The Cursed Extra-Chapter 86: [2.34] The Moment Everything Changed

"There’s a line between bullying and something worse. When they cross it, you have to decide what kind of person you are."

***

The arrogant drawl of Vance Thorne carried clearly through the trees. That distinctive sneering tone that seemed permanently embedded in everything the noble said.

Rhys sank into a crouch behind the oak’s massive trunk. Peered cautiously through gaps in the underbrush as four figures emerged into the small clearing ahead.

Vance strutted at the center. His House Aurum uniform was pristine despite their woodland trek. Golden trim caught what little sunlight filtered through the canopy.

Garrett Wells and Marcus Finn walked beside him. Second-year students who followed Vance everywhere like hunting hounds trailing their master. Laughed at his jokes regardless of whether they were funny. Enforced his will with the casual violence of those who’d never faced real consequences.

And stumbling ahead of them, occasionally being shoved forward by rough hands on his shoulders, was Kaelen Leone.

The Leone boy looked even more miserable than usual. Rhys hadn’t thought that was possible until he witnessed it firsthand.

Dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Uniform torn at the shoulder where someone had grabbed him hard enough to split the seams. A smear of dirt across his cheek suggested he’d been pushed to the ground at least once already.

His eyes darted frantically between his tormentors and potential escape routes. His entire body language screamed trapped animal. Something uncomfortable twisted in Rhys’s gut despite his general contempt for noble softness.

"I’m sorry," Kaelen pleaded. Voice cracking with what sounded like genuine fear. Raw and uncontrolled. "The training dummy was an accident. I tripped. My foot caught on the edge of the platform and I couldn’t stop my momentum. I’ll have my allowance sent directly to cover a replacement, I swear by whatever’s left of my family name—"

"Your family name?" Vance let out a bark of laughter that held no humor. Only the sharp edge of cruelty honed through years of wielding power over those who couldn’t fight back.

"House Leone is a joke. Your father drinks away what little respect you had left while your stepmother claws desperately at social invitations nobody wants to send." He waved his hand as if swatting something unpleasant. "And you... you’re not even worth describing. Not even worth the breath it takes to insult properly."

Rhys adjusted his grip on his spear. The worn leather wrapping was familiar against his callused palms.

Border village instincts kicked in automatically. Assess threats. Identify exits. Prepare for violence. Count the enemies. Note their weapons.

This situation wasn’t his problem.

Kaelen Leone was just another pampered noble who’d never known true hardship. Never watched a loved one waste away because medicine cost more than a year’s wages. Never gone to bed hungry because the harvest failed and the lords still demanded their tribute.

But something in his gut tightened as he watched.

They’d brought Leone deep into the woods. Well beyond where academy patrols would pass. Beyond the boundary markers that signaled the edge of sanctioned grounds.

The chosen location spoke of planning. Of deliberate intent.

This wasn’t ordinary bullying anymore. The casual cruelty that noble sons inflicted on their lessers as a matter of course. The kind of petty torment Rhys had learned to endure by becoming invisible.

This was something darker. Something with a specific destination in mind.

"Strip," Vance commanded suddenly. His voice dropped to a tone that brooked no argument.

Kaelen’s face went white. Blood drained from his cheeks so rapidly that Rhys could see it happen even from his hidden position.

"What?"

"You heard me. Strip. Let’s see if you’re as pathetic under those fancy robes as you are with a sword. I want to see exactly what kind of specimen House Leone has produced."

"I won’t—"

Garrett stepped forward and shoved Kaelen backward with both hands against his chest. The smaller boy stumbled, arms windmilling as he barely kept his feet. One ankle turned on an exposed root.

"You will, or we’ll do it for you. And we won’t be gentle about it."

Rhys’s jaw clenched hard enough that his teeth ground together.

He’d seen this before. The moment when cruelty stopped being about dominance and became about destruction. When the objective shifted from establishing hierarchy to inflicting maximum damage.

In the borderlands, such men were put down quickly. Before they could spread their poison to others. The village elders would have them flogged in the square for all to witness. Or worse. Left outside the palisade at nightfall when the beasts from Whisperwood came hunting.

Nature’s justice proved more thorough than any human court. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

"Actually," Vance continued. His tone turned conversational in a way that was somehow more threatening than his earlier commands. "This reminds me of something. Rhys Blackwood was watching this morning when you made a fool of yourself in the training yard. Couldn’t take his common little eyes off the spectacle."

Rhys’s vision narrowed. The forest around him faded to peripheral shadows until only Vance remained in focus.

The noble’s sneering face became as clear as a target painted on straw during spear practice. Every detail sharp enough to etch into memory. The cruel twist of his lips. The casual arrogance in his posture. The way his hand rested on his sword pommel like a promise.

"I heard his sister’s dying," Vance went on. Oblivious to the danger gathering in the shadows mere paces away. Too confident in his own safety to imagine anything might threaten him.

"Some wasting disease that’s eating her from the inside out. The apothecary in his village apparently gives the family quite a discount out of pity. Practically charity at this point."

Vance’s smile widened.

"Shame, really. Though I suppose it saves the family the embarrassment of watching her grow up to be another border whore selling herself to passing merchants—"

Rhys moved.

The spear’s butt struck Garrett’s temple with a wet crack that echoed through the clearing.

The boy dropped like a felled tree. Eyes rolled back in his head before he hit the ground. His expensive sword clattered uselessly to the forest floor where leaf litter muffled its landing.

Marcus spun toward the attack. Hand reached for his weapon with the clumsy speed of someone who’d trained in comfortable dojos but never faced a real threat.

Rhys was already there.

The spear’s shaft caught him across the throat. Cut off his startled cry. Dropped him to his knees, gasping for air through a bruised windpipe while his fingers scrabbled uselessly at his collar.

Two strikes. Two seconds. Two bodies on the ground.

Vance stared in shock. His face cycled through confusion, fear, and rage in rapid succession as his mind struggled to process what had just happened.

His hand twitched toward his sword but stopped halfway. Some survival instinct recognized that drawing the blade would invite a violence he wasn’t prepared to face.

"You— You can’t— Do you know who I am?"