Single for Eternity
Chapter 64: Ebon Val Borg

Chapter 64: Ebon Val Borg

The world blurred again as I barely ducked under another sluggish but devastating strike. My ribs screamed in agony from an earlier blow, but before the pain could even settle, the wounds were knitting themselves back together.

’This damn body...’

It wasn’t just healing—it was reconstructing, reshaping, undoing the damage faster than my nerves could register it. My Chaos Incarnate Physique made survival a certainty, but it also made suffering endless. Every crushed bone realigned in seconds, every gash sealed as if it never existed. I could fight with reckless abandon, but there was no escaping the pain.

I barely had a moment to breathe before another knight swung his massive, corrupted blade toward me. I twisted at the last second, the edge grazing my side. I felt my flesh split, my muscles tear—and then, as if time reversed, it all stitched itself back together.

The old noble sneered from behind his knights. "Struggling, are we?"

I spat blood and grinned. "Not at all. Just getting my workout in."

The knights’ movements were rigid, but their coordination was terrifying. They were slow—stiff as corpses in their enchanted armor—but their formations were airtight. Every attack, though predictable, came from angles that forced me into more disadvantageous positions.

A knight lunged forward, and I saw my opportunity. Using the force of his attack, I slammed my elbow into the visor slit of his helmet. My arm practically exploded on impact, flesh ripping, bone fracturing—but the damage was irrelevant. Before the blood even hit the ground, my arm was whole again.

The knight staggered back, disoriented. But just as I moved to press my advantage, another caught me in the ribs. My entire torso caved in—organs crushed, bones shattered. A normal person would be dead.

I hit the ground coughing up chunks of blood and lung tissue—only for my body to violently reconstruct itself. Bones cracked back into place, muscles realigned, flesh wove itself together like stitching on a fresh wound.

I let out a slow breath. "You guys... hit like bricks."

The noble’s smirk widened. "And yet, you persist. How amusing."

Another knight closed in, his enchanted blade crackling with dark energy. A low-tier spell, but potent enough to burn through flesh. I braced myself for the inevitable as the blade cleaved through my side—

Pain. Fire. Agony.

Then nothing.

I looked down. My flesh was already regenerating, as if the attack had never happened. The knight hesitated, perhaps unnerved by the sight.

Perfect.

I twisted and drove my heel into his knee joint. A sickening crunch echoed through the dome, and the knight collapsed. But before I could run, another grabbed me from behind, locking me in an iron grip.

My spine snapped.

Black dots flooded my vision. My body tried to repair itself, but the knight’s grip only tightened, keeping me restrained while another knight brought his sword down onto my skull.

For the first time in this fight—I felt cold.

Not because I was dying. Dying wasn’t an option for me.

’Healing sure is a bitch.’

No, I felt cold because I was running out of time. If I let them restrain me completely, I’d lose control of the situation.

So I did what I did best.

I laughed.

Blood dripped from my lips as I grinned up at the noble. "This... all you got?"

The noble’s eye twitched. "Enough of this farce. Bind him."

The knights moved at once. Their arms locked around me, their magic surged—dark chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around my limbs, forcing me to my knees.

It was over. Just as planned.

I let my body go limp, breathing heavily as my wounds sealed for the hundredth time.

The noble stepped closer, peering down at me with amusement. "You put on quite the show, brat. But now, we’ll see how much fight is left in you when you meet the King."

His lips curled into a sneer. "Ebon Val Borg awaits."

I exhaled slowly. Good. Finally.

I was heading to the castle.

...

Darkness swallowed the world beyond the rattling iron bars. The air reeked of damp stone, sweat, and something acrid—blood, perhaps, or whatever foul thing they used to keep prisoners complacent. I sat on the cold floor, my back resting against the slick wall, my wrists bound in thick, enchanted shackles.

’These fuckers really tortured me. So, old fashioned.’

[ System: I always knew you were masochistic. ]

[ <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠↗ ]

’I. Am. Not. A. Masochist.’

[ System: Press ’X’ for doubt. ]

[ (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) ]

’Fuck you!!!’

[ System: What did you even expect besides that, when you insinuated the old noble that much. ]

[ ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ ]

’Ok, I knew they would torture me.... But I would run away from here too and steal some sporb and run away. Ahahahahahaha’

[ System: You are a human trash... ]

[ ತ⁠_⁠ತ ]

Ignoring the grumbling System, they’d thrown me into this cell hours ago. Maybe days. I don’t know, the pain was sure as hell real even if the wounds went away. These fucks really enjoyed torturing me as was healing.

I had thought that I was numb to pain after the desert creatures incident but lo and behold. ’Fuck no.’

Not that it mattered. My wounds were gone. The moment they had manhandled me into this dungeon, the bruises had already begun to fade. My shattered bones knitted back together, the torn flesh of my arms and legs closing as if nothing had happened.

The Chaos Incarnate Physique—my only real trump card—never let me stay broken for long. It was both a gift and a curse. I could endure any torment, survive any wound, but the pain? That was something I felt every single time. And getting your ribcage caved in and rebuilt within minutes wasn’t the kind of thrill I’d recommend.

A metal door groaned open down the hall, and I perked up, head tilting. Footsteps—measured, deliberate, powerful—echoed in the dim corridor. Whoever was coming wasn’t in a rush.

My expectations leaned toward a torturer, maybe the old noble himself, eager to return the favor for what I did to his skull. Instead, the footsteps stopped before my cell, and a shadow stretched long against the torchlit walls.

A deep, velvety voice broke the silence.

"You are not quite what I expected."

My gaze snapped up.

The man standing before me wasn’t just someone. He was something else entirely.

Tall. Regal. A presence so thick it weighed down the air, suffocating and inescapable. His skin was pale like moonlight against the void-black robes he wore, and his eyes—those abyssal, depthless things—glowed faintly, a piercing violet that sent every survival instinct in my body into overdrive.

Ebon Val Borg. The Immortal King of Duskholm.

A man who had ruled for centuries. A man who should not still be walking this earth.

I forced a grin, despite the prickling unease curling in my gut. "Well, that’s disappointing. I was hoping for more of a grand welcome."

The King’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile, not quite amusement—just the ghost of something unreadable. "You seem far too comfortable for someone in your position."

"Oh, believe me, I’m terrified." I rattled my shackles for effect. "Can’t you see me shaking in my boots?"

Silence stretched between us, thick as the gloom pressing in from all sides. Then, he stepped forward.

I didn’t flinch, but I damn well wanted to.

He didn’t move like a man. He didn’t even move like a predator. He moved like a certainty, like something inevitable, the way the sun rose and the stars burned out. ’at least in my previous world.’

And when he crouched, leveling his gaze with mine through the bars, I felt it in my bones—the weight of something ancient. Something beyond comprehension.

"You amuse me," he murmured. "Not many do."

"Glad I could be of service."

Another beat of silence. Then, "Tell me, Einar... do you know why you are here?"

My smirk faltered. I didn’t like the way he said my name. Like he’d known it long before I even breathed my first breath.

"I figured I was about to get the classic ’torture until you break’ treatment."

The King hummed. "If I wanted you broken, you would already be so."

A chill ran through me. Not just at the words, but at the certainty in them. He wasn’t boasting. He was stating fact.

I leaned my head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Alright then. Let’s cut to it. What do you actually want?"

Ebon Val Borg’s gaze didn’t waver. "I want to see what happens next."

A bark of laughter left me. "That’s cryptic as hell."

"And yet, you understand."

I stopped laughing.

Because he was right. I did understand.

This wasn’t just about the town, or the knights, or even the fucked-up state of this kingdom.

This was about me.

And the fact that he already knew exactly what I was.

My Chaos Incarnate Physique, my absurd healing, my resistance to whatever the hell had tainted this land. He wasn’t surprised by it. He wasn’t intrigued.

He was waiting.

For me.

The weight of that realization settled in my chest like a stone.

Then, he smiled. A slow, knowing thing. "You and I will be seeing much of each other, Einar."

The door to my cell creaked open.

"Come."

I stared at him. "Just like that?"

"If you prefer to remain in chains, I will not stop you."

I exhaled through my nose. Then, with a wry grin, I stood, shaking off the stiffness in my limbs.

"Alright, Your Immortality. Lead the way."

As I stepped past the threshold of my cell, I had the distinct, gut-churning feeling that whatever I had just walked into...

It was far bigger than me.

And for the first time in a long, long while...

I wasn’t sure if I liked that.

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