Chapter 179 : Chapter 179

Everyone dispersed.

The ones who had not been chosen wore complicated expressions. Some let out such obvious sighs of relief that their shoulders sagged on the spot. Some kept their heads down, not daring to look at the two selected men. Others stole quick glances at Allen and the southern noble’s retainer, only to look away just as fast, as if they were afraid that staring too long might somehow infect them with the same fate.

Relief was only natural.

Going in was basically the same as being sent to die. Everyone here knew that.

Better for someone else to die than yourself. And who knew? Maybe if those two went in, luck might be on their side. Maybe they really would find a way through. Maybe then the rest of them would still have a chance to live.

Ryan stood where he was, watching everyone drift back to the corners they had occupied before.

Lillian walked over and stopped beside him, lowering her voice. “You saw it too?”

Ryan said nothing. He only nodded.

Rex came over as well, scratching his head as he muttered, “That was way too convenient, wasn’t it? How come it always lands on one of their own and then one outsider?”

Lillian shot him a glance, and for once, she did not call him an idiot.

Because it was obvious.

From the very beginning, there had been something off about the way Parker looked at Ryan. That coldness was not ordinary coldness. It carried hostility. Just now, Ryan and Allen had only exchanged a few quiet words before the dial spun and landed on Allen.

It was hard not to think too much into that.

But no one dared say anything.

Ryan’s gaze swept across the hall. Parker had already gone back to the Stone Pillar and leaned against it again, eyes closed. Hayden sat at his feet, his swollen hand resting on his knee.

No one said a word. No one questioned anything.

The dial was back in Parker’s coat. That tiny protrusion, the thumb that had pressed on it, the finger behind his back that had twitched once like a signal—

So what if someone had seen it?

Who was Parker?

The son of the northern army’s deputy commander. A man who had gone to war at sixteen, seen beastmen storm city walls, and chopped off more than one head with his own hands. The coldness in those eyes of his was the kind born only from real bloodshed.

The bearing he carried standing there was completely different from the pampered noble sons back at Saint Roland Academy. It was the presence of someone who had crawled out of piles of corpses.

And behind him stood the Second Prince.

An imperial prince, a man who held three entire legions in his hands. Parker was his man. Hayden was his man. And among the people who had entered this place, who knew how many others were his as well?

Who dared oppose him openly?

The dial had been tampered with?

The needle had been controlled?

Every round, one of his own and one outsider had been chosen?

Obviously.

Even a blind man could have seen it.

But what of it?

Parker had tucked the dial back into his coat, leaned against the pillar, and closed his eyes, his face blank. Hayden sat at his feet, his swollen hand on his knee, not looking at anyone. Their attitude could not have been clearer.

Yes, we rigged it. What are you going to do about it?

Allen was crouching in a corner.

Honestly, it was a rather pathetic posture. Knees pulled to his chest, head lowered, hunched into himself like a frightened quail.

His blue hair had already been messy to begin with, but now it looked even worse, like a bird’s nest. His right sleeve had been torn away in a great strip, exposing the scabbed wound underneath. He was so covered in dust and grime that he almost blended into the stone pillar behind him.

Ryan walked over and crouched beside him.

The two grown men squatted there shoulder to shoulder in the corner like a pair of stray dogs down on their luck. If the young ladies back at Saint Roland Academy saw this, they would probably laugh themselves silly. The gloomy, unsociable Ryan Velt, huddled in a corner with someone else?

“You don’t actually have to go,” Ryan said softly. “On my route—”

“No.”

Allen cut him off. He lifted his head and turned to face him, and the expression on his face was complicated. His eyes were a little red, though he was not crying. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile but could not quite manage it.

“Before this, several other guys already got sent in the same way,” he said, his voice rough, as if something were caught in his throat. “And I’m not supposed to go? Why not? Just because I’m your friend?”

Ryan fell silent.

“The draw was rigged,” he said after a moment. “He cheated. He picked you on purpose. If you don’t want to go, I can—”

Allen looked at him and blinked those light brown eyes.

“I know,” he said, cutting him off again. The bitter smile was still on his face, even deeper now. “But what good does that do?”

Ryan opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Allen let out a long sigh, like he was breathing out every last bit of air in his lungs.

“Guys like me,” he said, lowering his head to stare at the stone floor, “small fry, born with nothing, no backing, no strength, no resources... aren’t we just stepping stones for big shots like them? Sooner or later, that’s all we ever amount to.”

He paused, then lifted his head again and clapped Ryan lightly on the shoulder.

“Come on, brother.”

He pulled the black rod from his waist and waved it in front of Ryan. It was dull black, with two tiny crystals set into either end, looking like some expired energy bar—and the cheapest kind, at that.

“Maybe I really will find a way through,” he said, forcing a lighter tone into his voice. “And even if I don’t, I can still leave you some markers. Might help you avoid a few traps later.”

He tucked the rod away again, then patted Ryan’s shoulder once more.

“I’m glad I got to know you.”

Ryan looked at him.

Those light brown eyes were bright. There was not much fear in them. Instead, there was something else there—something like acceptance, something almost like relief.

Maybe he had gotten so used to giving up that now, when the end was finally staring him in the face, he was not as afraid as he should have been.

“The way those big shots were looking at you earlier, I noticed,” Allen said with a faint smile. There was something different in that smile now, something teasing, something almost envious. “That Parker guy doesn’t look at you the way he looks at everyone else. Vincent was watching you too. And Vera. And Eleanor...”

He paused, and the smile deepened a little.

“Maybe I really did manage to befriend someone important.”

Ryan froze for a moment.

He understood the meaning behind those words.

Allen was telling him that he knew Ryan was hiding things from him.

Ryan stayed silent for a long time.

Allen said nothing more either.

The two of them simply crouched there side by side, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the stone wall in front of them. The dim gray light from above stretched their shadows long across the floor, blending them together.

After a while, Ryan reached into his pack and felt around inside. Then he pulled out a small cloth bundle.

He tapped Allen on the shoulder.

Allen blinked and turned to him. Ryan had already stuffed the bundle into his hands.

“What’s this—”

Allen looked down and opened it.

Inside were three or four vials.

Glass bottles, each about the size of a palm, each one a different color—red, green, clear, and one dark crimson.