Royal Bastard's Bloodstained Regression-Chapter 107: No Mercy, No Prayer

Ben gasped awake.

His body jerked as pain registered—his wrists and ankles were tied, bound tightly with rope, blood drying at the edges of the cuts. His back ached from being thrown to the ground, and his throat was sore from screaming.

Across from him sat Marian, also bound, her head hung low, a faint bruise forming along her cheek. She stirred, moaning softly, slowly waking.

Ben turned—and immediately went still.

Daemon stood just a few paces away, arms crossed, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. Beside him stood Nyxtriel, cold and composed, arms folded behind her back. Varian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze narrowed, while William sat quietly on the floor, head lowered, eyes shadowed.

The room was quiet—too quiet.

Ben knew.

The guards had lost.

He sighed bitterly. "I see... So they lost. How pathetic am I...?"

He looked down at his restraints. "You tied us up."

Daemon didn’t answer.

Ben shifted his eyes to Marian, now groaning as she regained full consciousness.

Then his gaze returned to Daemon. "What, I thought she died in the crossfire. I saw her take a full strike—"

"I healed her," Daemon said calmly. "Only enough to keep her alive."

"But... why?" Ben’s voice cracked.

Daemon finally stepped closer.

"Because it’s cleaner this way."

Ben clenched his teeth. "You don’t have to do this. We were friends. I invited you into my home—"

"You betrayed me," Daemon cut in flatly. "Because of your son. And I understand that. But you should know something before you start acting like a victim."

He crouched, looking Ben directly in the eyes.

"It wasn’t my fault your son is like that. You should be asking: what really happened to Aurelia? How did it vanish from maps? Why did the kingdom collapse in silence, without a single survivor willing to talk?"

Ben’s face twisted. "I don’t—"

Daemon stood up and cut him off. "But of course, you won’t get those answers. Not from me."

Ben’s fists clenched against the ropes. "What do you want from us, then?"

Daemon stared at him for a moment.

Then walked to the fireplace.

He picked up a small oil canister that had been tucked behind some crates. He turned it over in his hand once—then began pouring it across the wooden floor, slow and deliberate.

Nyxtriel silently stepped forward and started pulling down curtains, laying them near the base of the wall.

William didn’t flinch. He watched.

Varian didn’t speak.

Ben’s breath caught. "You’re going to burn the house."

Daemon didn’t answer.

Marian, now fully awake, screamed. "Please—please don’t! Our son—he’s upstairs! He’s—he can’t walk, he can’t—!"

Daemon turned to her.

"That’s why you’re both still alive," he said coldly. "Because I didn’t burn the house first."

Marian broke into sobs.

Nyxtriel crouched down and whispered into Marian’s ear.

"You should’ve stayed loyal."

Ben was silent now.

Broken.

Daemon walked toward the door, tipping the oil across the entrance on his way out. The scent of fuel filled the air.

"You could’ve asked for mercy," he said. "But instead, you chose to trade loyalty for gold."

He looked back at them one last time.

"I don’t need servants who fold when pressure comes."

He glanced at William.

"You ready?"

William nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Varian took one last look at Ben and Marian, then turned and followed the others out.

As they stepped into the early morning mist, Daemon flicked a single red ember from his fingertip.

The fire caught instantly.

Behind them the house began to burn.

The flames spread fast.

Wood snapped. Glass shattered. Smoke coiled through the air like a serpent wrapping around their throats.

Inside the house, Ben gasped awake—the heat licking at his face, the ropes burning against his skin.

"Marian!" he shouted, choking on smoke.

She stirred beside him, coughing violently, eyes half-closed.

Ben twisted, rolled, and pressed his back to a splintered beam already ablaze. The flames singed his arm—but it worked. The rope sizzled and snapped.

He yanked the bindings from his wrists, teeth gritted in pain, then reached down and tore Marian’s ropes free.

"Get up! We have to go!" he shouted, covering her head with part of his burnt cloak. "Go outside—I’ll find Robert!"

Marian nodded weakly, tears streaking down her ash-covered face. She stumbled toward the door.

Ben turned.

He ran through the smoke-thick hallway toward the stairs, the house trembling around him.

He was halfway up when he heard it—

Footsteps.

And then, a voice behind him.

Calm. Casual. Cruel.

"Ah. Right. I almost forgot."

Ben spun.

Daemon stood in the doorway.

Flames danced behind him like a crown of hellfire.

In his arms was Robert’s limp body—motionless, eyes closed, skin pale and cold.

Daemon walked slowly forward, and without a word, tossed Robert’s corpse onto Marian, who had just reached the bottom of the stairs.

She screamed as she caught her son’s dead weight, cradling him like something sacred, something broken.

Ben’s face twisted in disbelief.

"You... you said you healed him—!"

Daemon’s expression didn’t change.

"When he was shaking and foaming at the mouth... I crushed his soul," he said quietly. "Used aura. No one noticed. He slept so peacefully, didn’t he?"

Ben’s fists shook.

Daemon stepped closer.

"He’s been dead since the moment I walked into his room. You just didn’t know it yet."

Marian’s scream filled the burning house.

"No... no please... not my son, not him—!"

Daemon’s voice was a whisper. "He died quickly. Without pain. I’m kind, aren’t I?"

Ben roared.

He raised his hand, tried to cast—

But the fire surged.

The room exploded with heat. The spell failed.

Flames burst through the floorboards and raced up the walls. Marian’s cloak caught. Then her dress. Then Robert.

"NO!" Ben lunged forward—

Too late.

Marian and Robert were swallowed by fire.

And Ben could only scream as he was dragged back by collapsing beams, the last image burned into his eyes: his wife and son, burning together.

Daemon turned and walked out, the blaze behind him roaring like a monster freed.

He didn’t look back.

Daemon stepped out of the burning house, the glow of flames reflecting in his crimson eyes.

Nyxtriel stood just ahead, waiting. Their eyes met.

No words needed.

"He’s dead," Daemon said calmly, the fire crackling behind him.

Nyxtriel nodded. "He played his role well. I didn’t expect it either."

"I never knew people who smile like that could betray you..." William murmured, standing a little apart from them. He looked down at his small, bloodstained hands. "I thought Ben was nice. I didn’t see through him."

He clenched his fists.

"But now I understand. Thanks to Lord Daemon, I see what this world really is. I want to walk beside you. I want to serve you—like Nyxtriel does. Please... train me. Make me stronger."

Daemon’s eyes widened slightly.

That look—the fire in William’s eyes—it wasn’t the naive spark of a child anymore. It was conviction. Real. Steady.

He won’t betray me, Daemon thought. If I shape him properly... he’ll be perfect.

He stepped forward and rustled William’s hair.

"I’ll find someone to train you. Or I’ll do it myself."

William’s face lit up with pride.

"Ahem," Varian coughed awkwardly. "I mean—I’d also like to, uh... you know... train. Too."

He looked away, scratching the back of his head.

Daemon grinned. "Oh? I thought you were already strong. Strong enough to challenge me, even."

Nyxtriel’s hand instantly morphed into a dagger.

"Should I kill him now, my lord?"

"Whoa—whoa—whoa!" Varian stepped back, hands raised. "It was just a joke!"

Daemon chuckled. "No, don’t. He’s just immature. That’s all."

William crossed his arms and kicked Varian in the leg.

"OW!"

"Next time, don’t do anything that stupid," William said coldly. "Or you’ll die too."

"Y-Yeah. Got it," Varian muttered, rubbing his shin.

Nyxtriel stepped beside Daemon. "Where to next, my lord?"

Daemon didn’t hesitate.

He looked up toward the horizon.

The flames of the house reflected in his eyes.

"Varyndor."

The fire raged high into the sky, its smoke forming a black pillar that towered over the coastline.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

From the heart of Valeria, alarm bells began to ring.

Citizens emerged from their homes, pointing toward the thick smoke billowing on the horizon. The flames reflected in the ocean, dancing like a second sun dying in the distance.

"Something’s burning!"

"It’s near the harbor!"

"It’s huge!"

Guards of Valeria some stationed at the port, others patrolling the streets rushed toward the growing chaos, swords drawn, banners flapping in the wind.

By the time they reached the site, the house was already a charred ruin embers floating in the air like ghosts of what once stood. The scent of burnt wood and blood made even the soldiers hesitate.

But Daemon and his companions were already gone.

...

Through narrow alleys and crooked streets, Daemon, Nyxtriel, Varian, and William moved like shadows. Their hoods pulled low, their steps swift but controlled. Every scream, every whistle of a guard behind them, only pushed them forward.

"Keep to the sides," Daemon ordered. ".Don’t draw attention."

Nyxtriel melted into the crowd like a phantom. Varian adjusted his cloak, muttering curses under his breath as they weaved through throngs of confused citizens.

"We’ll be blocked at the gates if they ID us," Varian warned.

"We’re not using the gate," Daemon replied.

At the edge of the outer market, they spotted it:

A merchant cart loaded with crates of food and cloth, its horse being fed by a sleepy worker. On the side, a painted sigil: Valeria Supply Guild.

Daemon glanced back. Guards were starting to flood the far end of the street.

"Inside. Now."

Without a word, Nyxtriel helped William into one of the crates. Daemon shoved aside sacks of grain, gesturing for Varian to follow.

The merchant was still distracted, arguing with a vendor about missing inventory.

Daemon climbed in last, closing the crate’s lid just as the cart began to move.

Creaking wheels.

Hooves on cobblestone.

They were in.