Chapter 8: Riot

“Guh!”

Sophia was slammed against the wall by a burly bald man, blood seeping from her nose.

He grabbed her neck with one hand, his hot breath, reeking of oil and lust, sticking to her face.

“Chief Guard Sophia, heheh… you’re pretty tender!”

The man spoke while sniffing her carefully braided hair.

“Go to hell… you animal!”

Hearing this, the man suddenly squeezed hard, almost choking Sophia unconscious.

“Try cursing again!”

He loosened his grip. “I prefer live ones, but I don’t mind playing with a corpse—as long as it’s warm, heheh… hahahaha!”

“Go… to hell!”

Sophia roared, bit down on his hand, her teeth sinking into the flesh as blood gushed out.

“Damn it, you won’t take a hint!” The man, in pain, grew even more violent. He slapped Sophia hard with his other hand.

Slap!

Her ears rang and her vision spun; Sophia nearly lost consciousness.

—

“Stop.”

At the other end of the corridor, a cold voice cut through like a winter wind.

Lafeier moved his mind, and the Warden’s pressure spread outward like ripples, freezing the air.

“What the hell!?”

“My… my feet won’t move! I can’t move!”

“M-magic? Could it be magic!”

The moment the guards were routed, the narrow corridor fell silent.

Both prisoners and guards—whether they had been attacking wildly, defending desperately, or beaten to a pulp—now stood frozen in place.

A great fear dominated their souls, the threat of a natural predator at the top of the food chain.

Thud—

Thud—

Thud—

…

Footsteps approached from afar, faint echoes bouncing through the enclosed space.

Hundreds of prisoners, trembling, looked toward the sound and saw a richly dressed youth slowly walking through the chaotic corridor, stopping in the middle.

“Warden… sir.”

The guards recognized him and immediately felt relieved.

“It’s the Warden! The Warden himself!”

“We’re saved! Finally saved!”

The women’s eyes instantly filled with tears. If Lafeier hadn’t appeared in time, the consequences would have been unthinkable.

The prisoners heard the boy’s identity. Though they sneered inwardly, they still felt an instinctive fear toward him.

Especially when he walked past them, his fresh perfume felt as heavy as lead, making it hard for them to breathe.

Lafeier arrived beside Sophia. The prisoner who had been gripping her neck was now frozen stiff.

Sophia lay on the ground, half her face covered in blood.

Lafeier extended a finger to check her breath. “Still alive.”

Then he turned his gaze to the prisoner, who shrank back in terror.

[Individual Name: Jagger]

[Sin Level: 68]

[Execution Reward: Flintlock Smoothbore Musket Blueprint]

“Smoothbore musket… not bad.”

This world’s tech tree was different from Earth’s; firearms hadn’t developed here because the Empire’s main enemy had always been the Blood Race looming in the north.

Against the Blood Race, sunlight and silver were more effective.

But that didn’t mean firearms were useless here. They might need further improvement for fighting the Blood Race, but for humans, they were more than enough.

“Jagger,” Lafeier called out. “Do you know your crime?”

Hearing this strange boy call his name, Jagger’s fear intensified. He tried to crawl backward on his numb, weak legs.

“Who… who the hell are you? Don’t, don’t come any closer!”

“Scared now?” Lafeier smiled.

‘Actually, I’m still a little nervous,’ he thought. ‘What if the authority stops working? They say a gentleman doesn’t stand under a dangerous wall. It would be understandable for a powerless ordinary person like me to run away… but where could I run? Back to the Duke’s mansion would be certain death. Elsewhere, with no skills, how would I survive? The Blood Race will eventually bring another bloodbath to this land. Might as well take a gamble!’

Now it seemed his gamble had paid off.

The effect of the authority was far stronger than he had imagined!

Lafeier pulled a baton from Sophia’s waist—a wooden shaft wrapped in metal, with a small black iron weight hanging below the grip, and sharp metal bumps scattered across the metal cover, as if deliberately designed.

Then, under Jagger’s terrified gaze, Lafeier picked up another wooden stick, a meter long and thicker than the baton.

“Which do you want? This tetanus stick, or this butt splinter stick?”

Lafeier sneered, step by step closing in on Jagger.

“Warden… sir! Please, this lowly one knows his mistake! No, please!”

“Heh, this Jagger is such a loser.”

With that, Lafeier smashed Jagger’s head with the baton.

Then, from bottom to top—

Ding!

[Execution Successful. Flintlock Smoothbore Musket Blueprint has been issued]

The next second, a surge of heat entered his brain, and the blueprint was imprinted directly into his mind.

Rip!

“Look closely! This is what happens when you riot!”

Lafeier propped Jagger’s mangled corpse upright in the middle of the corridor. The fear, catalyzed by death, fermented rapidly. Some death row prisoners with weak mental fortitude immediately pissed themselves.

This wasn’t a human anymore; it was a demon!

They had committed countless evils in their lives, but in terms of terror, compared to the boy before them, they were at best no more than little girls.

“Who was the leader of this riot? Step forward, and I’ll grant you an honorable death.”

As he spoke, Lafeier kicked Jagger’s body, already skewered like a kebab, a couple of times.

Silence.

“No one’s talking? Then… hehehe!”

Lafeier pointed the baton at a frail prisoner cowering in the corner. The man’s emaciated, parched face was covered with a dark purple shadow, his lips cracked, his nose sunken, his eye sockets tightly pressed against his skull, and two bloodshot eyeballs hanging in the hollows.

No one would be surprised if he dropped dead the next second.

Lafeier keenly caught a flicker of anger in the prisoners’ eyes.

‘The Warden’s pressure is always a mental control effect. I wish it were a rule-based one,’ he thought. ‘This kind of mental control, which can be broken by another strong emotion, can easily backfire if I don’t balance it well.’

Looking at the prisoners’ expressions, Lafeier mused, ‘Why do I feel like the villain here?’

‘Killing them all on the spot would definitely trigger backlash. The troops are disobedient, the guards are limited in combat power. Once the pressure wears off, I’m finished.’

‘But that man… must die.’

Text appeared beside the frail man:

[Individual Name: Wells]

[Sin Level: 98]

[Execution Reward: Silver Mine]

[Special Note: This prisoner is extremely dangerous. Handle with caution!]