The place above the basement—
The one where the children were trapped—had been quiet for too long.
And then screams....!!!
They heared, from underneath— not that audible but could be heard.
Without wasting another breath, Elias ordered his knights to spread out and secure every possible exit.
No one would get away.
Small, discreet cameras were set up along the outer edges of the forest—
an added precaution. Even if someone managed to slip through, they'd leave a trail.
Though truth be told, Elias doubted anyone inside had a chance.
Still… it was worth preparing for every possibility.
When they were ready, the knights moved in.
Elias could feel the tension in the air like a hum against his skin.
The enemy wasn't weak—far from it. Six of them were seventh-rank knights and one Sixth rank...
Him and vice-commander were both sixth rank.
And that mattered.
In the world's unspoken hierarchy, each rank above the fourth was not just a step up—it was a leap, power multiplying severalfold with every stage.
Most people didn't even know how to reach the third or second rank.
Elias did. He had been a fourth-rank knight once—one of the best—
and now he was sixth.
But rank alone didn't decide a fight.
From the memories of the game, he remembered one chilling line—Leya's voice from a later chapter:
"Even a mere seventh and sixth rank could hurt us that badly, now they just lick my feet."
The identities of their tormentors had never been revealed.
But Elias had a feeling he was about to meet them.
Every step was measured.
A small device—expensive enough to buy an estate—help them be connected through earpieces, one for each knight.
A toy for the Elias.....
The entrance to the real basement wasn't obvious.
One of the knights stiffened—
A sound.
A low, broken song, echoing somewhere beneath their feet.
They needed to find the way down.
Elias crouched, pressing one gloved hand to the ground.
He poured a thread of mana through the dirt.
It was faint—almost buried in the smell of dust and rot—but there it was…
a pulse. A pattern.
He didn't open it immediately.
Sound traveled in a place like this, and so did fire.
One wrong move and they'd lose their chance.
Instead, he concentrated, pressing mana deeper until the hidden mechanism clicked in his mind.
He gave a small nod.
The nearest knight reached forward, fingers brushing over a nearly invisible seam in the floor.
A press.
A hiss.
The trapdoor slid open with a sharp metallic note that echoed far too loud in the stillness.
They froze.
The noise had alerted whoever was inside.
But there was no going back.
Elias rose, drawing his weapon, and stepped into the opening.
The smell of blood was stronger here.
The air was heavy.
And somewhere below, the nightmare waited.
---
In the white room:-
Below, in the deeper basement, the noise reached the captives.
The twins heads turned upward sharply.
The man in white's face twitched—conflicted, calculating. His guards—loyal hounds—shifted uneasily.
Someone was coming.
And whoever it was… it could only mean two things:
their death or seeking death.
Only those with the king's direct approval could enter the Red Forest.
If this intruder wasn't an ally, they'd all die here.
The man in white flicked his fingers. His guards slipped away to investigate, silent as shadows.
---
Back to Elias side:-
Elias and his knights moved like shadows through the narrow hallway, their boots barely whispering against the floor.
Elias didn't flinch as the stench rose—death, dampness, oil. He stepped first into the underground tunnel, blindfold still on.
Behind him, a squad of six. Silent. Elite.
"What are your senses telling you?" the second-in-command asked quietly.
Elias tilted his head. "...There are thirteen signs of recent life below. Three kids are still alive."
The squad froze.
"Children?"
"Yes"
The stench hit them first—copper and rot. Then the sight followed.
The basement stretched out before them, lit in a sickly dim glow.
Children's drawings smeared on bloodstained walls.
Toys snapped in half. Crates labeled in a language not of this world.
Bodies.
Small ones.
Bloody. Scarred. Thrown aside like discarded scraps.
Every knight froze for a heartbeat. Their stomachs turned.
This wasn't a battlefield—it was a slaughterhouse.
And the victims… were children.
The men behind Elias murmured curses.
Elias's jaw tightened until it hurt. He could hear the breath of the knights behind him falter, the unspoken question weighing in the air:
If we had been here sooner… could we have saved them?
"Focus," Elias said quietly, voice steady but heavy. "We can't help the ones we've lost… but there might still be someone who needs us."
The words grounded them. Blades slid from scabbards with cold precision.
They pushed forward.
Elias's mind kept circling back to the same thought.
These children—no matter what had been done to them—still deserved to live. Still deserved love. Still deserved to be more than the broken shells this place had tried to make them.
Wishing wouldn't change anything.
But saving even one might.
---
Elias and his knights waited.
They knew there was something below them—something hidden—but no visible door.
Then, the wall shifted with a deep grinding sound, rotating to reveal a passage.
The guards poured out.
Steel clashed instantly. Knights met the oncoming wave head-on while Elias and his vice commander pushed forward through the gap. They descended quickly, every step pulling them deeper into the heart of the nightmare.
At last, they entered a stark white room—
and froze.
Three children.
One man.
And the air so heavy with cruelty it almost seemed to thicken the blood.
The boy—blonde, barely breathing—looked half-dead.
The twins… their eyes were hollow, stitched with trauma.
But when they saw Elias—
for the smallest, briefest moment—
there was something else.
Hope... They know they shouldn't but..just can't help seeing a person with flowing silver hair and radiating warmth....
Elias didn't hesitate. He crossed the space in three strides, sweeping the children into his arms, holding them as if the weight of their suffering could be lessened by his embrace alone.
He didn't think about whether they were his children.
He didn't think about blood or name.
They were alive.
That was enough.
--