Mated to the Mad Lord-Chapter 274: Don’t fail me!

Ravon’s body trembled violently, his limbs twitching against the cold stone floor. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into his already ruined shirt, turning the white fabric into a deep, wet crimson.

His breaths were ragged, weak—each one coming out as a pathetic rasp as he struggled to cling to the last threads of his life.

Cain crouched beside him, tilting his head as he observed the dying man with the same level of interest one might have for an insect caught in a web.

"You swore loyalty to me," Cain mused, his voice calm—almost amused. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of the knife still lodged in Ravon’s chest. With no hesitation, he twisted.

A sickening squelch filled the air as the blade carved deeper, grinding against bone and muscle. Ravon choked on a scream, his body arching violently as fresh agony erupted through him. Blood bubbled at his lips, spilling down his chin as his eyes went wide with terror. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

"Yet, you carried out Eldric’s orders," Cain continued, his tone eerily casual. "So tell me, Ravon—what exactly does loyalty mean to you?"

Ravon tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgling wheeze. His lips quivered, forming half-formed words, but no sound followed. His body had begun to shut down. The blood loss was too severe. His strength was leaving him.

Cain sighed, pulling the knife free in one sharp motion. The wound gushed immediately, thick rivulets of dark red pouring from the gaping hole in his chest.

"Disappointing," Cain muttered.

And then, in one fluid motion, he drove the knife directly into Ravon’s throat.

The blade pierced through flesh and muscle, sinking deep until the tip scraped against the stone beneath him. Ravon’s entire body jolted, his hands clawing weakly at the floor, his mouth opening in a silent scream as blood spilled freely, pouring out in thick waves. His eyes rolled back, his body convulsing as his life drained away in a rapid, grotesque display.

Uva stood nearby, watching the scene unfold in silence. Her expression was unreadable, but the rigidness of her posture, the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly at her sides, betrayed the tension she felt. She had seen Cain kill before—many times. But there was something about this execution that felt... crueler.

Not that she dared to voice that thought aloud.

Finally, Ravon went still. His fingers stopped twitching, his chest no longer rising. His wide, lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, frozen in an expression of agony and fear.

Cain rose to his feet, flicking the blood from his blade with a quick motion before turning to Uva.

"Clean this up," he ordered. Then, before she could move, he added, "Actually, wait."

His gaze drifted to the row of guards standing at attention along the walls. His sharp, calculating eyes scanned each one, taking in their faces, their builds, their demeanor. Then, his gaze settled on one man—a soldier with short dark hair and a lean frame, standing stiffly among his peers.

"You," Cain called, his voice sharp as a blade.

The soldier immediately stepped forward, snapping into a salute. "Yes, my Lord!"

Cain took a step closer, studying the man with a cold, assessing gaze.

"Your name?"

"Silas, my Lord."

Cain hummed. "Silas... you’re about to receive a great honor."

Silas’s chest swelled slightly with pride, though a hint of unease flickered across his features. "I would be honored to serve in any way, my Lord."

Cain gestured toward Ravon’s corpse. "I need you to become him."

Silas blinked, confusion flashing in his eyes. "I... don’t understand."

Cain turned to Uva. "Make him into Ravon."

A beat of silence followed. Uva’s fingers twitched again, but she nodded.

"As you wish, my Lord," she murmured, not daring to voice out the fact that she might not have enough magic to do it.

She stepped forward, stretching out her hands, her fingers curling as dark energy began to swirl around them. The air grew heavy, thick with an unnatural force that sent shivers down the spines of those present. The room darkened slightly, the torches flickering as if struggling to stay lit.

Silas stiffened as the shadows slithered toward him, wrapping around his body like living tendrils. His breath hitched, a shudder wracking his frame as the magic seeped into his skin, twisting, reshaping.

His bones cracked, shifting painfully as his body altered itself. His muscles stretched, his facial features contorting as his very identity was rewritten. His eyes widened in terror as he felt his own face changing, the skin warping, pulling.

He gasped—no, he screamed.

The transformation was excruciating, something that would have not been if Uva wasn’t brute forcing her way through it.

Every nerve in his body burned as if he were being ripped apart and rebuilt all at once. His fingers clawed at his face, his throat, his chest—desperate to stop the unnatural shift, but it was beyond his control.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the magic settled. The shadows dissipated.

And standing in Silas’s place was Ravon.

Or rather, a perfect replica of him.

Silas stumbled forward, panting heavily. He raised his hands to his face, trembling as he touched the unfamiliar features—Ravon’s features. His heart pounded in his chest, disoriented, confused.

He turned his head to the side, and his breath caught in his throat.

Ravon’s real body still lay beside him, his dead eyes staring up at nothing.

Silas fell to his knees in shock as he took in everything that had happened but Cain had no intent of giving him any more time.

Cain crouched down beside him, gripping his chin and forcing him to meet his gaze.

"Listen carefully,"

Cain crouched down beside him, gripping his chin with an ironclad grip, forcing the trembling Silas—no, the new Ravon—to meet his gaze.

"Listen carefully," Cain said, his voice low and measured. "You are Ravon now. You think like him, you speak like him, you are him. Do you understand?"

Silas swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he nodded frantically. His entire body was still shaking from the transformation, the lingering phantom pain of his bones shifting and his flesh twisting into something—someone—else. His gaze flickered back to the corpse lying beside him, and bile rose in his throat.

Cain’s grip on his chin tightened.

"Don’t look at him," Cain ordered sharply. "Look at me."

Silas obeyed immediately, forcing himself to stare into Cain’s cold, piercing eyes. There was no kindness there. No reassurance. Only expectation.

"You will return to Eldric’s side," Cain continued, his voice like a blade cutting through the suffocating silence. "You will tell him that I believed your pathetic excuse for a lie. That I accepted your groveling and your loyalty." His lips curled in mild amusement. "You will tell him that after being tortured you were able to regain my trust "

Silas’s new face—Ravon’s face—contorted with fear and disbelief. "M-My Lord, Eldric might kill—"

Cain struck him.

The back of his hand connected with Silas’s cheek in a brutal, bone-rattling slap, sending him sprawling onto the bloodstained floor. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth as he gasped, his entire body flinching at the force of the blow.

"You do not question me," Cain said, his voice eerily calm. "You obey."

Silas scrambled back to his knees, pressing his forehead to the cold, wet ground, his body trembling. "F-Forgive me, my Lord," he gasped. "I—I will do as you command."

Cain stared down at him for a long moment, then smirked.

"Good."

He turned to Uva, who had been silently observing the entire ordeal. "Heal him. He needs to look convincing when he returns to Eldric."

Uva stepped forward, lifting her hand. Silas winced as tendrils of shadow coiled around his new body, seeping into his wounds, knitting together the raw, torn flesh. The pain dulled slightly, though a deep ache still remained—a reminder of what had just been done to him.

Cain tilted his head, as if considering something. Then he turned back to the real Ravon’s corpse. A slow, thoughtful smile curved his lips.

"Skin him."

Silas choked. His head snapped up, horror flooding his face. "W-What?"

Cain didn’t even spare him a glance. "I want Eldric to believe I almost executed you. That I made you suffer, but in the end, I allowed you to live. That means proof." His gaze flickered to Uva. "Take his body and put it on display at the entrance of the stronghold then dispose of it,"

Silas’s stomach twisted violently. He turned his head to the side and vomited onto the floor, his entire body wracked with tremors.

Cain let out a quiet chuckle. "You should get used to it," he mused.

Uva knelt beside Ravon’s corpse without hesitation. She pressed her fingers into his cold, lifeless flesh, her magic creeping through his body like a plague. Slowly, methodically, she began peeling away his skin—starting from his arms, moving up toward his neck.

The wet, sickening sound of flesh separating from muscle filled the chamber.

Silas squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenched into fists as he forced himself to stay silent. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. But there was no escape.

Not anymore.

Cain stepped away, satisfied, and made his way toward the exit. "You leave tomorrow," he told Silas without looking back. "If you fail me, you won’t.