Reincarnated in the Royal Family with a Plunder System-Chapter 49: situation

Ryan came to, face-first against stone, his cheek pressed to a surface slick with rain. Cold water traced the curve of his jaw, pooling at the edge of his lips with the sharp, metallic taste of old iron. Every breath drew in the scent of wet moss, blood, and something acrid—like burnt bone.

Somewhere nearby, someone whimpered—a sound too soft to be defiance, too raw to be hope.

A moment later—clang.

The sharp rattle of chains echoed like thunder in a tomb.

The noise didn’t just reach his ears—it stabbed into his spine, yanking his awareness into place. He felt the weight now: thick iron cuffs digging into his wrists, slick with rain but immovable. A collar wrapped tight around his throat, heavy enough that he could feel the tremor of his pulse against it.

His body ached in places he hadn’t yet named. His mind staggered through the fog of unconsciousness, then snapped into clarity like a mirror breaking.

He remembered.

The earth splitting with footsteps that shouldn’t exist. A shadow blotted out the sky. A hand,bigger than a bus, closing around him.

The giants had taken him.

Ryan gasped.

Where am I?

Sera, I need help.

He tried to lift himself against the ground. And barely managed to whimper before someone yanked his chain forward.

Wha-what is going on?

"Walk straight and don’t dawdle. Dawdle for a second and I’ll kill you princelings."

Princelings?

Ryan forced his head up, rain streaming down his face like tears he didn’t remember crying.

Around him, at least twenty others—young men and women—lay in chains. Blood matted their hair. Some trembled, others stared blankly into the downpour, eyes hollowed by fear or resignation. It wasn’t just their bodies that were broken. Their spirits had splintered too. You could feel it in the silence between their breaths.

Then Ryan’s gaze shifted—to the front.

A man sat astride a massive black horse, unmoving beneath the rain. For a second, Ryan’s breath hitched—not from recognition, but from instinctive terror. His gut clenched. That wasn’t a man.

No.

He looked like one—but everything about him screamed wrong. Towering at over three meters, even slouched in the saddle, the figure radiated a presence that bent the very air around him. His armor groaned with every movement, forged from plates too dark to reflect light, carved with runes that shimmered like old blood.

Is that a giant? Ryan thought.

Ryan was certain that was the case.

The person was, after all, more than 3 meters tall.

Suddenly, Ryan was yanked forward. Metal tore at his skin, and he staggered. Another captive had moved—stood—fists clenched, eyes blazing with defiance.

Ryan’s breath caught.

He knew that face.

Prince Blackthorn. One of the princes of the Human Kingdom. He was a famous person—much, much more famous than Ryan ever was as a prince.

Why was Prince Blackthorn famous?

Because he was said to have talent equalling the best when he was a kid, and even though Blackthorn failed to keep up later on—he had been very famous.

At least, even a shut in like Ryan knew who the guy was.

The prince’s voice cut through the rain like a drawn blade.

"Giant, I am the son of the human king. His favored child. Can you bear the hatred of a Rune 80 being? Even all the people captured here are not people you can hurt without reason. We are all human royalty. We all have powerful backing!"

The giant humanoid sneered.

For a moment, the air went still.

The towering figure on horseback slowly turned his gaze, eyes like frozen moons—pale, flat, utterly bored. Then came the sound.

Crack.

It wasn’t a shout or a strike.

Just... pressure.

The world bent. The rain stopped mid-fall.

And Prince Blackthorn... was gone.

In his place: a crater of flesh. Crushed without movement, without effort—flattened into the mud like an insect beneath a boot.

The giant spoke, voice low and thick with disdain.

"You humans disgust me. So small... yet such swollen egos."

He spat to the side.

"Royalty? Son of the king? Should that mean something to me?"

His lip curled into a sneer.

"Should I be scared?"

Ryan’s stomach twisted.

The sight of Blackthorn—crushed like nothing—burned into the backs of his eyes. A prince. A famous person. Gone. Just like that.

Infront of giants, it did not matter who you were. What race. What anything.

Rain dripped from his lashes as he lowered his head, hiding the detached calculation beginning to churn behind his eyes.

This was a habit, whenever he got too tense—he would detach himself. That would make his emotions invalid, his heart calm. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

I feel kind of sick.

It’s no wonder. I’ve been through a lot this past few days.

Fuck, I have such a bad luck.

But dude, I am quite something to be able to remain so calm. I am a gigachad.

He drew a slow breath. Centered himself.

That monologue is totally my coping mechanism, right?

He felt sicker.

I need to get out of here.

He wished he had copied the phasing skill of the Assassin’s familiar. That would have been—

Wait a moment!

Why can’t he use a single skill?

Ryan paled.

Other than Enhanced Vision, which was passive, all his active skills were incapable of being turned on. They remained still. He could not feel them.

Nothing.

No heat, no shift in his core, no tug of energy from the Vein.

He tried again—this time summoning the Speed Burst, his most responsive art.

Still nothing.

It was like his spirit had been unplugged. Dead weight. His core felt there, but distant—sealed. Like a scream in a soundproof room.

Panic scratched at the edge of his thoughts, but he pushed it down, blinking rain from his vision. Around him, the others hadn’t even tried. Their eyes were sunken with the same silent knowledge.

He hadn’t been the first to fail.

I am fucked. Sera... mom, Kaelith, Eleanor...

Ryan felt sicker.

Then came a sound—deep and guttural.

A snort.

Ryan flinched and looked up.

The giant was staring straight at him. Eyes sharp. Amused.

Ryan’s entire body stiffened.

"So," he rumbled, "this one still has a little fight."

His horse shifted, hoofs splashing in the mud as the giant leaned forward, the rain cascading down his armor like a second skin.

"You can stop trying, human. Those chains you’re wearing were forged in the Broken depths of Halrun. They don’t just bind your body—"

He held up a single thick finger. Blackthorn’s blood flowed into that finger tip.

"—They seal everything Rune Level Ten and below."

A pause.

Then he laughed—low and cold.

"And look at you lot. Level Tens, every last one of you. Not even worth melting down for parts." His gaze drifted over the captives with a butcher’s disinterest. "You’re not warriors stuck in a reversible situation. You’re cargo waiting for rescue. Rescue that will never come because you are in the very middle of the Giant’s territory."

Ryan trembled.

Not from rage.

Not from fear alone.

But from the sensation he had gotten from deep down.

All his skills were sealed.

Except for one.

One of his skills had surpassed Level 10 some time ago.