Chapter 115 The Murderer
The assassin's ability to act is beyond imagination.
When the professor heard strange noises in the study, he carefully pushed open the door and saw a black figure standing in front of the window, wiping his fingers indifferently. Under his feet was a person who was wriggling and struggling. Sensing someone coming, he immediately raised his head and tried to call out excitedly - the other person's mouth was wide open, but no sound came out.
Nova: “…”
Ole, who also looked up, took a look at the tyrant, who was wearing pajamas, wrapped in a blanket, and holding an oil lamp. He couldn't help but sigh lightly: "I've brought the murderer here. You can ask anything you want to know."
——This guy wasn’t wearing glasses, his hair was spiky and messy, and he had obviously just gotten out of bed, which made him look a little... stupid?
Nova was still a little dazed after being woken up. He was silent for a while, then slowly raised his eyes: "...When I think about finding out the truth, I think it means secretly investigating and looking for evidence."
"—instead of asking you to beat up the murderer and make him tell the truth."
How come this pair of friends have such similar train of thought in this regard?
"What a waste of effort!" Ole snorted in disdain. "Azuka is a master of confusion spells, and I'm good at torture spells. No one can lie to us."
Nova looked at him expressionlessly. "Are you so sure that no one can resist the spell?"
Compared with the locals, people from the materialistic world always have a natural distrust of things like magic - haven't you seen that even a spell as highly used, popular, and binding as the Soul Contract has an exception like him?
Unable to answer the other party's inexplicable and reasonable question, Orel simply smashed the scimitar onto the ground, brushing the prisoner's neck, and asked angrily: "So, are you going to ask him or not? If you don't ask, he will be completely useless--"
The figure under his feet was suddenly frightened by the coldness that suddenly brushed across his neck and screamed silently, but he dared not move at all, and his nose and tears were running.
"Don't damage the floor." Nova warned coldly, and then saw the assassin sneer in dissatisfaction, but obediently took the knife back from the trembling prisoner's neck.
...The professor narrowed his eyes calmly. What did the one favored by God say to the human?
He took a step forward, squatted down in front of the prisoner, raised the oil lamp high, and illuminated the prisoner's face with distorted features.
"Good evening, Mr. Pass."
The man before him was the student who had sat next to little Batman and Marton during his public class. The young man, once neatly dressed, elegant and arrogant, had now become a disheveled mess. It was unknown what the assassin had done to him along the way.
No response.
"He can't see, hear, or speak now." The assassin on the side had seen enough of the show, and then he slowly said something. The prisoner suddenly coughed violently, and his pupils shrank instantly.
Nova glanced coldly at Orel. The captive, who had gained some freedom, didn't cry out. He simply closed his eyes tightly, forcing himself to adapt to the sudden light. Then, trembling, he asked, "My God of Light, Mr. Brody? What on earth is going on?"
"First, I don't have a last name, so don't call me that." The professor raised the lamp a little higher and carefully observed the changes in the prisoner's expression - this obviously made the other party feel uneasy. He subconsciously wanted to shrink into the darkness, but directly bumped into the assassin's toes.
"Behave yourself." Ole kicked him impatiently. This guy was a student of St. Bartolomeo's School of Warlocks after all, and he tried to launch a surprise attack and resist, but unfortunately he was quickly defeated like a quail.
The professor continued, "Second, you know in your heart what this is all about."
"What should I know?" The other party looked at the black-haired young man in front of him blankly, and cautiously probed: "My family has money, they will be happy to redeem me..."
He seemed incredibly sincere, displaying all the qualities expected of a rich kid kidnapped for no apparent reason—but the other person remained unmoved.
"Third, what is your relationship with 'Circe'?"
"Who is Circe?" Paz's face revealed a hint of confusion and reminiscence. "I'm sure I don't know anyone named Circe. Whatever happened, it must be a misunderstanding."
The professor stared at the prisoner's face without saying a word, as if thinking about something.
The situation seemed to have reached a stalemate. Ole could not help but snort coldly: "Well, do you need my help now?"
He gloated over the embarrassing situation caused by the prisoner's stubbornness, but he was completely unaware that it was possible that the tyrant had mistaken the identity of the murderer, and he completely ignored this possibility.
Pas looked frightened. He moved closer to the harmless-looking professor and pleaded urgently, "I really don't know anything. God of Light, what is Circe? I swear I have never heard of this name at all—"
Nova interrupted him expressionlessly: "Repeating questions and emphasizing them multiple times is a typical sign of lying."
Paz was stunned for a moment: "I..."
But the professor didn't seem to want him to continue. "And why did you try to seek my help and understanding as soon as you regained your senses? I'm just an ordinary person. It seems that your captors are in the dominant position, and you didn't show any surprise when you saw me. You know why I wanted to see you."
"Let's be honest." Nova stood up and looked down at the captives at his feet. "It will not be good for you or me to act too stupid."
He was answered by silence.
The professor waited for a while, and finally became impatient. He yawned in boredom, turned around and walked out of the study, leaving only a light command.
"Kill him."
Everyone present seemed shocked by him, especially Pas, who began to struggle violently: "—You can't kill me! I'm a noble, and I have the soul protection!"
"Oh, Bill Fam has it too," the dark-haired young man, who had already left the study, said with disdain. He stood at the doorway, his expression unclear against the backlight. All Pass heard was his cold admonition to the man in black who had taken him away: "Be quick and don't dirty my floor."
Ole: “…”
Remembering someone's advice, he tutted his words and grabbed Parth's hair, forcing him to expose his neck.
"I'm innocent. I really don't know what you want to know. I—"
The blade, filled with cold murderous intent, cut into his flesh mercilessly. Pas finally collapsed, screaming at the top of his lungs: "I say! I say! Tell him to stop—"
The teeth-chattering cold finally left his neck, and the captive collapsed, gasping for air. A little warm blood trickled out from the wound, completely staining his collar. Perhaps a second later, he would have been unable to speak again. Pass trembled, looking at the backlit figure, a genuine and immense fear finally filling his eyes, as if he were looking at a demon climbing out of the abyss.
"Wouldn't it have been better earlier?" the devil said in a calm voice, "Why did you have to do this?"
He walked towards him step by step, and the sound of his heels hitting the floor was particularly clear in the middle of the night.
"You are quite clever and your acting is not bad." The tall and thin man stopped in front of him and raised the oil lamp higher. Pas could clearly see the pair of smoky gray eyes that seemed emotionless without the lenses.
The man lowered his eyes and concluded expressionlessly: "—Unfortunately, you are not smart in front of me."
The prisoner was literally trembling all over.
"Now let's start again." Nova said softly: "Good evening, Mr. Paz."
…
By the time the professor finished questioning him, the darkness had thickened beyond recognition. He left the study, frowning. As for Paz, his senses had been sealed off again, and he was tied up tightly and thrown into the bathroom.
"Where's Azuka?" Ole, who had already walked around his dormitory, asked curiously, "Why don't I see that guy?"
Isn't the other party always inseparable from the tyrant, looking nervous and crazy as if he is afraid that someone will kill him?
"He has his mission." Nova replied coldly.
He had been woken up in the middle of the night and now had a terrible headache, with waves of swelling, but his mind couldn't stop. He roughly estimated the time it would take for someone to return, which was just enough time to brew a cup of coffee, as long as he drank it quickly - he simply went to boil water and sifted some coffee powder into the cup.
The assassin couldn't help but remain silent for a moment: "...You're drinking coffee so late at night?"
Logically, even if this guy drank poison, it wouldn't have been his fault; he might even have applauded—but now he looked as pale as a ghost, his weariness completely unconcealed. As the culprit who had woken him up, Ole felt a strange pang of guilt.
"It's none of your business."
The tyrant, wrapped in a blanket, stood guard over the coffee cup. Upon hearing this, he gave him a cold look and said, "Why aren't you leaving yet?"
Ole was almost amused by this idiot who threw it away after using it: "You should ask your assistant coach."
He sneered, "I also want to know what drug you gave him, or if he's just going crazy..."
"—What am I crazy about?"
Ole was stunned for a moment, then turned to see the man he had been insulting push the door open and give him a half-smile. The assassin immediately tensed his muscles, ready to engage in a fight.
As a result, the guy just glanced at him meaningfully and turned to look at another person in the room. Then, Ole was a little surprised to find that the tyrant's face, which had always been expressionless, actually flashed with an emotion... uh, perhaps it could be described as guilty?
"Professor." Azuka sighed softly, walked forward, and tapped the coffee cup with his knuckles.
"The aroma of coffee beans helps me think." The other person's face was tense, and he defended himself coldly, "Besides, I haven't drunk it yet."
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