kill him at any moment.
Hastora was truly under pressure.
He didn't know what to answer.
He closed his eyes, enduring the pain in his hand.
There was only one answer.
"I'm not lying. I really am not—"
Hastora couldn't finish his sentence when Darnel's aura-coated kick struck his head hard.
Hastora flew back, blood spurting from his mouth.
His vision blurred as a second kick landed on his body.
He felt his ribs break as he was thrown back a second time.
His body writhed in pain; he felt his consciousness fading away.
His vision blurred.
The last thing he saw was a group of soldiers staring at him coldly before he lost consciousness completely.
***
A sharp throb pulsed through Hastora's head as he opened his eyes.
Cold concrete walls surrounded him like a cell for prisoners.
He tried to move his hands but couldn't.
His hands were restrained by two iron chains on the left and right.
He looked around with furrowed brows.
"I... Where am I?"
He suddenly felt excruciating pain in his right hand when he tried to move it.
He looked at his right hand.
His eyes widened when he saw that his right hand was bandaged.
Who did this?
No, the most important question was why he was still alive?
Had someone saved him?
'Maybe... Neither.'
Regardless, he believed that the room he was in was a prison.
It was impossible that someone had saved him.
Perhaps Darnel had deliberately spared his life and left him in prison.
But why did Darnel do that?
He didn't know the reason—maybe Darnel had one of his own.
He sighed and sat quietly, closing his eyes.
He finally guessed the reason why he was left alive and not killed.