The Tyrant Is A Little Bit Kind
Chapter 52: The Eastern Empire 8

Chapter 52: The Eastern Empire 8

(Third Person POV)

Everyone in the Arena stared at the unfolding scene with astonishment and shock, their breaths held and eyes wide with terror.

Suddenly, Elena dispelled the thick black barrier that had surrounded them—a barrier that felt like a curtain separating them from another world, one filled with ruin and violence.

As the barrier faded, the full extent of the destruction was revealed. The ground was torn apart, debris scattered in every direction, and the once-standing buildings had collapsed into heaps of rubble. The place was now unrecognizable.

Orlax stepped forward, his pace steady and confident, ignoring the stunned gazes around him. Elena followed in silence, her eyes watchful as they trailed behind him.

"Did you use your [Right]?"

Elena asked in her usual calm tone.

"Yes,"

Orlax replied, his voice cold as ice, devoid of emotion. At the same time, he began to spread his magical sense around, as if searching with unseen eyes for any lingering unnatural presence.

"Hmm, it’ll take a while to recover after that attack."

"Probably about two weeks."

He said it with complete indifference, as if it didn’t concern him in the slightest.

Suddenly, Orlax sensed a faint energy nearby. Without hesitation, he dashed toward its source, his steps stirring the lifeless dust beneath his feet.

He stopped before a pile of rubble. Something—or rather, someone—was buried beneath it. With a gesture, he lifted the debris using control magic.

Beneath the wreckage lay the body of a man in a pitiful state.

His once-pure, shining blue hair was now dark and soaked with blood. His clothes were torn, as if they’d been through a storm of fire and steel. The mask he wore had fallen off, revealing a bruised and battered face.

"Cough, cough..."

The blue-haired man coughed violently, his body trembling from pain. Slowly, he raised his head, his cloudy eyes searching for the source of the overwhelming presence.

But the moment his gaze met Orlax’s, his blood ran cold. A wave of absolute terror washed over him—as if Death itself stood before him.

Before he could move or even think, he suddenly felt the left side of his body become unnaturally light. He looked to his side—what he saw made him scream.

"AAAAAAGGHH! MY ARM! AAAAHH!"

He clutched at his severed arm—what was left of it—his scream pierced with the shock and agony of loss. His voice and tear-streaked face were distorted by pain.

Orlax stepped closer, grabbed him firmly by the jaw, and shut his mouth harshly.

"Quiet. We still have many experiments to run."

He said it with a wide grin—a terrifying mix of excitement and cruelty. His eyes relished the sight of fear painting the man’s face, who had now begun to tremble and sob.

Then, suddenly, Orlax tossed him aside with a jerk, as if the mere touch had ruined his mood.

He looked at him in disgust, his face contorting with revulsion.

"How pathetic. Where’s your courage? You pissed yourself over something like this?"

Blood poured freely from the stump of the severed arm, forming a small pool beneath the trembling body.

"Oh no. If you keep bleeding like that, you’ll die from blood loss."

Orlax raised his hand, summoning a glowing red flame that danced calmly in his palm—like a living creature.

"What should I do? I’m such a kind person... I’ll help you so you don’t die."

The flame floated through the air, moving toward the wound. It made direct contact with the severed shoulder.

"AAGGHHHHH!!!"

The man’s scream echoed horrifyingly through the ruins. To Orlax, however, the sound was like a beautiful melody.

Moments passed. The screams began to fade. The blue-haired man now breathed heavily, eyes fixed on Orlax—who watched him like a hunter admiring his broken prey.

"You shouldn’t kill me... If you do—"

He spoke with a hoarse voice, attempting to negotiate through the pain.

"If I kill you? You’re trying to threaten me like this?"

Orlax laughed mockingly, then sighed as if tired of such foolishness.

He raised his sword again—this time, slicing off the man’s right leg in a single stroke, without hesitation.

"AAAAAGHHH!!"

More screams. More blood. More searing fire to cauterize the wound—and deepen the man’s suffering.

"If you kill me, you’ll never find the cure for the nightmares that haunt you..."

The blue-haired man finally spoke, his voice barely audible. But his words planted doubt in Orlax’s mind.

Orlax’s expression shifted. He paused, eyes turning serious as he considered the words of the broken man.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the Barony of Elin? You met there with mages sent by the Golden One. The purpose was to cast a spell on you—one that would weaken your mental state and send you into a frenzy."

The man spoke slowly, gasping, but gathered strength to continue.

"And once you went mad and started killing everyone around you, we were supposed to step in and ’stop’ you—becoming the heroes who saved the Empire."

Orlax stood frozen, thinking.

"And you? How do you know the cure?"

The man gave a weak smile—a smile of triumph.

"I created the spell."

He added, with confidence.

"And I know you never break your promises. So if you swear not to kill me and let me go, I’ll cure you right now."

"I promise."

Orlax answered without hesitation. His tone was firm, but the man remained suspicious. Still, he didn’t resist.

He raised his hand, releasing a faint blue light. After a moment of focus, the light disappeared, and he gasped.

"I’ve removed the spell... Let me go."

Orlax suddenly felt an unusual lightness, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. He realized—the spell was truly gone.

He turned and began to walk away, his steps calm... until he suddenly stopped.

"Elena."

"Yes?"

She answered, voice steady.

Orlax nodded—and Elena understood what needed to be done.

She raised her sword—and in an instant, the blue-haired man’s head was severed.

She looked down at the lifeless body with a cold gaze.

"I promised not to harm you. I made no such promise regarding Elena, you fool."

Orlax said indifferently, stretching his body as though finally relieved.

"It’s finally over..."

But Elena looked toward the horizon, her eyes dreamy and distant.

"It’s not over yet."

Orlax glanced sideways at her, his tone shifting slightly.

"You’re right. White and the others are still missing. What will you do next?"

Elena remained silent, her fist clenched, her face tight with anger and worry.

"I don’t know... I have no idea where White is. And if I keep chasing blindly, I might fall into another trap—or be eliminated."

She sighed deeply, frustration plain on her face as she stared into the dark horizon.

"I have a suggestion."

She gestured for him to continue.

"Why don’t you work as my assistant? I want to eliminate White and his group too. With the Imperial Intelligence Network, you’d gain access to information nearly impossible to find through normal means."

She stayed silent for a few seconds, weighing her options.

"I have no objections. But... won’t that cause you trouble? A witch acting as your assistant? Many people would object."

Orlax smirked with mockery and more mockery.

"So what? To hell with them. I’m the Emperor. I’ll do whatever I want."

Elena responded with a tilted smile and a soft laugh.

"Only a tyrant does whatever he wants and ignores everyone’s opinion."

"Well, I’m a tyrant emperor. So what?"

Elena thought for a moment before answering in a playful tone.

"No problem at all. Like you said—screw their opinions! Hahaha!"

"And besides, if I let someone at the Grandmaster level slip away, I’d be a fool."

"So you want me only for my power, huh?"

"Of course. Did you think I wanted you for your pretty face?"

"Of course not, hahaha."

"Hahaha."

After their laughter died down, the two headed back to the Imperial Palace. Each went to a separate room to rest before their next move.

Orlax lay on the bed, having bathed and changed clothes. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

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

Orlax slept deeply—without a single nightmare to disturb him.

The afternoon sun filtered gently through the curtains as Orlax finally awoke from his deep slumber. He stretched lightly, a rare sense of clarity and freshness settling over him.

"This feels... really good."

He muttered to himself, letting his body relax further for a moment before grabbing a clean set of clothes and heading to the bath.

Half an hour passed in tranquil silence as he soaked, the warm water washing away the remnants of past battles and nightmares. When he finally stepped out, his skin felt renewed. He combed his hair with deliberate care and exited the room, making his way toward the dining hall.

There, he found Zilfan already seated at the table, calmly sipping from a porcelain cup.

"Good morning, Zilfan,"

Orlax greeted as he approached.

"Good morning, Orlax,"

Zilfan replied, his tone respectful yet casual.

They both sat in silence as the servants brought in the food. The aroma of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, and spiced vegetables filled the air. Orlax began eating without a word, his focus on the meal.

After a short while, Zilfan broke the silence.

"Thank you... for saving me and my soldiers earlier. I owe you a debt."

Orlax barely glanced up.

"No need. We had an alliance—it was expected."

He finished the last bite of his food, then stood up, his chair sliding back with a soft scrape.

"But you should reinforce your palace’s defenses. Being kidnapped inside your own home... that’s a sign of weakness. People will start talking."

Zilfan sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"I know. I’ll be more cautious from now on."

Without another word, Orlax turned and left the dining room and headed to Elena room.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He rapped his knuckles against the door several times but received no response.

Orlax slowly turned the handle and stepped inside.