The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

The prison of Thunder City, a great hall buried deep underground; the air here still retained the chill of winter, unlike the spring breeze caressing the Earth Surface.

There were no instruments of torture here, only icy stone walls and dozens of bloodshot eyes.

Roughly fifty prisoners in prison garb had been gathered here.

Among them were hereditary Sirs, wealthy commoners' sons who yearned to enter the ranks of the Nobles through military merit, and mercenaries swept in by the illusion of wealth.

In that calamity which broke out in winter, it was precisely these men who raised the torches borrowed from the Ryan Kingdom, giving the Northern Vassals the courage to hoist the banner of rebellion, and carrying the flames of war into the heartland of the Campbell Duchy.

It was a pity that the sun of the Ryan Kingdom ultimately could not shine upon them. Theoden celebrated the "victory of winter" in another fashion, while the defeat in the South was treated as if it did not exist.

Those captives trapped in the enemy's camp were, of course, forgotten by this usurper.

The prisoners' faces were ashen, awaiting the arrival of their fate; they were convinced that the Campbell people could not possibly feed them indefinitely, yet none knew on which day he would be dragged out as a sacrifice to the flag.

Perhaps, that day was now.

Just as the crowd was filled with anxious dread, the heavy iron door boomed open.

Edward Campbell, dressed in a tight-fitting dark blue outfit, strode in, flanked by two ranks of guards armed to the teeth.

His boots struck the dry flagstones with a sound that made hearts tremble, as though stepping squarely upon the prisoners' anxious hearts.

When he reached the front of the prisoners, Edward swept his gaze over them; that cold look was as sharp as a blade, and almost every man guiltily averted his eyes.

It was not only the Duke they feared; what truly unnerved them were the gazes of those privates... those Campbell people looked as though they could not wait to tear them to pieces.

Without pausing, Edward spoke.

"Gentlemen."

"You all know me, but this is my first time making your acquaintance. I imagine you have much you wish to say to me—now, you may speak."

The hall was deathly silent.

No one spoke; there was only the resignation of those who had bet and lost.

Seeing that no one would open his mouth, Edward chose not to waste his precious time. He let out a cold laugh and said.

"Since you will not speak, I shall."

"As soldiers of the Ryan Kingdom, without a declaration of war, you crossed the border of your own accord, interfered in the internal affairs of the Campbell Duchy, and aided rebels in slaughtering my subjects."

"Whether under Imperial law or under the laws of the Campbell Duchy, you have no right to be exchanged back under the status of prisoners of war. Put politely, you are war criminals; put bluntly, you are bandits. Even if I hang you all, not a single outsider will shed a tear for you."

His voice was so cold it held not a trace of warmth, as though he were reading out a death sentence long since drafted.

And that final sentence made hearts shudder, cold from head to heel, then cold all the way into the stone beneath.

"You deserve death, and more."

The hall fell into dead silence.

A few Knights in the front row straightened their backs; though their faces were pale, their eyes remained stubborn.

They were true Nobles, and did indeed possess a Knight's spirit. Since they had been captured, they were prepared to submit to whatever killing or flaying might befall them.

This was the Knight's fate.

Even if no one would acknowledge their honor.

As for those commoners' sons who had come in pursuit of a Sir's title, and the mercenaries bought with coin, they were far less steadfast.

Fear had long since snapped their spines and climbed into their brows.

Some even trembled in the legs; had the shackles not held them, they would likely have collapsed to the ground already.

These weak-kneed wretches had clearly not yet experienced the baptism of feudal rule—or perhaps, once a few coins jingled in their pockets, they forgot where they lived.

Looking upon this group awaiting death, a cold smile tugged at the corner of Edward's lips; yet that smile quickly melted into a certain pity within his majesty.

"But—"

His tone shifted; the voice that had been so cruel and merciless suddenly grew gentler, even tinged with a measure of regret.

"I am a man of understanding."

"I know you were not born Evil. You have merely been blinded, turned into pitiable discarded pieces on another man's chessboard; some of you may even believe yourselves to be nobly sacrificing your lives. I am a devout believer, unlike your King. Since the Holy Sis Church teaches us to forgive the folly of the ignorant, I am willing to offer you this chance as well."

He walked up to a young Knight, fixed his eyes on the man, and asked, "Tell me—what did your King promise you? A Noble Title? Land? Or glory?"

The Knight clenched his teeth and said nothing, yet the flicker in his eyes betrayed his restraint.

Edward laughed.

He knew perfectly well what Theoden would have said.

Their kind were all Monarchs, and the cheapest promise to make was land that belonged to others.

"...He must have told you that the Campbell Duchy was fragile as glass, that the Duke and the Earl were united in appearance yet divided in truth, like some ramshackle house about to collapse. All you had to do was give it a kick, and you could then carry your luggage inside and live there."

The Knight's eyes widened; he stared at Edward in stunned disbelief.

His Majesty...

Had indeed promised him exactly that.

Not a single word different!

Edward let out a cold snort and lifted his gaze to the men behind the Knight, continuing in a voice utterly devoid of feeling.

"And what, in the end, is the reality? You have lain here rotting from winter into spring, yet has His Majesty Theoden, who promised you everything, sent even a single envoy to negotiate your ransom with me?"

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