Darkness came first.
Then pain.
Belphegor felt it before he understood it.
A dull, crushing ache spread through his body, as if something heavy had been pressing down on him for hours. His muscles refused to obey him. His limbs felt numb, distant, like they no longer belonged to him.
Slowly… his eyes opened.
Cold stone greeted his vision.
A ceiling made of rough-cut granite blocks stretched above him, faintly illuminated by flickering torchlight somewhere beyond his line of sight.
The air was damp.
It smelled of rust, mold, and something worse.
Blood.
Belphegor blinked once.
Twice.
Then he realized he wasn't lying down.
He was hanging.
His arms were pulled apart and shackled high against a stone pillar behind him. His feet barely touched the ground, forcing his weight onto his shoulders.
Something cold and burning coiled around his torso and wrists.
Chains.
Red chains.
They glowed faintly, thin runic characters crawling across their surface like living insects.
The moment he focused on them, a violent weakness surged through his body.
It was as if the chains were drinking him.
Drinking everything.
Mana.
Strength.
Presence.
Belphegor's pupils narrowed.
"…What."
His voice came out hoarse.
He tried to move his arm.
Nothing.
Tried to summon power.
Nothing.
He paused.
Then tried again, this time with force.
Still nothing.
His expression slowly hardened.
Belphegor lowered his head, staring at the chains binding him.
They looked fragile.
Puny.
Weak.
Something that should snap like thread between his fingers.
Yet his body felt like it belonged to a dying man.
"…Impossible."
The word came out in a whisper.
Belphegor tried to recall the last thing he remembered.
The manor.
The central wing.
The artifact.
The sealed infernal core.
Then, light.
Runes.
Arrays.
Warden traps layered over each other like a web.
And the silver-chained mage.
After that, darkness.
His jaw tightened.
He had been captured.
The realization struck like a blade.
For a moment, the dungeon grew very quiet.
Then Belphegor laughed.
It wasn't loud.
But it was filled with something cold.
"…I."
"…Lost?"
His fingers twitched weakly against the chains.
He tried again to summon even a flicker of energy.
The chains flared faintly.
And immediately, the last spark inside him was sucked away.
The runes brightened.
Drinking.
Draining.
Reducing him.
To zero.
Belphegor's breathing slowed.
Then a wave of fury crashed through him.
A pressure began rising inside his chest, violent and suffocating.
How?
How had he allowed this?
Those insects.
Those worms.
Humans.
They had dared.
His vision darkened as rage surged through him like a storm.
The dungeon trembled faintly.
Inside the invisible void of his consciousness, something stirred.
Something ancient.
Something that should never wake.
And then, a familiar voice echoed.
[System Notification]
Please refrain from directing hostility toward the System.]
Belphegor's eye twitched.
"…You."
The voice inside his mind sounded almost cautious.
[Host currently possesses an opportunity.]
[Dungeon energy signatures indicate imprisoned individuals within proximity.]
[Assisting their escape may allow limited authority restoration.]
Belphegor's gaze turned cold.
"So you want me… to beg help from prisoners?"
[Correction.]
[Strategic cooperation.]
Belphegor's lip curled in disgust.
"I will not lower myself to such nonsense."
The system paused.
Almost as if sighing.
[Host arrogance detected.]
[Warning: Current restraint system suppresses all magical signatures.]
[Energy drain rate: continuous.]
[Escape probability without strategy: 0.04%]
Belphegor closed his eyes.
"…I don't need your calculations."
If he had even thirty percent of his power, no, even ten percent, these chains would shatter like dry twigs.
That thought alone made something dangerous flicker behind his eyes.
The System felt it immediately.
The leash that bound Belphegor, the invisible restraint holding something catastrophic inside him, began to strain.
The rage rising inside him was wrong.
Too violent.
Too deep.
Something beneath it was beginning to wake.
The System reacted instantly.
[Emergency Protocol Activated]
A faint calming pulse spread through Belphegor's mind.
Like cool water poured over burning steel.
The pressure receded slightly.
But the fury remained.
And then, footsteps echoed through the dungeon corridor.
Slow.
Confident.
Metal scraped against stone as a heavy door opened.
Torchlight spilled into the room.
Belphegor lifted his head.
A man walked in.
Tall.
Noble clothing.
Cruel eyes.
Behind him followed several guards carrying wooden trays.
And on those trays, metal instruments.
Hooks.
Knives.
Needles.
Tongs blackened by fire.
The man stopped several steps away from Belphegor and examined him with casual curiosity.
Then he smiled.
A thin, unpleasant smile.
"Ah."
"So you're awake."
Belphegor stared at him silently.
The man clasped his hands behind his back and began slowly circling him like a merchant inspecting livestock.
"Impressive physique."
"No magical signature."
"And yet my mages insist you were… troublesome."
He leaned closer.
Eyes gleaming.
"Let's begin simply."
His voice hardened.
"Who are you?"
Silence.
Belphegor didn't even blink.
The man continued.
"Where did you come from?"
Nothing.
"Who sent you into my manor?"
Still nothing.
Belphegor looked at him the way a king might look at an insect crawling across his throne.
Lord Veynar's smile slowly faded.
"…I see."
He gestured.
One of the guards stepped forward and handed him a thin steel blade.
The nobleman rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully.
"You know… I've broken many men."
He stepped closer.
"Knights."
"Spies."
"Assassins."
"Even mages."
His voice softened.
"They all believed they were strong."
Then suddenly, the blade drove into Belphegor's shoulder.
Deep.
Blood ran down the chains.
The guards watched carefully.
Waiting.
Waiting for a scream.
A gasp.
A twitch.
Belphegor's expression didn't change.
His eyes remained fixed on Veynar.
Cold.
Empty.
If anything, he looked annoyed.
The nobleman slowly pulled the blade out.
"…No reaction."
He tried again.
And again.
Different tools.
Different wounds.
The dungeon echoed with the sounds of metal against flesh.
Minutes passed.
Then longer.
But through it all, Belphegor never made a sound.
Not a groan.
Not a breath.
Nothing.
Inside the system space, warning indicators flashed.
The rage building within him was becoming unstable again.
The System tightened the calming restraint.
Barely holding it back.
Finally, Lord Veynar stepped away.
His patience thinning.
He wiped Belphegor's blood from his gloves with a cloth and studied the prisoner for a moment.
Then he chuckled.
"…Interesting."
"You'll break eventually."
He turned toward the door.
"I have other matters to attend."
His eyes flicked back once more.
"We'll continue later."
The heavy door slammed shut.
The torches flickered.
Silence returned to the dungeon.
Belphegor hung there.
Bleeding.
Drained.
Weak.
But his eyes slowly lifted toward the darkness of the corridor.
And the faintest smile appeared on his lips.
Not one of pain.
But one of promise.
Because somewhere deep inside him, something had begun to wake.