Chương 30: Chapter 29: This is How Beasts Learn

The only solution was a lie. Once again. The same one she had resorted to since she woke up in this foreign body; the same one that had become her second skin, her shield, her only weapon in this world. The lie of omission: the art of saying just enough, so the other person believes they know everything, when in reality, they know nothing at all. Selena took a deep breath. Words marched into order in her mind like soldiers before a battle. —Ralien— She sketched a smile.

It took a titanic effort, every muscle in her face seemed to rebel against the command, but she managed it. The curve of her lips looked natural enough, confident enough. —I've come for something else. It's not like last time. So, I suppose 'The Severe' wasn't quite so infallible. Her hand was shaking. A slight, almost imperceptible tremor, but real nonetheless. She moved it behind her back in a motion intended to look casual, hiding her weakness behind the pose. Ralien slowly arched with an eyebrow.

The gesture was pure theater, a calculated pause to heighten the tension, to remind her who controlled the situation. Then, a slow smile that started at the corners of his mouth and spread until it bared his teeth lit up his well-groomed face. —So, girl, you still have that sharp tongue. I like it. I like it. He leaned back in his chair, savoring the moment. —I'll give you a discount this time. In honor of our last deal— He paused, letting the words float in the resin-heavy air.

—You know, it was very profitable getting rid of those goods. He finally stood up. The movement was pure elegance, the grace of someone who has never had to hurry. He walked to a small cabinet in a corner of the room and extracted a dark glass bottle and a crystal glass. It was the first one Selena had seen in this world. Genuine crystal, transparent glass that reflected the candlelight in tiny glimmers. He poured a thick, golden liquor into the glass.

The aroma reached Selena even from across the room: strong, sweet, with an undertone of spice. Ralien brought the glass to his nose and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes with an expression of restrained ecstasy. Then he took a sip, savoring it like one taste a work of art. With a minimal, almost imperceptible gesture, he resumed the conversation. —Sit down, girl. Selena obeyed. The chair in front of the desk was made of carved wood, with a velvet cushion that was worn but still held traces of its former splendor.

She sat with her back straight and her hands in her lap, hiding the trembling that still hadn't quite stopped. Ralien raised the glass toward her, offering. —Do you want some? Varlof. It's a good vintage— He checked the bottle with an affected gesture. — 4975, I believe. Selena shook her head, maintaining her forced smile. —No, thank you. I don't drink. Ralien let out a short laugh, a dry sound that didn't reach his eyes. —You tell me no yet again?

But what is the point of this life if you cannot afford a good liquor of a decent vintage? —He stared straight into her eyes. The shift was subtle but brutal: the affected pose vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating intensity. He interlaced his fingers on the desk right in front of the glass, creating a symbolic barrier between them. —Now, I must warn you of at least two things before we proceed. He raised one finger. —First: as I said, that first trade of goods was excellent. —He raised a second finger.

—Second: as we mentioned, the profits will be split eighty percent for us, and twenty percent for anyone else who comes representing you. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. He took the glass again and emptied it in a single gulp. The golden liquor disappeared down his throat without a single muscle in his face flinching. —I assume if you've come yourself, it's because you want your money, right? Selena held his gaze. This was the moment.

The line between life and death, success and failure, narrowed to a thread. —I haven't come for that— she said, and her voice sounded firm, much firmer than she felt. —I want to find a man. Tall, blonde hair, with a mohawk. He has a distinct scar on his left eyebrow that sinks toward his cheek. He wears cured leather armor. His name is Bjorn. She paused, forcing rigidity into every word and every muscle so that her fear wouldn't find a crack to peek through.

—Regarding the payment— she continued, —you can find him using what you would have given me. Ralien watched her in silence. One second. Two. Three. Then, a slow smile different from the previous ones spread across his lips. It was a smile of understanding, of a settling of accounts, of pieces fitting together on a board that only he could see. —Very well, girl. The giant got away from you. —He crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly his favorite pose when he knew he held the upper hand.

—Before, you didn't want to give me his name. But now I see you've reconsidered. We will find him. Regardless, the payment will be more than enough. And for that amount, it will be fast. Three days, at most. Return here then. Selena nodded, not daring to speak, not daring to believe it was actually working. Then Ralien looked her over completely. His eyes, trained to see what others hid, scanned her figure from head to toe.

He noticed the slight tremor still shaking her hands, the rigidity of her shoulders, her held breath. —You seem uncomfortable— he said, and it wasn't a question. —Did something happen? Selena swallowed hard. The movement was obvious, a lump rising and falling in her throat. —Your guard— she said, her voice wavering just slightly. —The one who escorted me. He said I would have to pay with my body if this was a joke. That is why I feel uncomfortable. The change in Ralien was instantaneous. The smile vanished.

The relaxed pose tightened like a bowstring. His eyes, previously cold but calculating, turned to pure ice. He shook his head slowly; his brow furrowed in a grimace of genuine disgust. Then, without warning, he roared: —Bring in the guard who escorted the girl! His voice thundered through the room, bouncing off the wooden walls and out into the hallway. Selena held her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she feared it might break them. Less than a minute passed.

The door opened and the tall man, the one with the scars on his arms, appeared in the doorway. His expression was one of confusion, the look of someone who doesn't understand why they've been summoned. He stepped into the center of the room, in front of the desk. Ralien didn't stand up. He remained seated, yet his presence filled the space in a way no posture could match. —I ask you to excuse us, dear Selena— he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. —He is new. And he does not know who he is dealing with.

He stood up then. With deliberate slowness, he circled the desk and stood beside the guard. He began to touch the man's face with a familiarity that made the blood run cold: the cheek, the jaw, the neck. The man remained motionless, eyes fixed forward, fear palpable in the stiffness of his muscles. Ralien's hand continued downward. He traced the guard's back with a caress that was more threatening than any scream. Until suddenly, without warning, he struck the back of the man's knees with a sharp, brutal movement.

The man fell to his knees with a dull thud against the wood. Then Ralien began to beat him. Selena couldn't look away. The iron rod thin but inflexible whistled through the air before impacting the guard's back, his arms, his ribs. The sound was nauseating: a dull thwack, a whimper, another blow, a groan. The man's arms turned red, then bruised purple, then blood began to sprout from small cuts where the rod had split the skin. The guard pleaded. First with words, then with inarticulate whimpers.

His mouth filled with blood, a crimson thread beginning to trickle down his chin and onto the wooden floor. Selena could only watch the visceral violence in stunned silence. As the blood flowed, she had to stifle her own voice and swallow her words of protest with difficulty. It was dangerous; she didn't know what would happen if she spoke. Finally, Ralien grew tired. He dropped the rod to the floor with a metallic clang.

The guard lay at his feet, a heap of bloody flesh breathing with difficulty, each inhalation a wet, painful rattle. Ralien knelt beside him, took the bloodied face between his well-kept hands, and looked into his eyes with a tenderness that was more ghoulish than any threat. —See? — he whispered. —You forced me to be 'The Severe' again. Then he stood up, brushed off his hands as if he had touched something filthy, and returned to his chair behind the desk.

He picked up the empty glass, contemplated it for a moment, and then looked at Selena with a smile of pure normalcy, as if what had just occurred was as mundane as changing the water in a vase of flowers. —This is the only way— he said, sighing with a weight much heavier than the oppressive atmosphere the violence had left behind. —This is how beasts learn. Selena nodded. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move.

She could only look at the bloodied man on the floor and wonder, with a terror that chilled her to the marrow, what kind of hell she had just entered.