30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 112

Although a battle had taken place, it garnered surprisingly little attention.

The soldiers stationed outside the tunnel maintained their posts without approaching, showing no interest in what occurred within, whether it was fighting or death.

As for the prisoners, many were too exhausted to take notice, and perhaps the brevity of the battle—lasting less than two minutes—also played a role.

However, no one present underestimated the opponent or dismissed the duel as insignificant simply because it was over so quickly.

“Skillful moves. Suspicious or not, he’s undoubtedly a knight of a prestigious lineage with solid abilities.”

“I agree, Senior. His skills sent shivers down my spine... although, perhaps it’s you defeating him so effortlessly that’s truly baffling.”

“...Like a monster, really.”

Roy Vant’s skills were genuine. Compared to the half-trained knights scattered among the Silver Lions, he was at least twice as strong.

None of them felt confident they could have subdued him as effortlessly as Ihan did.

But then,

“Sir Roy! What—what do you think you’re doing?! To attack Sir Roy, who’s so weak, so suddenly! Even if Britannia has fallen, how could knights disgrace themselves with such cowardly actions?! Have you no shame?!”

“...How on earth did you ever become a general?”

The former general, Mustang, seemed oblivious not only to the skills of the person beside him but also to the entire exchange that had just unfolded.

While Mustang prepared to shout even louder, his companions exchanged cold, tired glances.

“Y-you—”

Smack!

“Guh?!”

With a soft thud, Mustang collapsed.

“You were being far too noisy.”

Yord’s precise intervention silenced him, and the surroundings finally grew calm. Jake shook his head.

“Are you turning into him?”

“Haha, well, it’s the quickest way to handle situations like this.”

“...Sigh. You’re picking up the wrong habits.”

“No, no. I’d say he’s growing up just fine.”

“...Any injuries?”

“None, haha.”

“...I see.”

At some point, Ihan had approached, looking completely unscathed. It was as if he had taken a leisurely stroll rather than fought a duel.

Not even someone of Roy Vant’s caliber had managed to land so much as a scratch on him.

‘I suspected as much, but... this guy. His skills have grown exponentially compared to half a year ago.’

Watching him easily subdue 135 Silver Lion knights had been a hint, but this was on an entirely different level. Half a year ago, he had been akin to a troll. Now...

‘Even an ogre would bow to him.’

Jake concluded that, apart from Sir Baltar, there was no one in the Silver Lions who could stand against Ihan now.

Fortunately, Roy Vant survived.

A knight capable of holding his own was bound to possess formidable physical resilience.

Although his skull was cracked and he suffered from a severe concussion, raising concerns about partial memory loss, these were minor issues.

What mattered most was that he was still alive.

With a thud, Ihan dragged Roy Vant to a dark, secluded spot and dropped him to the ground.

He retrieved a potion from his pocket.

Sizzle.

As the liquid was poured over the wounds, Roy Vant’s injuries began to heal.

“A potion? This is like giving poison and then medicine...”

“He needs to be alive for us to get any answers.”

“...So he really was on the brink of death.”

Given how badly his head was damaged, it would have been stranger if he wasn’t teetering on the edge of death.

“Senior, do you think this guy really is part of the Crimson Cross Army?”

“Even if he’s not, he’s definitely suspicious.”

“That much is true...”

It was undeniable.

The fact that his aura techniques hadn’t been sealed despite entering the tunnel, combined with his attempt to secretly approach them, made it clear.

And there was something else.

“I can’t help but think that sending this incompetent general to us was also his doing.”

Perhaps he was testing them.

There was no way Mustang had approached them on his own initiative.

Roy Vant had likely manipulated him into creating an excuse for contact, thinking he could use the knights of Britannia somehow.

“He probably assumed that, as knights of Britannia, we could be swayed to his side. Most of the prisoners here are Britannian, after all.”

From soldiers to knights, those with combat ability or higher status were mostly gathered in the tunnel. It was natural to assume that building rapport would be easy.

“Though, does building relationships in a place like this even matter?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Oh, stop overthinking it. Wherever you go, humans will always consider blood ties, regional connections, and shared alma maters. He’s no different. Don’t make it complicated.”

“...Fair enough.”

“Though finding meaning in such things here is questionable.”

“Hey, there’s that guy who still flaunts his noble status even as a prisoner.”

“Oh.” ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

“...Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“.......”

Ignoring Arend’s sour expression, Ihan continued his task in silence. He searched Roy Vant for anything he might have hidden in his clothing.

‘People like him always have something up their sleeves.’

And sure enough...

“What’s this?”

Unlike their standard-issue prisoner uniforms, Roy Vant’s outfit had an inner pocket. From it, Ihan retrieved five suspicious items.

Among them were torn pieces of paper, three vials of strange-smelling liquid, and an inverted cross.

Even at a glance, it was clear that none of these items were benign. The inverted cross, in particular...

“A symbol of a blasphemous apostate, no doubt.”

It immediately provoked discomfort among the devout.

The three others crossed themselves and began reciting scripture, as if to reaffirm their faith.

Ihan, meanwhile, simply observed the inverted cross. He didn’t bother addressing its supposed blasphemy; instead, he focused on the strange sense of unease it gave him.

Then, without warning,

Snap.

“Do you think that’s candy...?”

Boom!

Crack!

Ihan’s expression was colder than ever, his tone devoid of patience.

“Shut your mouth.”

Without waiting for Roy’s protests, Ihan clamped his oversized hand over Roy’s face, covering it entirely.

Crunch!

Roy felt his skull compressing under Ihan’s grip. Though his screams were muffled, the agony was unmistakable.

The torture lasted for three long minutes.

Three minutes. An eternity for Roy, who had never experienced pain of this magnitude. By the end, his face was pale and gaunt, as if aged by years in mere moments.

“Haa... haa...! Ugh...!”

He gasped for air, his body trembling uncontrollably. The experience had left him a wreck, both physically and mentally.

“You think you’re in any position to negotiate?”

Ihan’s low, growling voice carried a predatory menace. The sheer fury behind his words was palpable.

This wasn’t just about Roy’s actions. Ihan’s anger burned deeper, more personal.

“You dared to threaten my people and thought you’d get away with it?”

For Ihan, “his people” extended beyond comrades or subordinates. It included anyone connected to his daily life—students at the academy, the baker who sold him bread, even the butcher who threw in extra cuts for free.

These were the threads that made up his life, his normalcy. And Roy’s actions had dared to disturb that.

In the face of such audacity, negotiation wasn’t an option.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Ihan lightly tapped Roy’s body three times with his fist. It wasn’t a strike—more of a casual gesture.

But the sound reverberated grotesquely, as if his internal organs were being rearranged.

“!!!”

Roy couldn’t even scream properly. His body convulsed, drool spilling from his mouth, as the pain consumed him.

“Ever felt this before? It’s a technique I created myself. I channel my strength directly into your muscles and bones. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”

This wasn’t just any technique. It was Ihan’s unique creation, born from his mastery of physiology and combat.

With precise control, he could inflict unimaginable pain without causing permanent damage—unless he wanted to.

“I call it Disjointing the Muscles, Misaligning the Bones.”

Roy’s terror deepened. The name alone was enough to hint at its horrifying potential.

“Don’t worry. It won’t leave you crippled... unless you push me too far. But the pain? That’s very real.”

“!!!...!!”

“If this continues, who knows? You might lose your mind completely.”

“!!...?!”

“When you’re ready to talk, let me know. I’ll stop.”

“!!!!”

“What? Still resisting? Fine. Let’s see how long you last.”

“!!!?!”

Despite his desperate struggles, Roy remained silent—not by choice, but because Ihan’s hand still firmly covered his mouth.

The sight of Roy’s frantic, pleading eyes did little to sway Ihan’s resolve.

“Why isn’t he talking?” Ihan mused coldly, as if unaware of his own actions.

He repeated the question, watching Roy writhe in agony.

“Why isn’t he saying anything?”

The cycle of pain and silence continued, a grim testament to Ihan’s relentless interrogation.