Waiting For Your Reincarnation Chapter 153

Zephyto’s aura was sharper and more ferocious than ever. Elita took a step backward, satisfied that she had caught him in his tracks with Telene.

 

She gathered her knights and scoured the black market. There was plenty of material she hadn’t found. She used it to analyze the location of the lab.

 

That night, Elita did as Zephyto had ordered and pinpointed the lab’s exact location. It was a town between the Fletcher River and Lake Bates.

 

As soon as he had the location, Zephyto took his newly recruited knights and headed there. 

 

The road to the village was closely connected to the black market underground.

 

Every street corner was lined with matchmakers or armed guards who had not yet been contacted. Of course, none of them could stop him.

 

It wasn’t far from the Telene capital, but without a map, he would have gotten lost on the way.

 

It was a little understandable why Willis, the king, hadn’t made it easier for him when he learned of this place’s existence.

 

“This is it.”

 

“From the sigil, I’d say yes, but it’s not in good condition…”

 

“Someone’s already been there. We’re late.”

 

Zephyto frowned slightly and glanced at the lab door. He didn’t have to force it, but it opened on its own.

 

The knight behind him covered his nose and mouth with his arm, eyes watering from the acrid smoke, as the heat that had been trapped inside burst forth.

 

Someone had set the laboratory on fire, and at first glance, most of it was charred and blackened to nothing. This was where everything related to Ragnar was supposed to be, and yet, fire.

 

“Damn it.”

 

He muttered a low curse, irritation rising in his voice as his mind refused to cooperate.

 

Zephyto pushed the door open with his foot and stepped deeper inside. It hadn’t been that long since the fire had started, judging by the heat that hadn’t dissipated.

 

Covering his mouth with his handkerchief, he looked around. It looked more like a prison than a laboratory. Each cage held the bodies of burned or suffocated children.

 

The knights who had followed Zephyto bowed their heads, biting their lips tightly at the horror of the scene.

 

“There’s more road ahead.”

 

“Open it.”

 

The knight ahead of him, scanning the interior of the building, called out when he spotted another door. Zephyto flicked his head once, signaling for the door to open.

 

The knight, ever vigilant, broke the lock and opened the newfound door, revealing a narrow staircase leading down to the basement.

 

He frowned, not batting an eyelid at the sight of the children’s bodies, but the sight of the staircase leading to the endless darkness filled him with a sudden, unexplained unease.

 

“I’ll go first.”

 

Zephyto snatched the lantern from the knight’s hand as he descended. He pushed past the knight and descended the stairs, relying solely on the light of the lantern.

 

With each step he took down the stairs, thoughts poured in like a tidal wave.

 

‘Did Ragnar start the fire? Maybe it was Elter.’

 

‘Whoever had set the fire had taken the materials, and it was a fight they had lost.’

 

And…

 

‘Is Iris, who is coming here, safe?’

 

He reached out into the darkness. His fingertips touched the drywall. He groped along the wall and shined his lantern at it, finding nothing but dirt on his hands.

 

The flames hadn’t reached this place, at least not without smoke. There could be material down here that Ragnar hadn’t yet recovered.

 

“Stop, everyone.”

 

The knights halted at the sound of his low, echoing voice. Zephyto had reached the bottom of the stairs by now. He shone his lantern in front of the door.

 

He struck several locks with the back of his sword, breaking them all. Then he slowly slipped inside.

 

‘The smell of blood…’

 

The first thing that greeted him in the darkness was the stench of blood, a foul, fetid odor. If he held still long enough, he could have sworn he was in the middle of a battlefield.

 

Behind him, several knights followed. As they entered, one by one, their lanterns lit up, and the scene became somewhat familiar.

 

“What is that?”

 

“A child. Not because of the fire…, but it looks like he was stabbed to death.”

 

He stepped toward the child’s body, and in the light of the lantern, Zephyto examined the chest wound carefully. The knight’s words were true: a deep stab wound.

 

Zephyto stared at the card around the boy’s neck, a single letter, A, scrawled in inky black.

 

“A.”

 

1. A young scientist raised by Ragnar as a secret weapon. According to Elita’s information, it was this boy who had developed the potion.

 

Confirming the name, he quickly searched the boy’s body, but found nothing. If alive, the child could have provided testimony in Zephyto’s favor, but it was a wasted opportunity. Perhaps Ragnar had realized that, too, and disposed of the child.

 

Rising to his feet, Zephyto surveyed his surroundings. There was a pool of blood on the floor. 

 

The human body loses more blood than you’d think, but judging by the child’s size and wounds, this was mixed in with the others.

 

“Who else is there?”

 

“Your Highness…! If you look here, there is a body……!”

 

A new body was found a short distance away from the child. Zephyto’s eyebrows rose slightly as he examined the corpse. The knights gulped and looked away at the rather bizarre condition of the corpse.

 

The corpse of an adult man was strangely skeletal. His entire body had turned blue as if it had been eaten by mold, and he was as thin as a piece of wood. The body reeked of stale oil.

 

One day, Zephyto had seen a description of this figure in the literature. It was in the description of a potion created by a hidden scientist.

 

“They set fire to the upstairs, and this guy down here must have drank the potion, or put it on himself, or something.”

 

“Ouch…, then…”

 

“I doubt there’s anything here.”

 

He let out a heavy sigh and examined the corpse’s face more closely. It was only now that he realized the man’s face was familiar, a man he had come into contact with from time to time as Ragnar’s attendant.

 

The moment he realized who the man was, he was certain that the potion he had hoped for had already been disposed of in Ragnar’s favor.

 

“I’m surprised the greedy man gave up the potion.”

 

He searched the dead man’s body for the vial that had contained the potion. But instead of a vial, he held a bloody knife in his hand.

 

Zephyto examined the knife carefully. At first glance, it looked like the knife used to kill the boy, but the size of the wound and the width of the blade didn’t match. This knife had been used to kill someone other than the boy.

 

‘Was there someone else, and was there an inevitable fight?’

 

It was strange to think about. The lab wasn’t neatly organized or all the materials were gone, but it was in disarray. It was as if a battle had been fought to the last man.

 

Then another bloodstain caught Zephyto’s eye, and he carefully followed it.

 

It ended in front of a lab bookcase. He didn’t know if there was another path leading behind it.

 

Zephyto used his hands and feet to touch every inch of the bookcase, and when he touched one of the thick volumes, it split open to reveal a side door. The doorknob was smeared with black, dried blood.

 

Someone had escaped from the lab.

 

If he could capture this person…, things might turn in Zephyto’s favor.

 

The corners of his mouth turned up in a smooth line. Without hesitation, he pushed the side door open. Through the cracks, the warmth of Telene’s sunlight spilled onto the snow.

 

Zephyto stepped outside, his eyes closing and opening slowly to adjust to the sudden light.

 

“Back door?”

 

Oddly enough, the side door led to the outside of the lab. Perhaps the man who had discovered the door’s true identity had set it on fire and tried to escape through it.

 

He looked at the narrow waterway that connected to the Fletcher River and caught his breath. 

 

The stale air felt like a breath of fresh air.

 

Drops of blood lay on the sparse grass like feathers that a bird had dropped without realizing it. 

 

He looked off in the direction they pointed.

 

There was a large tree near the lazy river, and beneath it he could see a woman’s inky figure leaning back.

 

And as he watched her luscious black hair swirl in the air, he knew at once who she was.

 

“Iris.”

 

He called out to her, barely audibly, like squeezing water out of a wet towel. But no answer came.