novelraw Chapter 162: Punishment
Chapter 162: Punishment
By now, they should have drained the bulk of the most precious Blood-Weep Worms, turning the mature ones and the nearly-ready ones into bottles of that priceless potion. Once that happened, the core value of the Botanical Garden would be locked down tight. Even if the Quarry crew threw a fit and came back for round two, the value of what was left would be in the toilet. The pre-set arrays, plus a few second-ranks to babysit, would have been enough to keep the place running gently in the long term.
But…
Wilber had failed.
And he didn’t just fail.
He tanked it. Completely.
The defensive array, built at massive cost and calling in every favor he had, was erased. The alchemy gear for harvesting and pre-processing the worms? Gone. In the hands of those rude gunmen from the Quarry.
And… what really made his chest hurt was that last batch of Blood-Weep Worms. Already harvested, not even in his hands yet.
Those little red things, wriggling in their special boxes, making those sad weeping sounds… How many bottles of Wormblood Brew was that? How many resources? How many connections? How many steps up the ladder could he have traded them for?
A cold, violent fire sparked in Aldrich’s gut. It wanted to burn away the calm mask of the veteran third-ranker he always wore.
But he wasn’t Wilber. He’d been playing the third-rank game way too long to lose it now. He took a deep breath and shoved the rage down a notch.
He also knew this wasn't all on Wilber.
Normally, Wilber—a fresh third-ranker with strength that was still a bit shaky—was still a third-rank. With that full-function array Aldrich had spent a fortune on, he should’ve held the Quarry off.
But from the scattered reports coming in, and the terrified babbling of the subordinate who’d made it back… things got weird. An “unexpected” event. A variable. Something that had flipped the table on the whole battlefront.
Who was it?
A hidden ace from the Quarry? Another faction fishing in troubled waters? Or… some bug hiding in the shadows that he hadn't noticed?
Thump, thump, thump.
Light, hesitant knocks sounded at the study door. Soft. Like they were afraid to wake the dead.
“Enter.”
Aldrich didn't turn around. He kept his back to the door, his voice flat and emotionless, his eyes still on the lake outside the window under the red moon.
The door creaked open. Wilbur shuffled in, head down, stumbling.
He was still in his rags, coated in grime and blood. The stench of copper, burnt hair, and zombie rot hit the study instantly, ruining the smell of old books and incense.
He looked up, trying to make out the silhouette against the window—a statue in the gloom—when a terrifying force, zero warning, like an iron clamp… slammed shut around his throat!
“Guh—!”
Wilber managed a strangled choke before suffocation drowned him like a cold wave. He was slammed sideways into the wall!
BAM!
His back hit the hard wall through the fancy wallpaper so hard his organs shifted, vision going black for a second. He tried to gasp, to inhale literally anything. But his throat was crushed flat. No matter how he struggled, his lungs couldn't get a scrap of oxygen.
The cold shadow of death dropped over him instantly.
That wasn't all.
He felt slimy, cold strips of “flesh” extending from Aldrich. Like vipers or tentacles. They stabbed right into his worst wounds. The ones from The Scalpel’s bullets. The ones opened by the bomb.
The second they pierced him, the pain was worse than the injury itself.
Agony.
Mixed with a feeling of “weakness” and “decay,” like his life force was getting sucked out. It forced his ruined injuries to act up, bringing him a sharp, immediate… sense of the end.
Wilbur’s eyes bulged with terror. He tried to look at Aldrich.
No expression on that face. Just those deep, cold eyes under the red moonlight, quietly watching him. Like he was a bug to be crushed.
Wilber tried to struggle, tried to pry the invisible grip off with his mutated hands. His mouth opened and closed, wanting to explain, to beg, to talk about the “accident” and the “variable” he’d run into… but he couldn't make a sound. Just the wet hiss of a crushed windpipe.
But even here, at the edge of death, Wilbur didn't dare use his power to fight back. He was too weak, too wrecked. And Aldrich? That aura was dangerous. If Wilber resisted now, even just to save himself, he was afraid it would only tip the scales, turning this “punishment” into a real “execution.”
Sure enough, a few seconds later, the invisible grip loosened.
“Cough… cough cough… hiss…!”
Wilbur slid down the cold wall, knees weak, hitting the floor. He clawed at his neck, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air. Every inhale stung his throat, every exhale was a broken wheeze.