Single for Eternity
Chapter 65: Corruption

Chapter 65: Corruption

Following his immortality, I emerged from the depths of the torture chamber. As expected of a generic medieval dungeon, it was buried deep underground, with countless other cells lining the dimly lit corridors. The air was thick with the scent of mold, dried blood, and human suffering.

Gut-wrenching screams echoed from deeper within the prison, some ragged and desperate, others eerily subdued, as though their owners had already accepted their fate. And then—silence. That was the worst part. The eerie calm between the agony. The stillness that only ever meant one thing: the end of another life.

I walked on the cold marble floor, trailing behind the so-called immortal king, my mind flickering with countless questions. The most pressing one being—

How in the seven hells was I supposed to kill this guy?

Just earlier, I had proclaimed in front of Priscilla that I would dethrone this man, this... entity. And now, walking behind him, feeling his presence pressing down on me like an immovable weight, I wanted nothing more than to travel back in time and punch myself in the face.

’I can’t do jack shit to him.’

Literally nothing. His mere existence was oppressive, suffocating. If I had thought that the Manticore and the Spider were "mob fights," then this must be the Demon King himself. The sheer chasm of power between us was so vast that my mind couldn’t even fully grasp it. I could only hope that whatever he wanted was something simple. A little chat, maybe?

’Yeah, right. My mental state is definitely not good.’

We ascended a spiral staircase, leaving the wretched stench of the dungeons behind. At the top, the Immortal King turned his head slightly, smiling with an eerie calm. "Come. Follow me further."

I nodded, still trying to digest the fact that he looked only a few years older than me but exuded the presence of an ancient being. He wasn’t just powerful—he was old. Like an immovable mountain, a sage who had witnessed countless ages, a predator who had long stopped fearing anything beneath him.

The castle’s architecture was breathtaking—massive marble halls, supported by giant pillars adorned with suits of armor, ancient paintings, and priceless artifacts. Yet, for all its grandeur, something gnawed at me.

’Where the hell are the guards?’

I had walked through an entire castle, following the most powerful man in this land, and I had yet to see a single knight standing at attention. No soldiers. No servants. No assassins lurking in the shadows.

’This place is dead.’

Eventually, we entered a chamber unlike any other. A lush garden, flourishing within the castle’s cold stone walls. Vibrant, decorative flora filled the air with a mix of floral sweetness and the damp, earthy scent of wet soil.

At the center, a table with two chairs awaited us, neatly set with a tea service and an assortment of snacks. The Immortal King took his seat, gesturing for me to do the same. I hesitated before lowering myself onto the chair, wary but unwilling to show it.

As I observed the setup, the King casually picked up his cup, bringing it to his lips for a slow sip. "Don’t worry. Nothing is poisoned." He paused, then smirked. "But I suppose you would survive even if it were."

I leaned back, chuckling dryly, unsure whether to laugh it off or be deeply concerned. Still, I took a sip of the tea.

[ Your Chaos Embryonic Core is being saturated. ]

’Of course. Fucker!!’

My glare shot to the man across from me. He, in turn, raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing. "You survived, didn’t you? No harm, no foul. I was just curious... ok?"

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure how to.

Instead, he continued, his tone light, almost conversational. "By the way, what’s the extent of your ability? Literal immortality, or just major injury healing?"

Something about his presence made lying impossible. Maybe it was his sheer authority. Maybe it was something else. Either way, I found myself answering honestly, though begrudgingly. "Never experimented. Not a fan of suicide."

He nodded as if that were a perfectly reasonable response and took another sip of his accursed tea. "I suppose that’s fair."

I stared at him. This was the man responsible for the Skin Cult. The one who commanded this entire city. And yet, he was acting like an eccentric noble entertaining a guest, rather than a tyrant addressing a potential enemy.

Finally, I asked the most pressing question. "What do you want?"

Silence.

A long, drawn-out silence, save for the occasional clink of porcelain as he idly stirred sugar into his tea. Then, as if speaking to himself, he asked:

"How do you think one kills an immortal?"

Huh?

The question was random. No—too random. And yet, it felt... heavy. It dug into my chest, gnawed at my brain. An instinctive part of me understood the weight behind his words, even if I didn’t understand the meaning.

I felt a deep sense of connection to that question as if it was in my nature itself. But that was all....I just felt, nothing else.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the creeping unease, and scoffed. "Doesn’t ’immortal’ mean unkillable? Aren’t you bypassing the literal definition?"

He chuckled. "Then let me ask something different." He placed his cup down and leaned slightly forward. "Who do you think you are?"

That was easy. I answered without hesitation. "Einar Sanguis. 1017th child of the Sanguis lineage."

His smirk widened slightly. "I didn’t ask for your name, Einar. I asked—who are you?"

I opened my mouth, but before I could respond, he cut me off. "No. You are not ready to answer that." His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And more importantly—you are still weak."

I frowned. I knew who I was. Child of Chaos. Chaos Incarnate. An uncertainty in the grand design of fate.

But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

He sighed, a self-deprecating smile gracing his lips as he leaned back into his chair. His voice, for the first time, carried a sliver of something raw. Something that almost sounded... human.

"I’m corrupted."

’What the actual fuck?’