The Kingmaker System
Chapter 256 - 255. The Silent Hunt (2)

Chapter 256: 255. The Silent Hunt (2)

I approached the sleeping child slowly, my steps soft against the cool marble floor. The room was bathed in shadows, with only the faintest sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains. He lay curled into himself on the armchair, his small frame trembling with each shallow breath. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees, as though seeking comfort from a world that had offered him none.

His face, pale and drawn, was twisted in anguish. Even in sleep, he couldn’t escape his torment. The soft rise and fall of his chest was punctuated by quiet, broken whimpers that tore at something deep inside me.

I crouched beside him, watching, listening. His lips moved, forming words too faint to hear at first. Then, like a whisper carried on the wind, his voice reached me.

"Help me... Help me... Lord Dragon... Please..."

My breath caught. A single tear welled in the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek and vanishing into the folds of his robe. The sight of it made the ground feel as if it had shifted beneath me.

Those words. The same ones that had haunted my nights, echoing in my dreams. The desperate cries that had followed me, tugging at my soul with each passing moment.

"No way..." The words slipped from my lips, unbidden, as realization dawned. This child... this frail, trembling boy... was the very voice that had been calling out to me in my dreams.

His soft, strangled cries pulled me from my thoughts.

"No... No... Please..." he whimpered, his body tightening further, as though trying to fold into himself and disappear from the world.

A surge of rage flooded through me, sharp and hot like molten fire. My dragon’s presence unfurled in response, a primal force that answered my fury. The air grew heavy, vibrating with the weight of my power. Glass objects around the room shattered, their shards scattering like fallen stars. The sheer force of the energy sent chairs skidding across the floor, the wooden legs scraping against the stone.

The child jerked awake with a start, his eyes wide with panic. He gasped, his small hands flying up in a futile attempt to shield himself. His gaze darted around the room, wild and terrified, until it landed on me.

I stared back, heart pounding. His eyes—red-rimmed, filled with a raw and unspoken anguish—met mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The room seemed suspended in time, the only sound our shared breaths mingling in the silence.

I reached out slowly, intending to comfort him, but the child flinched, shrinking back. His whole body trembled like a leaf caught in a storm. The sight of it made my fury burn even hotter, but I forced myself to temper it.

Inhaling deeply, I willed my dragon’s presence to recede. The oppressive air lightened as the power coiled back into the depths of my being. I crouched lower, trying to make myself appear less intimidating.

"I’m not going to hurt you," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Can you show me your hand?"

The boy hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. His small frame trembled as he slowly extended a trembling hand toward me.

"Thank you," I murmured, taking his wrist gently, as though afraid he might break under my touch. I pushed up his sleeve, exposing the pale, flawless skin of his arm. No scars. No black pockmarks.

I frowned. His arm was unblemished, but I knew better. This child was a healer, and his body would have repaired any damage done to him. I reached for his other hand, repeating the process. Again, nothing.

I clenched my jaw, biting back the curses that threatened to spill forth. Of course. His healing ability had erased the evidence. The bastards who had taken his blood had left no trace behind.

The boy watched me warily, his fear still palpable. His wide eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and I felt something inside me crack.

"It’s okay," I whispered, placing my hand on his cheek. His skin was soft beneath my touch, warm despite the chill in the room. I brushed my thumb over his cheekbone, a silent promise that he was safe now.

"Do they... hurt you and take your blood?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle.

His eyes widened in alarm, and he gasped, clutching his robes tighter. I shook my head quickly, realizing my mistake. "Don’t say anything," I reassured him. "I know. You didn’t tell me. I figured it out."

The boy’s head dropped, his small hands curling into fists.

"I’m here now," I said softly, covering his fists with my hand. "No one’s going to hurt you anymore. I’ll make sure of it."

He looked up, his gaze searching mine. The fear was still there, but beneath it, something else flickered—hope. It was fragile, like a candle flame in the wind, but it was there.

"Do you trust me?" I asked gently.

His head dipped in a small, shaky nod.

"Then come here," I said, spreading my arms.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. Then, with a choked sob, he threw himself into my embrace. I caught him, wrapping my arms around his small frame. He clung to me tightly, his face buried in my shoulder. I felt the cool touch of the mana-canceling cuffs on his wrists, their presence a cruel reminder of the chains that bound him.

I wanted to rip them off, to free him from their hold. But not yet. First, I needed to deal with those responsible.

I held the boy close, running my hand over his back in soothing circles. His breathing slowed, the tension in his body gradually easing.

"You’re safe now," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "I promise."

But even as I made that vow, my mind was already racing ahead.

I wished to rip them off of him but they would have to stay for a while. I was first going to deal with the ones who were tormenting him and then I’d set him free to get a revenge.

The hunt was beginning, and my prey wouldn’t see it coming.

Tonight, they would face the storm.

At night, I shifted into Ocean’s male form, my features sharp and angular, hidden beneath a sleek black mask that glinted faintly in the moonlight. The mask’s edges pressed comfortably against my skin, a familiar weight that helped ground me in the role I was about to play. I was draped in my signature assassin’s outfit—jet-black fabric designed to blend seamlessly with the shadows. Each piece was tailored for silence and precision, hugging my form without restricting movement. The faint scent of leather and steel clung to me, a reminder of the tools I carried, ready for whatever awaited.

Perched on the windowsill, I felt the cool night air brush against the exposed parts of my skin, a gentle contrast to the tension coiled within me. One leg dangled lazily over the edge, swinging back and forth in a rhythm as steady as my heartbeat. It was a calculated calm, masking the storm of anticipation brewing beneath the surface. The faint creak of the wooden frame beneath me seemed to echo in the silence, a quiet reminder of the precarious balance between patience and action.

My eyes, sharp and focused, scanned the dimly lit room, tracing every shadow and corner. This was the place—where the first strike would land, where the carefully laid plans would begin to unravel. The air inside was stale, tinged with the scent of old parchment and wax. Everything felt heavy, laden with the weight of impending consequences.

I leaned back slightly, resting one hand against the wall for balance, my senses attuned to every flicker of movement beyond the door. The faint hum of the city’s life buzzed in the distance, but here, in this room, it was quiet—too quiet. Perfect.

And so, I waited. My leg continued its lazy swing, a small act of defiance against the tension thickening in the air. The prey would come. It was only a matter of time.

I waited, the silence stretching thin like a taut string ready to snap. Every second felt deliberate, a slow, measured beat building toward an inevitable crescendo. The faint sounds of the outside world faded into the background as I focused on the approaching footsteps, each one growing louder, more pronounced. The rhythmic thud of boots against stone sent vibrations through the floor, signaling that my prey was drawing near.

Closer. Closer.

The doorknob twisted with a metallic click, the sound sharp in the stillness. The door creaked open, revealing a figure cloaked in shadow as he stepped into the room. For a moment, he didn’t notice me, his gaze sweeping over the dimly lit space, oblivious to the danger lurking just beyond his periphery.

When his eyes finally landed on me, a strangled gasp escaped his lips. He staggered back, his face paling as panic set in. His instinct to flee kicked in, and he turned, making a desperate lunge for the door.

But it was too late.

With a flick of my wrist, the door slammed shut, the force rattling the frame. The sharp crack of wood meeting wood echoed through the room, cutting off his escape. He froze, eyes wide and wild, darting between the closed door and the figure standing calmly before him.

He spun around, chest heaving as he tried to steady himself, forcing a bravado that didn’t match the fear in his eyes. His voice, trembling and uneven, broke the silence.

"W-Who are you?"

The cracks in his tone betrayed him, each word faltering under the weight of dread.

I tilted my head, observing him like a predator sizing up its prey, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at my lips beneath the mask.

"Your demise," I said, my voice low and cold, each word carrying the finality of a death sentence.