r18novel Chapter 215: A Feast for Hounds
Chapter 215: A Feast for Hounds
"And what exactly do you plan on telling him... Alisha?"
From the deep, pitch-black shadows of the cellar, a figure stepped into the pale light. His yellow eyes pierced the gloom, looking down at her with pure, sickening revulsion and apathy.
Alisha gasped, scrambling backward on her hands and knees. The rough gravel tore at her skin, but she barely felt it; she knew instantly that he had not come to offer mercy. "Oh... Roland. It’s you..."
"It’s me what?" His voice was soft, yet charged with a terrifying undertone that sliced through the heavy silence.
A paralyzing dread seeped into Alisha’s soul. She looked up at him—at this absolute madman towering over her—and found herself completely stripped of her usual defenses, her mind racing frantically but fruitlessly for an escape.
"Stop crawling like a dog and tell me," Roland commanded, stepping closer. The heavy thud of his boots crushed the gravel like the ticking of a stopwatch announcing its final moments. "What were you going to tell Lucius? I am... let’s say, intensely curious."
"Nothing!" she pleaded in a weeping tone, her voice trembling so violently that her teeth chattered. "Nothing, I swear to you... I was only going to beg him to take me back."
Roland looked down at her, a vile, mocking sneer curling his lips. He let the silence stretch between them, savoring her despair before speaking: "And why on earth would he welcome a pathetic outcast piece of trash like you back into his grand palace? It would be a miserable waste of his imperial time."
Gathering the shattered remnants of her pride, Alisha forced herself to look into his eyes. Dragging her body toward him, her hands clawed at the air, desperately trying to reach the hem of his coat. "Roland... help me. Help me get back. I promise, I will give you anything you desire from the throne. Just get me out of here. I don’t belong in a place like this. Please!"
Roland didn’t flinch. Instead, he advanced with slow, fluid steps until his towering shadow completely eclipsed her weeping, broken form, casting her into total darkness.
"Even your final mission—assassinating the Emperor—was a wretched, pathetic failure," he whispered, his voice dropping to an icy, perilous hiss that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "Why in the world would I help you now, you useless whore, Alisha?"
"Roland, I—"
Before she could finish, his fist thrust forward with lightning speed, delivering a violent, crushing blow directly to her abdomen.
The air rushed out of Alisha’s lungs in a muffled, agonizing gasp. The sheer force of the impact lifted her slightly off the ground before she collapsed.
"You are nothing but a slimy tool that has finally expired," he spat, looking down at her writhing body.
Alisha collapsed onto the damp dirt, clutching her stomach as waves of agony washed over her. Roland did not hesitate; before she could even catch her breath, he brought his heavy boot down onto her outstretched hand, grinding the bones of her fingers into the sharp gravel with deliberate, sickening force. She screamed—a sharp, blood-curdling wail that pierced the abandoned courtyard and echoed off the vacant walls.
"But I didn’t come here to discuss your absolute uselessness, my dear," Roland murmured, leaning over her, his eyes suddenly gleaming with a manic spark. "I came here to clear my name."
She swallowed her words past the mud and blood pooling in her mouth. "Clear... your name?"
"You know too much, Alisha. Far too much," he said. And without the slightest warning, his leg snapped back, kicking her directly in the face.
The force of the kick snapped her head back with a sickening crack. Her blood splattered across the grey dirt, staining it crimson in the dim light.
Roland hissed, his chest heaving with a deep, boiling malice that had been eating away at his soul. "And more importantly... because of your daughter, my daughter died. You will pay for bringing that lunatic into this world. You will pay a heavy, agonizing price."
Alisha wept bitterly, her hot tears mixing with the filth and blood on her face. The pain was blinding, but the fear of what he would do next was worse. "But... but you are the one who forced me into this! Roland, please! Have mercy on me!"
Roland let out a sharp, mocking laugh that quickly twisted into a venomous grimace. "I have never loved a child unless Cyrene was her mother. As for you? You are nothing but a pathetic black stain on my existence. Deal with it."
Coughing up blood and clawing at the dirt, Alisha stammered, grasping at the secret she had guarded for years as if it were her only lifeline: "She’s... she’s not your daughter... She isn’t..."
Roland froze completely. The mockery vanished from his face, replaced by a sudden, deadly stillness. "Huh? What did you just say?"
Choking on her words, desperate and clinging to anything to stay alive, Alisha’s voice rose to a frantic pitch: "Olivia... she is Lucius’s daughter! I swear on my life! She is of his blood, not yours! Your only true daughter was Elvira!"
For a single heartbeat, it felt as though the entire world had stopped.
Then, Roland’s hand shot out like a striking viper, violently seizing the remnants of her silver hair. He yanked her up by her hair, forcing her shattered, bleeding face inches from his own. His amber eyes were wide, bulging with shock. "Explain to me right now, Alisha. Explain, or I will slaughter you where you stand."
Alisha wailed, the truth pouring out of her in a breathless, trembling torrent as she shook in his grip: "She is Lucius’s child! She belongs to him! Not to you!"
Roland stared at her, searching her face for any hint of a lie, but found only the raw, unadulterated terror of a dying woman. Gradually, his grip loosened as the horrifying revelation settled into his mind, heavy and suffocating. He let go of her hair, allowing her body to drop back into the dirt, and took a step back.
He began to laugh—a hollow, hysterical laugh that started low in his chest before echoing through the desolate space. But as the laughter continued, the sound broke, twisting into a choked, weeping rage. The madness in his eyes fractured completely.
"You..." Roland breathed heavily, staring at his hands, his chest heaving. "You made me raise my enemy’s child in my own home? I kept her alive... and fed her..." His voice dropped to a terrifying whisper. "And the best part... the absolute best part... is that the monster you birthed is the very one who killed my only daughter. The sole fruit of my love with Cyrene."
His gaze snapped back to Alisha, completely devoid of any remaining human warmth. It was the look of a man who had nothing left to lose.
"You will pay for bringing that demon into this world. Every single drop of it."
Seeing the death sentence written in his eyes, Alisha screamed, her voice cracking as she began to scramble backward in sheer terror. "Roland, please! We were partners! I am the one who gave you Cyrene, have you forgotten?!"
But Roland was no longer listening. Words had no value to him now. He leaned down, seized her hair once more, and dragged her violently across the sharp gravel and rough ground. He completely ignored her agonizing wails and the way her fingers clawed fruitlessly at the earth. Forcing open the heavy wooden doors of an empty, hollowed-out room, he threw her inside like a sack of broken bones.
"Roland! What are you doing?!" she cried, her mind fracturing from the sheer terror of the pitch-black room.
Roland stood at the threshold, a cold, triumphant smile etched onto his face. "Something I should have done a very long time ago."
He pulled an elegant silver whistle from his coat, pressed it to his lips, and blew. A sharp note pierced the air.
For a heavy, dread-filled moment, silence hung over the room, save for the sound of Alisha’s ragged, terrified breathing. But then... the synchronized, heavy thuds of animal pawsteps began to echo down the dark corridor, drawing closer.
Alisha froze. The sound grew louder, accompanied by low, muffled growls that vibrated through the floorboards.
Realizing the horrific truth, Alisha dragged her broken body forward, tears blinding her eyes as she clawed desperately at the hem of his trousers. "I beg of you... for the last time... have mercy!"
Roland kicked her away with callous disdain just as his pack of hounds flooded into the room. They were massive beasts, their eyes wild in the shadows, thick saliva dripping from their heavy jaws. They surrounded her, waiting.
Roland raised his hand, pointing a single finger at her trembling, blood-soaked body.
"She is your meal, my boys. Go."
He blew the whistle again, issuing a short, decisive command.
With a deafening, terrifying chorus of ferocious snarls, the hounds lunged forward. They descended upon her, their heavy bodies pinning Alisha down as they tore into her flesh with brutal, unchecked savagery.
Alisha’s screams pierced the air—a sound of pure torment. She shrieked Roland’s name first in a final, desperate plea, but as the teeth sank deeper, her voice twisted, channeling all her remaining life and bitter malice into one final, venomous curse that echoed through the monastery:
"Damn you... Olivia!"
The final words died in her throat, dissolving into a wet choke as her body collapsed, succumbing to the violent tearing of the beasts.
Roland stood motionless by the door, watching the bloody spectacle as if enjoying a dark comedy. Not a single muscle in his face twitched with disgust. Instead, a stark, unyielding resolve settled behind his eyes.
"A rat has died, but its offspring remains," he whispered into the blood-spattered, echoing room, his voice calm and serene against the sounds of tearing flesh.
He finally turned, leaving her ruined remains to rot in the silence, a smile of absolute satisfaction gracing his face as his footsteps faded down the corridor.
Silence returned to the monastery, heavy, suffocating, and thick with the stench of blood and death. The hounds were long gone, leaving nothing behind but the cold air.
Minutes passed before the stillness was broken again—not by the frantic movements of a panicked killer, but by the steady, measured thud of approaching footsteps.
Matthias stepped into the room. He did not flinch at the gruesome sight before him; instead, his eyes scanned the floor as he walked toward the center of the hall. He paused, contemplating the scattered bones and torn, bloodied flesh of the woman who was once the proud Empress of the Empire. A twisted, dark chuckle escaped his lips—a low, quiet sound entirely devoid of mercy.
Kneeling in the middle of the blood, he drew a sharp, gleaming dagger from his belt. With surgical precision, he cut a single remaining strand of her silver hair that had remained clean of the blood.
He stood up, gripping it tightly.
"I never thought I’d find myself admiring Roland," he murmured. "How ecstatic Olivia will be when she learns of your fate... and mine."
He cast one last, lingering look at the wreckage of the woman who had tried to destroy his family, utterly indifferent to her horrific end.
"Rot in hell, you demon."