Another World Witch Training Manual

097. The Lion About to Awaken

He paused, lowered his voice, and quickly glanced around, as if to make sure no one else was listening.

Their wary demeanor suggested that even the cracks in the wall might be hiding eyes that were eavesdropping.

"Your Highness, I advise you to go back. Lord Simondo has a bad temper; he even turned away the Crown Prince's men a couple of days ago."

A chill ran through Xin Lai's heart.

Even Prince Galund's men were turned away?

This sentence was like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, the ripples spreading outwards and stirring up the previously dormant thoughts.

He stood there, his fingers unconsciously tightening slightly, leaving a faint mark on the folds of his robe hanging at his side.

It seems Simeon is determined to keep the Marquis of Tanstin firmly in his grasp this time, not letting anyone see it even under his fingernails.

Now, Marquis Tanstin is like a freshly baked pie, and everyone wants a bite. The eldest prince wants it, the second prince wants it, and even the sharks in the court who smell blood want it.

But what about the Marquis of Kestanstein himself? The old man, locked deep in the dungeon, unsure if he would ever see the sun rise again, became the most insignificant one.

Everyone treated him as a pawn, a bargaining chip, a loophole that could be used to attack opponents and seize benefits.

No one cared whether he was guilty or not, nor did anyone care how he spent each moment in this dark and gloomy dungeon.

Xinlai lowered her eyelashes, her gaze falling on the rough stone slabs beneath her feet.

In the dim light, the uneven texture resembled a silent face, staring at him expressionlessly.

But he is not one of the eldest prince's men.

He is no one's knife, no one's shield, and certainly not a puppet that the powerful and wealthy can manipulate at will.

He is Xinlai.

He is the third prince of the Golden Glory Royal Family.

He was the shadow that had been ignored by everyone for over twenty years, the shadow that no one would ever speak to at a banquet, the shadow that was always seated at the end of the court, the shadow that even the lowest-ranking servants in the palace dared to whisper behind his back, saying that he was "nothing more than a product of the king's momentary folly."

It's been over twenty years.

He had long been accustomed to being ignored, to being looked down upon, and to being avoided by everyone as if they were avoiding a plague in every situation where taking sides was required.

But getting used to it doesn't mean accepting it, and silence doesn't mean surrendering. Some things are hidden deep within, accumulating day after day, like slowly flowing magma deep underground. If it doesn't erupt, it's fine, but once it finds an outlet, it's a raging fire that consumes everything…

Like a lion about to awaken

"Take me to see Simondo."

His tone didn't rise; in fact, it was even calmer than before.

But it was precisely this gentleness that gave the sentence an undeniable weight. It wasn't a roar, nor a threat, but rather like a tide, flowing silently, yet leaving no room for refusal.

The two guards exchanged a glance.

That glance held hesitation, speculation, and a barely perceptible hint of apprehension.

They had seen far too many arrogant dignitaries and far too many insignificant figures who were slinked away in disgrace. But the third prince before them was neither arrogant nor disgraceful.

He stood there quietly, like a sword that had not yet been drawn.

A moment later, the guard on the left finally withdrew his arm, muttered "Follow me," and turned to push open the heavy stone door.

The iron hinge emitted a low groan, like a giant beast forcibly awakened from its slumber.

Beyond the stone gate lies a secluded passageway.

Xin Lai followed, and as soon as her boots touched the edge of the passageway, a cold, damp atmosphere hit her, carrying with it the smell of rust, mold, and some indescribable decay.

The smell didn't seem to float in the air; rather, it seemed to have seeped into every crevice of the stone wall, accumulating over time and becoming an integral part of this dungeon.

The passageway was narrow, allowing only two people to walk side by side.

There was an oil lamp on the wall every few steps, its flame flickering gently in the weak airflow, casting shadows that were sometimes long and sometimes short, sometimes twisting into strange shapes on the left stone wall, and sometimes darting to the right, like a group of ghosts clinging to the stone wall, silently following everyone who passed by.

The further you go in, the more damp and cold the air becomes.

Fine water droplets condensed on the stone wall, reflecting a faint, golden light in the dim firelight, like scattered tears falling in the darkness.

The stone slabs under her feet gradually became slippery, and Xinlai could feel the thin film of water between the soles of her shoes and the stone surface, making each step slightly sticky.

In the distance, faint, indistinct wails could be heard.

The sound was repeatedly filtered and weakened by the thick stone walls, and by the time it reached this place, only a muffled echo remained, like something struggling and panting deep underground, finally turning into a long sigh that drifted away along the tunnel.

No one knew who the voice belonged to, and no one wanted to know. In this dungeon, wails were the least valuable thing, just like the squeaking of rats or the dripping of water, merely part of the background.

Xinlai's expression remained unchanged.

His pace was neither fast nor slow, and his breathing was even and steady, as if he were walking not through a gloomy tunnel leading to the depths of the earth, but through a sunlit corridor in a castle.

Only he himself knew that his senses were silently unfolding, like a fine net, capturing every subtle fluctuation around him: changes in temperature, airflow, and the faint signs of life hidden behind the stone walls.

After walking for about five minutes, a half-open iron door appeared at the end of the passage. Warm yellow light shone through the crack in the door, creating a stark contrast with the cold and dim light in the passageway.

The light squeezed out from the gap, like a soft knife, splitting the darkness in two.

The guard stopped at the door, stepped aside, and lowered his gaze. He didn't push the door open or announce his arrival; he simply looked at Xinlai with a look that held a hint of pity, a look that seemed to say: I've brought you here; the rest is up to you.

Xinlai ignored his gaze and pushed open the door.

The room was small, even somewhat cramped.

A heavy wooden table occupied most of the central space, with several documents spread out on it. The cap of the ink bottle was not tightened, emitting a bitter ink smell.

A few chairs were casually placed on the table, and against the wall was a row of filing cabinets crammed full, the brass pull rings gleaming with a dull luster under the light.

A burly middle-aged man sat behind the table.

He had a square face, thick eyebrows, and large eyes. His jawline was sharp and defined, and his dark blue officer's uniform was stretched taut. Every brass button was polished to a shine, and a silver eagle brooch was pinned to his collar. It was the mark of a high-ranking officer, and a tiny sapphire was set in the eagle's eye, which shimmered slightly in the firelight.

He held a glass of red wine in his hand, leisurely flipping through some documents. The wine swirled gently in the glass, its dark reddish-black color under the light resembling congealed blood.

He was extremely relaxed, leaning back in his chair with one leg casually crossed over the other, as if this were not a gloomy dungeon office, but his own study where he could relax in the afternoon.

Xinlai's senses spread out silently, like an invisible thread, gently touching the other's breath.

Not lower than level 40...

It seems Simondo has improved again recently.