Chapter Thirteen

  "You're wasting your time! I don't even know where Vorshawn is, let alone how to reach him! And even if I did, you can get fucked, because I'm not telling you a damn thing!" Adam spat, his defiance cutting through the still air.

  His words echoed across the clearing, undiminished by his compromised position. Despite his circumstances, Adam's voice carried the same confidence he'd displayed during their battle. Pride was often the last quality to abandon a man, persisting even when all else was lost.

  Ambrose stood under the vast canopy of the Tree of Avalon, its kaleidoscope of colors refracting like a celestial aurora. The ancient entity's branches spread overhead in a living cathedral, leaves shimmering with patterns that mimicked the night sky and distant realms. Roots wound tightly around Adam's arms and legs, pinning him in place like ropes made of ancient intent. Every so often, the roots glowed with a soft golden-blue light, quelling Adam's futile struggles.

  The prisoner's once-immaculate suit was now torn and stained, his carefully groomed appearance degraded by combat and captivity. Yet his eyes remained defiant, burning with the determination that had made him a lieutenant in Vorshawn's organization.

  This was Protocol Three, the tree's method for questioning captives. It suppressed the use of skills, though it couldn't yet fully block Icons or spiritual abilities. Vivienne had explained the limitation: the tree required more energy, more sacrifices. The criminals Ambrose had fed it so far weren't enough. The souls of street thugs and minor operatives couldn't fuel the power needed to completely neutralize a C-Grade entity with an Icon.

  For now, Ambrose's own power was sufficient to keep Adam in check. His Icon and spiritual skill clashed against Adam's, holding them at bay, while Vivienne managed the island's stability to prevent their clashing forces from tearing it apart. It was far more effort than Ambrose usually had to expend just to interrogate someone.

  The Forge Icon within Ambrose pulsed with steady warmth, reinforcing reality around him and projecting a calming influence on the environment. Without this constant exertion, Adam's Judgment Icon might have disrupted the delicate balance of Avalon itself, especially this close to the Tree's heart.

  "As a rule," Ambrose began, his voice calm and even, "I don't like torture. It's messy, unreliable, and ultimately a waste of time. People will tell you what they think you want to hear just to make the pain stop, whether it's true or not. And here, in the System, we've moved beyond human limits. I can't be sure what will kill you and what won't. That's a risk I don't care to take."

  He stepped closer, his shadow falling across Adam's sweat-slicked face. The sun filtering through the Tree's canopy cast dappled patterns across them both, a contrast of light and shadow that seemed appropriate for the moment.

  "Fortunately, I have other options."

  These weren't empty words or idle threats. The Tree of Avalon represented an alternative approach to interrogation, one that bypassed physical pain entirely in favor of something far more profound. The island had its own brand of justice, ancient and implacable.

  Vivienne stood at his side, hands clasped before her, her expression serene but her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Her form was more substantial here, beneath the Tree, where her connection to Avalon was strongest. She regarded Adam like a predator eyeing its next meal, her violet eyes assessing his value to the island's ecosystem of power.

  "Shall I prepare him a crystal, Sir Knight?" she asked softly. The title was formal, a reminder of Ambrose's role and responsibility rather than his name. Beneath the Tree, such formalities mattered.

  Ambrose turned his gaze back to Adam. "This is your last chance. If you don't know Vorshawn's location, you'd better give me something useful. Otherwise, I'm putting you in a crystal. Trust me, it's not something you want to experience. You might think you can handle it. You can't."

  The crystal imprisonment wasn't something Ambrose spoke of lightly. He had seen its effects, had witnessed the most hardened criminals emerge broken and babbling after mere minutes inside. The crystal didn't just contain the body; it isolated the spirit, stripped away defenses, and forced the prisoner to confront the weight of their own existence.

  "Go sit and spin, fuckface," Adam snarled, his expression twisting with contempt. The words were crude, but the sentiment behind them was clear, defiance to the end, regardless of consequences.

  Ambrose sighed, nodding to Vivienne. Without hesitation, she summoned a crystal. It began as a small formation at Adam's feet, growing rapidly upward, encasing him like a living tomb. Adam's curses and insults muffled as the crystal sealed him away entirely, his expression freezing in a mask of anger and fear as the transparent material completed its enclosure.

  Within the crystal, time passed differently. What might be minutes for Ambrose could feel like days or even weeks for Adam. The crystal didn't just imprison the body; it reached deeper, touching the mind and spirit directly. It was a natural extension of Avalon's power, refined over centuries to judge those brought before it.

  Ambrose waited, watching impassively as time passed. He could see Adam inside, his expression gradually shifting from defiance to panic, then to something deeper and more primal. When he finally gestured, Vivienne unsealed the crystal.

  Adam tumbled out, gasping for air, his face pale and slick with sweat. He looked frantic, his eyes darting around as if searching for escape. Vines slithered around his legs and arms, holding him in place, but he didn't even seem to notice. Whatever he had experienced inside the crystal had stripped away the veneer of confidence and control.

  "What…what was that?" he rasped, his voice hoarse. Gone was the calculated criminal, replaced by someone confronting a reality beyond his understanding.

  "Not pleasant, was it?" Ambrose said, his tone casual. "Think of it as an upgraded version of what I did to you during our fight. [Retribution's Gaze] makes you feel the pain you've inflicted on others. The crystal makes you experience it, not just the physical sensation, but the emotional and spiritual impact. Every death, every atrocity, every moment of suffering you've caused. If you don't tell me what I want to know, you're going back in. I'd suggest you start talking."

  Adam's hands clenched and unclenched, his jaw tight as he tried to steady himself. The trauma was visible in every line of his body, in the haunted look that had replaced his earlier defiance. "I'm telling you…I don't know anything useful!"

  His voice cracked on the last word, betraying the desperation beneath his continued resistance. It wasn't an act; Adam genuinely feared returning to the crystal more than he feared betraying Vorshawn.

  Ambrose tilted his head, unimpressed. "Too bad. Back in you go."

  He gestured to Vivienne, who began the crystallization process once more. The transparent material crept up Adam's legs, its growth inexorable and methodical.

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  "No! Wait! Fucking wait, okay?!" Adam's voice cracked as panic overtook him. The crystal halted its advance at Ambrose's subtle signal, leaving Adam half-encased. He took a shaky breath, avoiding Ambrose's gaze. The decision was written clearly in his demeanor, self-preservation had finally outweighed loyalty.

  "Listen… I really don't know much. But I can give you the ground story. I know other warehouse locations, the crews running them, the trafficking houses, all of it. I can even give you the names of the other three lieutenants. Cause enough trouble, and Vorshawn will have to come out of hiding to deal with you."

  The strategy was sound. Vorshawn Red might be elusive, but he wouldn't allow his organization to be systematically dismantled without response. Every criminal empire had its breaking point, the threshold of loss that forced the leader to intervene personally.

  Ambrose studied him, weighing his words. The plan wasn't far off from what he'd already been considering. With information on locations and the names of the gang's leaders, dismantling the Red Hand would become far easier. He could strike multiple targets in sequence, creating enough chaos to force Vorshawn's hand.

  "Tell me," Ambrose commanded.

  Like a bird under duress, Adam sang. He listed locations, named names, and gave Ambrose everything he wanted. The eastern warehouse district contained three major storage facilities for weapons and cybernetic components. The northern sector housed processing centers for human trafficking operations. The high-rise in the central business district served as the financial hub, laundering money through a network of seemingly legitimate businesses.

  Each location was detailed with entry points, security measures, and the best times to strike. The lieutenants were identified by name, level, and capability, Maxwell Crane, a level 226 Arcane Sniper who oversaw weapons distribution; Kravos, a level 217 Void Walker who managed enforcement; and Elena Voss, a level 239 Mind Weaver who handled intelligence and infiltration operations.

  The information flowed freely, Adam's earlier resistance replaced by the desperate need to avoid returning to the crystal. Some details were given reluctantly, others volunteered without prompting, but all of it was valuable.

  Ambrose memorized every word, building a mental map of Red Hand's operations. This was more than he had hoped for, a comprehensive blueprint for dismantling one of Virion's most powerful criminal organizations.

  "Okay, you'll let me go now, right?" Adam's voice was trembling, devoid of its earlier bravado. "I told you everything."

  Hours had passed since Adam began his confession. The sun had shifted position, casting different patterns through the Tree's canopy. The prisoner was exhausted, his energy depleted by the ordeal of the crystal and the lengthy interrogation that followed.

  Ambrose remained silent, watching him. They both knew how this worked. Adam understood the rules of the game as well as Ambrose did. The knight couldn't trust him not to seek retribution. He couldn't trust him not to warn the others. In the world they inhabited, mercy to an enemy often meant death for oneself or one's allies.

  And then there was Adam's record, his crimes, his degeneracy. [Retribution's Gaze] had revealed it all: the lives he had taken, the suffering he had caused, the joy he had found in others' pain. His position in Red Hand hadn't been earned through competence alone, but through a willingness to commit atrocities that others balked at.

  Ambrose knew he was being hypocritical, but he didn't care. His own past wasn't spotless, he had killed for Eric, had facilitated crimes he now condemned. The difference, he told himself, was purpose. Adam had hurt others for power and pleasure. Ambrose had done it for Alice, then for vengeance, now for protection. The justification felt hollow even as he embraced it.

  Punishment was warranted, and any enemy left alive might one day harm Avalon. That was the calculation that mattered now, not moral purity.

  "Please," Adam whispered, his voice breaking. The word seemed foreign on his lips, a concept he had likely never offered his own victims.

  Ambrose laughed, the sound sharp and mirthless. A gang leader, begging for his life, it was almost comical. The irony wasn't lost on him, though it brought no satisfaction. This wasn't about enjoyment; it was about necessity.

  "You had to know where this path would lead," Ambrose said, his voice low. "We both know how this game ends, and it's not peacefully in your sleep. This is the cost of walking that path. You just thought you'd never have to pay it. Well, that tab is due. But," he added, standing and slapping his knees, "it's your lucky day."

  Adam's eyes flickered with hope, though uncertainty still shadowed his face. "It is?"

  He was grasping at straws, desperate for any possibility of survival. It was a natural response, one Ambrose respected even as he prepared to deny it.

  "It is," Ambrose confirmed with a faint smile. "I'm not going to kill you."

  Adam exhaled shakily, his body sagging with relief. The tension that had held him rigid throughout the interrogation eased somewhat, his shoulders dropping as he processed Ambrose's words.

  "I'm just going to feed you to my magic tree."

  The statement was delivered matter-of-factly, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. Ambrose had made his decision; explaining it further would serve no purpose.

  "No! Please!!" Adam's scream echoed as crystal encased him once again. This time, there would be no release. The Tree would absorb his essence, his power, his very being, converting it into energy to strengthen Avalon's defenses. It was a practical solution to multiple problems, disposing of a dangerous enemy while bolstering the island's capabilities.

  Ambrose stared at the now-sealed crystal, his expression unreadable. The process wasn't immediate; it would take time for the Tree to fully consume Adam's essence. During that period, the lieutenant would remain conscious, experiencing a fate that many would consider worse than death.

  That could be me someday, he thought. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told Adam this was the cost of the life they'd chosen. Ambrose had paid his own price, he'd paid it with Alice, with his unborn daughter. The cycle of violence inevitably claimed everyone who participated in it, whether through death or corruption or the slow erosion of humanity.

  He had found peace now, a measure of forgiveness, but the pain lingered. It always would. Choices had consequences, and the cycle was a cruel one. The best he could hope for was to channel his violence toward those who deserved it, to serve a purpose greater than himself. Avalon provided that purpose, a chance to protect rather than merely destroy.

  "Mortals all make mistakes, Sir Knight," Vivienne said softly, breaking his reverie. Her voice carried the wisdom of ages, a perspective that transcended human understanding.

  Ambrose chuckled. "Reading my thoughts, Viv?"

  "It isn't difficult when they're so plainly written on your face." Her expression softened, showing a glimpse of the compassion that existed alongside her more neutral nature. "The Tree judges, but it also understands. That is why it chose you as its Knight."

  A notification blinked into his mind:

  [You have carried out duties as a Knight of Avalon and advanced to Level 40 in your profession.]

  The familiar blue text appeared against his vision, a reminder of the System's integration with his existence. It had been a while since he'd gained levels in his profession. The advancement represented more than just numbers; it was recognition of his growing connection to Avalon, his embodiment of the role he had accepted.

  He took a deep breath, the sensation of purpose welling within him. The Knight of Avalon wasn't just a title; it was a mantle, a responsibility that shaped his actions and decisions. Through that lens, Adam's fate wasn't an act of cruelty but a necessary step in fulfilling his duty.

  The profession advancement came with attribute points to allocate, five in total, a significant boost to his capabilities. The decision on where to allocate his points was an easy one. Willpower, his core stat. It bolstered his resistance to mental skills, likely tied to both Icons and spiritual abilities. It determined the strength of his mana pool and the effectiveness of his Words of Power. He added all five points to it, bringing it to 498.

  The adjustment felt right, a reinforcement of his core strength rather than an attempt to shore up weaknesses. In combat, specialization often trumped generalization.

  "I'm off again, Viv," he said, his gaze shifting toward the distant horizon. Beyond Avalon lay Virion, and within that city, the targets Adam had revealed. Each one represented an opportunity to weaken Red Hand, to dismantle the organization piece by piece until Vorshawn himself was forced to emerge.

  He had a gang to dismantle. And a tree to feed.

  The thought should have disturbed him more than it did. Perhaps that was the true price of his path, not death or suffering, but the gradual acceptance of actions that once would have seemed unthinkable. The line between justice and vengeance blurred with each decision, each judgment carried out in Avalon's name.

  But as he opened a portal back to Virion, Ambrose found he could live with that ambiguity. In a world transformed by the System, absolute moral clarity was a luxury few could afford. What mattered was purpose, and his was clear: protect Avalon, fulfill his duty as Knight, and feed the Tree that sustained them all.

  Behind him, Adam's crystal pulsed with a rhythmic glow as the absorption process began, another sacrifice to the ancient entity that had become both his charge and his weapon.