Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 330: The Hideout II

Chapter 330: The Hideout II

Atticus took a step forward, allowing Jonah a clearer view of the item the former was holding onto. It looked like... hair.

"Wait... What’s that―"

"Heads up," Atticus said with cheerful vindictiveness as he flung the head in Jonah’s direction.

Jonah caught it instinctively and then let out a piercing shriek as he met eyes with the dead woman and realized what he caught. Bright blue eyes, a head — and only a head — of blonde hair, and a rather bloodied neck that ended abruptly.

Jonah said a silent prayer in his heart. Goodness. This was the missing head! His men had looked all over earlier, but they failed to find it on the grounds. Turns out, it was stuck in the tunnels all this while.

"Atticus, you piece of shit!" Jonah cursed, holding the head at arm’s length. "Argh... That is disgusting... At least that answers my question of where the head went."

"What are all these bottles?" Atticus asked, ignoring Jonah’s plaintive whines from a corner.

Jonah was a knight. He had seen his fair share of blood and severed heads. Atticus doubted that thrusting one into his arms out of the blue was truly anything as frightening as he was making it out to be.

Thus, Atticus continued to speak instead. "Is Alistair an alcoholic?"

If he was, that would certainly explain his mood swings.

"If only." Jonah snorted. He then said gravely, "That’ll make things so much easier. These are most likely Jean Nott’s concoctions for growing his hand." Jonah placed the head down and gestured to the pile of glass. "There’s a whole bunch of syringes too."

Atticus’s eyes darkened. "What have you found out?"

"Well, I was conducting some experiments to try and figure out the components from the remaining residue," Jonah began. "And then I accidentally got a nick while picking the bottles from the bin. So, I decided to test it on myself."

Atticus suddenly wished he had stumbled onto more decapitated heads, so he could fling all of them at Jonah’s beaming face. So much for being the brains of the operation. It seemed like Jonah must’ve knocked his head on the way down here.

The man had lost all of his usual rationality!

"Are you insane? You could have died! Or grown an extra finger― is that what you want ?" Atticus yelled, then he remembered they might be caved in and shut his jaw with a mighty click.

So instead, he made a rude hand gesture to show Jonah what he thought about his bright idea. Jonah waved it off.

"The risk was quite low since the drug was meant to speed up recovery, and the wound healed up almost immediately," Jonah replied breezily.

"I’ll give you more wounds if you keep up this nonsense," Atticus threatened.

However, Jonah continued on, unfazed. His nerves were already shot after Atticus threw a decapitated head in his direction. Seasoned warrior or not, a jump scare was not appreciated, unlike what Atticus presumed.

"After some experimenting, I suspect the mixture contains crushed cinnabar mixed with tree sap from the Temporal Elderwood to boost healing. There’s most likely more, but I don’t have the materials to test my hypothesis," Jonah said.

"That’s too bad. It might grow another brain for you," Atticus grumbled peevishly, torn between delight at the discovery and anger at Jonah taking stupid risks. "I’ll let Sirona know and she’ll murder you."

Cinnabar was great for healing, purging of impurities, and warding off infections, but it was a strong gemstone― too strong for someone to ingest, let alone regularly. People usually wore it on themselves, and only for short hours.

Meanwhile, even though tree saps often worked as stabilizing reagents, only sap from something as powerful as the Temporal Elderwood could have kept the cinnabar stable and contained.

Maybe this would help treat Daphne’s condition.

"Pack everything up," Atticus instructed, rolling up his sleeves. "Sirona will need all the evidence we can give, and yes, that includes the head."

Jonah groaned, but he obediently picked up the decapitated head along with a bin full of bottles and syringes. Atticus’s own pockets were laden to the brim, and together they made their way out of the tunnels.

***

"What is the meaning of this? Where are you taking me?" Prince Nathaniel exclaimed as he saw Atticus all but kick down the door to his ramshackle shed — he was told to stay there quietly if he didn’t want to risk getting killed — and drag him outside by his binds.

Nathaniel was not scared easily, but the sight of Atticus’s hulking form and his bloodthirsty grin illuminated by the light of the full moon sent a shot of fear down his spine.

Just great. He was going to be murdered and disposed of. Nathaniel was held in a secluded area, and it would take weeks before anyone found his body. Even if someone did, it might not even be a person but rather, some wild animal.

That too was assuming King Atticus even kept his body in one piece. There were two horses with him; perhaps he wanted to split his body into two for easier disposal.

"If you kill me, you will cause war between our kingdoms," Nathaniel said warningly. "My sister will have your head―"

"Yes, yes, whatever," Atticus said, rolling his eyes. "Keep whining and I’ll really kill you. Come on, keep up."

He then grabbed the ropes and hauled Nathaniel up so he was trailing behind his horse.

"Where am I going?" Nathaniel demanded. Was this a new form of torture? Making him run until he collapsed?

"You didn’t get him a horse?" Jonah added incredulously.

Atticus claimed Jonah was stupid, but in Jonah’s humble opinion, his lack of brains was all due to constant exposure to Atticus’s nonsense. That king of his had the oddest of ideas all the time. It was a miracle they even worked well in the end.

"Why should I? We can just tie him up and drag him behind us," Atticus’s eyes glinted. "Wouldn’t you like the chance to stretch out these legs of yours after days of imprisonment? Exercise is good for you. Look at you. You’re practically a stick!"

Prince Nathaniel paled. King Atticus was here to kill him after all!