Chapter 67: A Minor Lapse in Loyalty From Your Secret Ally

The heavy air in the recess didn’t just grow cold; it turned thick, smelling faintly of burnt copper and ozone.

Deep within the hollow of his collarbones, a low, rhythmic hum began to vibrate, rising until it clicked against the roof of Cassius’s mouth. The grey shelf soot coating his shoulders didn’t just fall... it lifted, suspended by a sudden, jagged ripple of purple light.

A sharp, glittery purple aura bled directly out of his skin. It wasn’t a soft, welcoming glow; it was a volatile, spitting magic that hovered in tiny, crystalline shards around his massive frame, casting long, unnatural shadows against the rotting floorboards.

Fukuro’s third point died instantly in the back of his throat.

His raised hand, which had been mid-dismissive wave, froze in the air like a stiff piece of timber. His jaw didn’t drop dramatically this time; instead, the muscles along his neck locked up so hard his chin jerked back an inch.

The theatrical smirk vanished, replaced by the universal expression of a man who had just realized he was standing too close to the edge of a collapsing cliff.

"Thirdly..." Fukuro stammered, his voice jumping an entire octave as the purple glitter scraped against the side of his boot.

"...thirdly, absolute trash is what they call you, but obviously, they are statistically incorrect! Completely blind!"

Cassius didn’t turn around, but the violet shards around his shoulders began to spin faster, humming like a nest of disturbed hornets.

"What I actually meant to say," Fukuro continued rapidly, taking a very loud, very deliberate step backward while keeping his hands raised in a placating gesture, "is that your identity is an asset. A hidden gem. And more importantly..."

He cleared his throat violently, his eyes darting toward the heavy wooden shelf he had just ripped out of the wall, wishing he could magically jerk it back into place.

"...more importantly, we need to talk about Kerwon. Yes. Him. Your executioner."

The purple glow paused, hovering in a tense, vibrating suspension.

The shifting violet shards slowed their frantic spinning, but they didn’t vanish. They lingered in the stale air, casting a cold, lilac bruising over the dust-choked shelves.

Cassius didn’t even open his eyes. With his eyelids still tightly sealed, he simply turned his heavy head back toward the noise, his face lifting from the dark corner to confront Fukuro in total, blind silence. It was a slow, deliberate movement, the mechanical turning of a weapon locking onto a target without needing to see it.

Fukuro took a heavy step backward, his boot heel catching on a stray piece of rotting book binding as he tracked the glittery purple aura with sharp intensity.

Yet, within a single heartbeat, the brief flash of panic on Fukuro’s face vanished, wiped clean by that immovable, top-notch confidence he carried like armor. He adjusted his collar with a sharp flick of his wrist, straightening his shoulders as if he hadn’t just skipped a breath.

"Look," Fukuro said, his voice instantly regaining its smooth, self-assured rhythm as he leaned against a nearby stone pillar.

"You should know that he treats Floriantum far too carefully. I don’t like him either, honestly."

He folded his arms, his expression turning thoroughly sour, a genuine prickle of personal offense bleeding through his theatrical demeanor.

"Anyone touching my madam... I simply can’t resist the urge to break them. And he does it constantly, always acting so respectful, always lingering around her. It’s sickening."

Fukuro scoffed, gesturing vaguely back toward the direction of the dark corridors.

"And look at how he lost his mind today. The grand elite threw your hands off and a royal tantrum the moment you touched Floriantum. He can’t stand anyone else getting close to her."

He looked back down at Cassius’s turned, sightless face, his chin tilted up with that stubborn, unshakeable pride. "So you see, we have a common enemy. I genuinely despise the man."

Cassius didn’t shift his weight. He didn’t even blink. He just let his cold, dark-grey eyes anchor onto Fukuro’s face before speaking, his voice dragging out flat, dry, and cutting right through the lingering tension.

"The military protocols,"Cassius murmured, the words barely carrying over the quiet rustle of the settling dust.

"What exactly do they say?"

Fukuro didn’t answer right away. Instead, his confident posture melted into a quick, low sprint; a silent, cat-like glide across the rotting floorboards until he dropped down right beside the giant vampire.

But the angle was all wrong. Even from a crouch, the towering shelves and the deep recess of the wall cast heavy shadows, blocking his view of Cassius’s face.

With a low, exaggerated sigh, Fukuro let his entire weight collapse onto the grimy floor. He settled flat against the stone like a man carrying an immense burden, propping his elbows out and resting his chin firmly in the palms of his hands.

From that awkward, side-lying position, he tilted his head back, forcing his gaze directly into Cassius’s cold, dark grey eyes.

"Why are you... talking about that?"

Fukuro asked, his voice dropping its theatrical edge, replaced by a genuine, sharp curiosity.

He narrowed his eyes, studying the dust caked on Cassius’s jaw. "Madam Floriantum is supposed to know the military protocols. Maybe. How did you even get to know about it?"

Cassius didn’t blink. He kept his dark slate-grey eyes fixed on Fukuro’s propped-up face, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. He wasn’t about to give this loudmouth a grand speech.

"Kerwon," Cassius muttered, the single word dropping like a lead weight.

Fukuro blinked, his chin shifting slightly in his palms. "What about the executioner? Besides the fact that he has zero sense of humor and a massive halberd?"

"You aren’t on his side, right?" Cassius said, his voice flat, completely ignoring Fukuro’s attempt at wit.

Fukuro puffed out his cheeks, blowing a small puff of shelf dust into the air between them.

"Who cares about an elite of a completely bloody a$$ kindgom... Me? A human? How can I?"

Cassius started right towards the ceiling, as soon as Fukuro finished his sentence. "You wanted to know earlier that how I managed to heist this old paper."

Fukuro looked towards the ceiling too after adjusting his glasses and shifting his position to sit on the ground, as he was a little worried after watching Cassius’s behaviour.

"Ofcourse, but why are you judging my secret base’s ceiling right now?... I cleaned it i swear... Ehehe."

"The halberd..." Cassius breathed, his eyes locked on a dark crevice in the ceiling timbers.

"...the blade is already through the floorboards earlier than i thought."

Fukuro’s nervous chuckle died instantly in his throat.

The color drained from his face so fast it turned a pasty, sickly white. Without even thinking, his top-notch confidence shattered into absolute panic. He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, his boots kicking up a fresh cloud of grey soot as he threw himself flat against the grimy stone floor.

He didn’t just duck... he pressed his forehead directly against the dirt, bowing frantically toward the cracked ceiling structure above them, his hands shaking over his head.

"Mercy! Most Noble Elite... Respected Lord’s Best Friend and an all rounder warrior, absolute master of the blade, I swear I am just a captive! A hostage!"

Fukuro wailed in a frantic, muffled rush, his glasses sliding halfway down his nose into the dust.

"I have zero loyalty to this giant trash pile next to me! I was forced to provide shelter! The ceiling is clean, Sir Kerwon! Spotless! Please don’t paint the stones with my brains!"

Cassius watched the display from his resting position against the wall, his dark slate-grey eyes completely flat and entirely unbothered. A slow, heavy breath rattled in his chest as the tension evaporated into a dull, quiet amusement.

He had his answer.

Fukuro wasn’t a double agent; he was just an idiot who was terrified of dying.

"Get up," Cassius muttered dryly, closing his eyes once more. "He isn’t there."

The heavy silence stretched for a single beat before the reality of the trick crashed through Fukuro’s panic.

He slowly lifted his head from the grimy stone floor, his eyes darting toward the pristine, unbroken wooden rafters above. No halberd. No dust. No executioner.

The instant realization hit him like a bucket of ice water, vaporizing his theatrical dread and replacing it with pure, unfiltered irritation. Completely forgetting the terrifying purple aura Cassius had wielded just moments ago, and entirely ignoring the massive, dangerous frame of the vampire looming over him... Fukuro snapped.

He scrambled to his feet, lunging forward blindly.

"You absolute [CENSORED] piece of [CENSORED]!" Fukuro yelled, his voice cracking with embarrassment.

With both hands balled into tight fists, he began frantically hammering against Cassius’s broad, solid chest. He looked like an enraged, throwing-a-tantrum child, his arms flailing in small, rapid, ridiculous motions.

The blows didn’t even register to the resting giant; Fukuro’s fists simply bounced uselessly off the thick fabric of the slaveric outfit, failing to shift Cassius even a fraction of an inch.

"I swear to god, you miserable, flat-eyed [CENSORED]! I built this sanctuary! I keep it clean! And you sit there playing with my sanity like a [CENSORED] toy!"

Fukuro continued to rant, his face turning an angry shade of crimson as he kept up the frantic, weak thumping.

Cassius didn’t bother to block the tiny fists. He just leaned his head back against the shredded stone, his slate-grey eyes tracking Fukuro’s chaotic movements with an expression of dull, unbothered detachment.

"A giant trash pile," Cassius murmured, his flat voice cutting effortlessly through the stream of muted curses.

Fukuro’s fists froze mid-swing, hovering an inch above Cassius’s collarbone.

"A hostage who was forced to provide shelter," Cassius continued dryly, his grey eyes narrowing slightly as he reminded the man of his own frantic words to the ceiling. "A captive with zero loyalty to me."

The words hung heavily in the dusty air.

Fukuro’s posture stiffened. The frantic rage drained from his face, replaced by a sudden, cold wave of realization at just how much he had babbled in his moment of panic. Slowly, he lowered his fists, taking two very deliberate, stiff steps backward to give the resting vampire some space.

He cleared his throat violently, smoothing down the front of his jacket and carefully adjusting his sliding glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. The explosive irritation vanished, overridden by a desperate attempt to salvage his dignity.

Sliding his feet together, Fukuro bent forward from the waist, executing a perfectly crisp, deeply polite royal bow. He held the posture for a long, silent moment before speaking in a completely transformed, incredibly soft, and courteous tone.

"My deepest condolences towards my stunned behaviour to the worthy opponent of this cruel world" Fukuro said politely, his eyes fixed firmly on the floorboards.

"It was just... a minor lapse in judgment under extreme structural duress."

Slowly, Cassius leaned his head back against the shredded stone wall. The dull amusement in his dark grey eyes faded, replaced by that cold, business-like realism.

He reached down, his large hand brushing over the true, weathered brownish paper resting securely on his stomach.

"Every history of Kerwon," Cassius commanded softly, his flat voice cutting through the heavy silence of the hidden room.

"Start."