(Content Warning: Heavy themes. Discretion advised.)
Sylas's body began to tremble.
He forced a smile. "Your Majesty is joking, right?"
Isolde didn't say a word, just stared at him blankly.
Sylas looked at her expression; it didn't seem false.
Panic instantly seized him.
Gouge out my eyes?
Isolde wanted to gouge out my eyes?
"No... this... I didn't..." he stammered in terror.
"You didn't enchant me, is that it?" Isolde asked, her expression grave. "So, it was Jade who helped you escape, correct?"
Sylas: "..."
He looked around frantically, finally letting out a mournful sound.
"It was I who enchanted you..."
Jade had saved him once; he couldn't bring himself to betray her.
But he still knelt before Isolde, grabbing the hem of her dress, pleading.
"Please, don't take my eyes?
I will never enchant you again, I swear!
I want to see the world!
I'll help you conquer Western Stonewold!
Don't make me blind..."
"Unnecessary.
Your character is flawed, too wanton.
You are unfit to be a strategist.
You are only fit to be locked here as a blind slave," Isolde stated, not yielding an inch.
She tugged his hair. "But you needn't worry overly much.
You practiced dark arts, so I found an equally dark guild to counter you.
This guild is called the Nightrain Guild.
They can... remove your organs and keep them preserved.
If you behave, they can even be... reattached.
How about that?
Aren't you thrilled?
This is already a magnanimous show of heavenly grace."
"No, no, no..." Sylas shook his head incessantly.
Isolde finally snapped.
All those months she had felt guilty, so terribly guilty.
And now she was being told Sylas had faked his death willingly?!
She viciously yanked his hair and slapped him across the face.
She cursed and cried—cursed out of anger, cried out of disappointment.
"You! You don't deserve to be treated well!
If you had just yielded before, would I be this ruthless?
It's too late now!
Sylas, you truly brought this upon yourself!"
She pushed him away and called towards the door, "Enter!"
As soon as the words left her mouth, a hunched old woman entered, leaning on a cane.
Her movements as sluggish as an old tortoise.
"This old one greets Your Majesty."
Isolde pointed at Sylas and stood up, turning her back to him.
"Proceed. Both eyes. You will teach me this magic later. I wish to learn it."
"As you command."
The old woman slowly shuffled towards Sylas.
Terrified, Sylas scrambled backward.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, don't do this!
How can eyes be gouged out and put back?!
Don't believe her!
Get away! Get away from me!"
He couldn't break free.
The iron chains on him were far too heavy.
The old woman chuckled, a dry, sinister sound.
"The young master jests.
The world is vast, full of wonders.
We of the Nightrain Guild may not compare to the swordswomen of Lyonesse in martial skill, but our expertise in... disassembly... is unparalleled.
Rest assured, young master, it won't hurt a bit."
"Get away! Get away!"
Sylas yelled desperately, shouting helplessly at Isolde's back.
"Your Majesty, if you make me blind, I will hate you forever!
I will never forgive you!"
"Oh?" Isolde turned around coldly, a smile on her face.
"If you don't become blind, will you like me then?
If I treat you well, will you forgive me?
I fail to see much difference."
She glanced at the chains on Sylas.
"Look at the state you're in.
Didn't you bring this upon yourself?
Let's not point fingers.
We're just locked in this love-hate struggle, that's all."
Furious, Sylas spat, "Isolde! You go too far!
It was you who forced me!
I am a prisoner of war!
You could have just killed me!
Why must you humiliate me over and over again? You..."
"Then shall I kill you now? I'll kill you right now. A clean end," Isolde said, walking over while supporting her belly.
Sylas immediately fell silent. He didn't want to die.
Before, unattached, he would have chosen death outright.
But after seeing the swell of her seven-month pregnancy, his desire to die had vanished completely.
Now, he finally understood why Alaric had stopped him from seeking death.
No parent could abandon their own child.
"Speak! Either lose your eyes or die. Choose," Isolde said, looking down at him arrogantly.
She had Sylas's psychology completely figured out.
Hmph.
Still thinking about death?
I saw how you couldn't bear to part with the child when you were listening to my belly just now.
She was immensely satisfied with the baby in her womb.
Misandry, you'll be the key to controlling your father from now on.
Her eyes shifted, and she suddenly smiled again.
"Oh, I forgot. My Lord Sylas knows resurrection.
But you won't succeed this time.
If you seek death, I will have your head cut off, placed on a platter, and displayed for my ministers to see."
"You... you're not right in the head... you're a madwoman..."
Sylas broke down, slumping to the floor.
He looked at the old woman and mumbled, "They can be put back, right?"
"Young master, rest assured. They certainly can."
Sylas let out a long sigh.
"Proceed then..."
The old woman glanced at Isolde.
The Empress gave a dismissive nod.
The old woman stepped forward, pulling a spoon-like tool made of a jade-like material from a storage pouch.
She pressed it against Sylas's eyelid.
Then, she muttered an incantation.
A cold sensation spread from the tool to Sylas's eye.
He felt his eyeball suddenly roll out.
Before he could react, both eyes landed in a jade bowl held in the old woman's other hand.
"Ah? Ah..."
He was blind.
He could see nothing.
Plunged into darkness, true terror began to set in.
He shouted, "Isolde, you are a tyrant! A madwoman! Aethelred will surely fall..."
Isolde said impatiently, "Take his tongue too.
All he does is whine.
Let's see how you enchant anyone now."
"No, no, not my tongue... Gack—"
He could suddenly speak no more, his mouth now an empty cavity.
Finally, he curled up on his side on the floor, unable even to cry.
The old woman presented the jade bowl.
"Your Majesty, the young master's eyes and tongue.
May this old one preserve them?
To facilitate reattachment later."
"You tidy them up and give them to me. I don't trust anyone else," Isolde said.
She picked up the reddish tongue, a thought striking her.
"And this... can he still feel it?"
The old woman: "Yes. It's not truly severed, merely... removed.
If pricked with a needle or burned with fire, he will feel the pain."
Isolde laughed triumphantly at Sylas.
"Hear that? I'll prick your tongue with a needle!
If you misbehave, that's what I'll do!"
She turned to the old woman.
"Go claim your reward. Remember to teach me this art."
"Thanking Your Majesty!"
The old woman hurriedly produced a small white porcelain box and placed the eyes inside.
"Your Majesty, items placed in porcelain crafted by our guild remain perfectly preserved.
This old one will return now to prepare the Nightrain Guild's secret manuals for Your Majesty."
She handed the small box to Isolde and quickly took her leave.