Alex appeared in the same room where the magic circle to the dungeon had been. For a few seconds, he simply stood still, allowing himself one deep breath—the first calm one since the bloody slaughter. Then he put the mask back on his face. Just as he reached for the door handle, Siren’s voice rang in his head.

  “Showing yourself in public looking like that is hardly the best idea, don’t you think?”

  Alex looked down at his clothes. The dark fabric was soaked with splashes of other people’s blood.

  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

  At that very moment, the door handle turned slowly, and a familiar man peeked cautiously inside—the agent of Astarion. He silently scanned Alex from head to toe, taking in the situation with a single glance. Then he pulled another set of clothes from his inventory—almost identical to the previous, except with a red shirt instead of a white one—and handed it over without a word.

  Without saying anything, the agent stepped out and closed the door firmly behind him.

  Alex froze, still not fully believing what had just happened. Then he lowered his gaze to the clothes in his hands and muttered under his breath:

  "How the hell did the Count foresee this?.."

  Without wasting time, he changed, hid the bloodstained suit in his inventory, and put the mask back on. Then he carefully opened the door, where a familiar man was already waiting for him in the corridor. The man gave a short nod and moved forward. Alex followed him.

  "How did it go?" the agent asked quietly without looking back.

  "As planned," Alex replied calmly.

  "Glad to hear it."

  "How’s the situation in the house?"

  "All is quiet, except that guards keep disappearing from time to time. There are only ten left in the building, standing by the exits."

  "I see."

  Without further words, they continued walking. Finally, upon reaching the first floor, they both stopped. After exchanging short nods, each headed in a different direction.

  Alex scanned the hall and quickly spotted familiar faces—at one of the tables near the large window sat Elizabeth, Rogan, and Cassandra. Their expressions glowed with lively interest as they discussed something animatedly. Elizabeth was the first to notice him. She immediately smiled and waved. Soon Rogan and Cassandra’s eyes also turned toward Alex. A warm, slightly playful smile touched Cassandra’s lips.

  When Alex approached the table, Cassandra took a graceful drag on her cigarette and, with a pleasant note in her voice, said:

  "Glad to see you again, mister with incredible luck."

  "The pleasure is mine, my lady," Alex replied with a slight bow in his usual reserved, elegant manner.

  Cassandra’s gaze slid down, lingering on his new shirt. She squinted slightly, and, exhaling a cloud of smoke, added with slyness in her tone:

  "Perhaps I’m mistaken… but wasn’t your shirt a different color earlier?"

  Alex smiled softly.

  "One of the guests must have been too overwhelmed by tonight’s festivities—got flustered and accidentally spilled wine on me. I had to change."

  "I see," Cassandra nodded, smiling. "Red suits you."

  "Thank you for the compliment."

  Alex took a free seat beside Elizabeth, who greeted him with a friendly nod, and the atmosphere at the table grew a little warmer.

  "By the way…" Cassandra took another elegant drag. "During all the time you were gone, did you happen to run into the Duke?"

  Alex raised a brow in surprise.

  "He still hasn’t returned?"

  Cassandra shook her head with feigned sorrow, a little theatrically.

  "Unfortunately, no. After our last conversation, he seems to have vanished into thin air. I’ve asked many—both guests and guards—but no one has seen him."

  Alex leaned back in his chair with a faint smile.

  "I think he’ll show up again once he settles his affairs."

  "I really hope so," Cassandra sighed. "Because disappearing from one’s own party, leaving the guests unattended—well, let’s just say it’s not elegant at all."

  "I couldn’t agree more," Alex nodded.

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  "And while you were away…" Elizabeth cut in, turning to him. "Cassandra and I managed to discuss just about everything under the sun. And Rogan even started telling his favorite stories about magical duels."

  "I’m glad to hear you didn’t get bored without me," Alex said with a smile.

  The conversation gradually shifted into a light, easy exchange. Gentle laughter, witty remarks, refined jokes echoed around the table. Alex, though he maintained his usual composure, felt how—after everything he’d just gone through—his heart was finally beginning to beat at a normal rhythm.

  In the laboratory, where the light was somewhat brighter than the last time, a heavy silence reigned, broken only by the faint rustle of paper—Elios was carefully going through notes on parchment, seated at his desk. But suddenly the space beside him trembled, and a faint shimmer appeared in the air. A moment later, Jester appeared in the room—together with Lorenzo, who was on his knees, jaw slack, panic written all over his face. His eyes darted across the walls, tables, shelves filled with flasks, artifacts, and unknown devices, unable to grasp where he had ended up.

  Elios lifted his gaze from the papers and slowly turned toward the visitors.

  "And why did you drag him here?" he asked calmly, rising from his chair and leaning against the edge of the desk.

  "Imagine—I’d almost finished him off," Jester replied just as calmly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "But at the last moment, I thought maybe you’d prefer to do it yourself."

  Elios smiled faintly at the corner of his lips.

  "If memory serves, the fans of brutal solutions are you and Mirael. I don’t think I quite fit that description."

  "No one’s arguing," Jester shrugged. "But I thought I’d give you the chance… just in case you change your mind."

  At that moment, Jester cast a quick, almost casual glance at the Duke. Lorenzo flinched involuntarily, then shifted his gaze to Elios.

  Elios stared at him in silence, then grabbed his chair by the back and slowly pushed it toward the Duke. Stopping just a few inches away, he turned the seat backward and straddled it, folding his arms across the backrest. His gaze was cold and steady.

  "Listen carefully, Duke. This is your last chance to keep your life," he said quietly. "If you can convince me that you can still be useful to us—I’ll have a word with him," Elios nodded toward Jester. "And perhaps, I’ll spare you."

  He paused briefly, tilting his head slightly to the side.

  "But if not…" his voice remained calm, but a chill appeared in his eyes. "Well, you’re not a fool, are you? You can guess what awaits you."

  Lorenzo swallowed the lump of fear and felt his fingers trembling. Summoning the last of his dignity and strength, he slowly rose from his knees. His legs still trembled, his shoulders twitched convulsively, but he forced himself to stand straight. Elios observed him silently, his expression unchanged. Jester, meanwhile, took half a step back, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling inwardly.

  "Well then, let’s see how he justifies himself this time."

  Lorenzo drew a heavy breath, trying to steady his voice and suppress the trembling in it.

  "I…" He inhaled again and straightened even more. "For the entire past year, I’ve diligently carried out all of Mister Jester’s orders. Without exception. Every week, as agreed, I delivered ten gravely ill slaves… the weakest, the most hopeless—the very ones you asked for. And not once was there a delay or misunderstanding."

  His fingers clenched nervously into fists, yet his voice grew steadier, as though with every word he was regaining confidence.

  "I paid everything down to the last coin, without delays. And not only that—I also carried out every little errand that came from him or his people. Papers, deliveries, information—everything was done precisely, quickly, and flawlessly."

  He shifted his gaze from the Jester to Elios, as if trying to read his reaction.

  "I… I served. I never broke a single condition, not a single promise. I…"

  "Enough," Elios cut him off in a cold, detached tone.

  His hand flicked subtly in the air, a gesture to stop—and the duke fell silent at once, like a child caught in a lie.

  "It seems you didn’t quite understand what I asked for," Elios continued calmly. "I don’t care about your, let’s call them, service duties. What you’ve just listed could be done by anyone else. Anyone the Jester would entrust it to. Nothing unique, nothing that would make you… indispensable."

  Something like confusion and fear flashed across the duke’s face. His fingers began to tremble again.

  "But," Elios allowed a slight smile, though it carried no warmth, "today you are lucky. I’m in a good mood. And I’ll give you another chance. More than that, I’ll even make it easier. Now I will ask questions. And your task is to answer honestly. Understood?"

  "Y-yes…" Lorenzo muttered, far less confidently than just a moment ago.

  "Glad to hear it," Elios nodded. "Let’s begin. Why did you meddle in the ‘Ray of Hope’?"

  Lorenzo blinked, swallowed several times, then finally began in a quiet voice:

  "Slaves… Mister Jester needed slaves. Getting them lately has been difficult. Difficult and… troublesome. I thought… I thought the best place would be the orphanages. Mister Jester never cared about the age of slaves, so I figured it wouldn’t be a problem. Orphans… they’re already abandoned. They’re practically slaves. Just with a na?ve hope for the future."

  Those last words were like a death sentence.

  Elios’s magical aura exploded in an instant, and its unrestrained force crashed into the room like an avalanche. The air around Lorenzo tightened, and he collapsed again to the floor, clutching at his chest, gasping for breath. Panic clouded his eyes.

  Elios rose slowly, as though every movement carried its own weight. He stepped close to the duke, and within moments a blue magic circle flared on his hand. From it burst watery tendrils that, like living creatures, seized Lorenzo by the arms, legs, body, and throat, lifting him above the floor.

  Lorenzo thrashed desperately, trying to break free, but it was useless. The water bound him like steel chains, leaving bruises and scratches.

  His eyes met Elios’s by accident. And in that instant, something broke inside the duke’s soul.

  Before him no longer stood an alchemist. Before him stood a monster—malicious, cold, dangerous. Elios’s eyes blazed with murderous fire, his jaw clenched so tight it seemed his teeth would grind together.

  Combined with his aura, it formed a single image: a being for whom erasing a human from existence was nothing. And right now, that being was staring straight into Lorenzo’s soul.

  "You should never have equated orphans with slaves," Elios hissed, his voice barely human.

  And in the next instant, the watery tendrils yanked violently in opposite directions.

  Lorenzo’s body tore apart like a rag doll. Blood splattered across the walls in thick sprays, painting everything crimson. Limbs ripped from the torso with a crunch, ribs scattered in fragments, entrails slapped wetly onto the floor, soaking it in red. A kidney struck the leg of a table, leaving a bloody streak.

  Elios stood there, breathing heavily. His chest rose and fell sharply, ragged, while thin strands of saliva trailed from the corners of his mouth. His eyes darted wildly around the laboratory, dilated, frenzied. He saw nothing else—no furniture, no walls. Only the echo of rage boiling inside him like overheated acid.

  And then… his gaze froze. On the Jester.