The Lust System: Hunt beyond worlds-Chapter 27: ANYTHING HAPPENED?

Quad Academy – Principal's Office ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Clinton stood tall in front of the heavy oak desk, his expression calm, almost too calm for someone who had just killed a noble in broad daylight.

Principal Owen leaned forward, his voice stern and sharp.

"Clinton, why did you do that? Why did you kill a noble—openly—without hesitation? Just because you're of royal blood doesn't mean you can go around killing people!"

But instead of fear or guilt, Clinton simply stood there, steady and silent.

And strangely... he liked what he was hearing.

If Owen had been just another cowardly noble, willing to overlook anything because of Clinton's title, he might've lost all hope in this world. But this... this was different. The principal had integrity. That alone eased something in Clinton's heart.

Then he spoke, voice deep and solemn.

"Principal Owen... I'm truly sorry for what I did."

He bowed his head slightly.

"I didn't mean to kill him like that... but when I saw what was happening—he was beating a commoner family. In broad daylight. No one was doing anything. Not the guards, not the bystanders. Nothing."

Clinton looked up, eyes serious.

"I acted out of rage. And yes, I regret it. I should've stopped him without taking his life. I let my emotions take over. I know that was wrong."

Owen sat back, processing the words.

Everything he'd heard about the Second Prince painted him as a reckless impulsive brat—but looking at him now, Owen didn't see a spoiled royal. He saw a young man struggling with the weight of a rotten system.

The principal had also heard of the incident. Most had ignored it. Just another peasant family being brutalized by a noble—commonplace, forgettable.

Owen had intended to step in, but before he could, the same noble had been found dead.

Killed by Clinton.

Now, hearing the prince's own confession, he knew one thing for certain:

Clinton wasn't lying.

Ashton Hook leaned back in the chief's ornate wooden chair, a smug grin on his face. The soft creak of old wood echoed beneath him as he looked around the office—the late village chief's grand space was now all his.

In front of him, a heavy desk was cluttered with files, tax reports, and polished ornaments that reflected the fading evening light. He ran his fingers along the surface, already dreaming of wealth.

This village paid high taxes.

And now, all that money would flow through him.

He chuckled to himself.

"Let the fools worship me. I'll be rich by the end of the year."

Just then—creeeak.

The office door creaked open slowly.

Ashton glanced toward it, annoyed.

Nothing. No one was there.

"Hmph... probably the wind," he muttered, and turned back to the documents.

He bent over the papers, flipping through them lazily. But then—

A sharp sting at his neck.

His eyes widened.

He reached up instinctively—his fingers came away red. Blood.

"What the—"

Before he could speak, before he could scream, a cold hand clamped over his mouth. His eyes darted in panic.

He tried to move. To breathe.

But it was already too late.

Within seconds, Ashton Hook fell to the ground behind his desk, gasping... choking...

And then—

Silence.

The office remained still, the candlelight flickering gently... as if nothing had happened.

Central Region – Outskirts of an Unknown Site

Far away in the central region, under the bright midday sun, ten men stood around a large pit. They were holding heavy tools—shovels, hoes, and one large digging machine that hummed quietly beside them, its metal surface dusty from the road.

Surrounding the workers were twenty guards. They were armed, sharp-eyed, and all wore red emblems on their shoulders—clear signs they were noble guards. Their armor shimmered slightly in the heat, and their swords rested loosely in their hands, ready for use.

In the very center of this circle stood a tall, lean man with black boots sunk slightly in the dry earth—Christopher.

His eyes were calm but cold, and his hands were behind his back as he looked down at the person kneeling before him.

Kneeling in the dirt, with her head bowed, was a powerful figure—Duke Helena Ravion.

A noblewoman of high status, feared and respected across many regions, now on her knees in silence.

Christopher didn't speak.

Neither did she.

The only sound was the wind, and the distant hum of the digging machine.