Weakest Beast Tamer Gets All SSS Dragons

Chapter 172 - Taming Truth - 2

”Appropriately and justly?” Victor crossed his arms.

”They always are for the men of the royal family, of course,” Larissa smiled innocently. ”Itʼs tradition that whoever finds them distributes them to the men of the family, isnʼt it? Like the ones father keeps in the castle and hasnʼt distributed yet.”

Julius and Victor exchanged looks. It was a difficult argument to refute.

Their little sister had masterfully turned their own familyʼs rules against them.

”Even so,” Victor tried another angle, his fingers drumming an agitated rhythm against his arm as he searched for leverage, ”considering the situation...”

”Oh, theyʼll be perfectly safe with me,” Larissa interrupted, her voice carrying the perfect blend of childish enthusiasm and royal authority. She straightened in her chair, every inch the princess despite her youth.

”After all, who better to guard something so important than a princess? And when father returns and decides which brothers are worthy of the ones he had saved for so long...”

”Fine but... The ring whereabouts are more important,” Julius changed topics. The loss of such a powerful artifact couldnʼt be dismissed so easily. ”Where is it?”

”As I said before, it disappeared,” Larissa maintained her smile, though a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. ”Poof. Right in front of us.” She wiggled her fingers in an exaggerated magical gesture.

”Larissa...”

”Itʼs the truth,” she insisted, her mineral fairy glowing softly beneath her skin like validating her words. ”You can ask anyone who was there. One moment it was there and the next... poof.” She made the gesture again, clearly enjoying their discomfort.

”Larissa,” Victorʼs voice carried the weight of exasperation built up through years of dealing with his clever sister, ”this is serious... If a beast stored it inside someoneʼs body, you need to tell us...”

”I know,” she nodded with exaggerated solemnity, though amusement danced in her eyes.

”Thatʼs why Iʼm being so precise with the details. No beast ʼstoredʼ it, nobody ʼhidʼ it… Besides, your voice is rising, and you promised not to scold me if I only told the truth.” Right on cue, tears began welling in her eyes, a performance worthy of the royal theater.

Victor looked away, caught between embarrassment at falling for her act and admiration for her skill. He began pacing the room, his boots clicking against the polished floor.

”The potions...” he muttered, searching for any angle of attack. ”Fine, theyʼre yours according to our Kingʼs rules, so you can keep them. But the ring...”

”No longer exists,” Larissa shrugged with perfect nonchalance. ”So thereʼs nothing to look for.” She was telling the truth.

Julius finally stood, recognizing defeat in this particular battle.

”The potions,” he conceded, ”can stay with you as Victor said. But this conversation about the ring isnʼt over, and you havenʼt escaped punishment yet.”

♢♢♢♢

In another room, far from the royal drama, the spy posing as a hostage answered similar questions with his own brand of careful truth-telling.

The interrogation room masqueraded as a comfortable study, with plush chairs and warm lighting designed to put students at ease. But the spy noted every detail that betrayed its true purpose… the slight angle of the chair that gave the interrogator psychological advantage, the carefully positioned lights that would make facial tells more visible, the barely perceptible hum of detection beasts in the walls.

Unlike the room where the princess held court with her family, this space carried no pretense of deference.

The consequences here could be far more severe.

As other students awakened, they were systematically separated and questioned.

The spy knew this performance would determine not just survival, but the success of years of careful planning that had been made just so they could keep getting information as a normal student.

”Did you see who attacked you?” asked the guard, his tone carefully calibrated to convey sympathy.

”Yes,” the spy touched his partially healed face, allowing genuine pain to color their expression. The bruises Harold had left were a gift, real injuries made deception so much easier. ”But everything happened so fast. Harold hit me when I tried to stop him...”

”Stop him?”

”Yes, I...” he coughed, the wetness in the sound perfectly calculated. ”When I saw he had hostages, I prevented him from killing them. I tried...” Another cough interrupted the words. ”I tried to do the right thing.”

The guard made a note in his book, the scratching of his pen unnaturally loud in the quiet room. ”And the ring? The potions?”

”I donʼt know,” the spy let vulnerability seep into the words, years of training making it easy to tremble at just the right moment. ”I was outside the ruins when... when everything happened.”

Every word was true, but danger still lurked. The schoolʼs thorough investigation had revealed hollows throughout the academy, hidden spaces concealed by various coverings. Grass and moss, minerals, spider webs, even beast shells... A network of hideaways that raised too many questions.

The interrogator studied the student before him trying to catch the smallest tell, the slightest hesitation.

”The covering in the tunnel,” he began without preamble, placing several samples on the table between them, ”is similar to others weʼve found in the last few hours around the academy.”

The injured student nodded weakly, allowing genuine fatigue to show. ”Not surprising given how Harold made me cover him. Many students can make coverings.” Each word was true, yet revealed nothing of importance.

”But yours is the one used this time,” the interrogatorʼs fingers traced the edge of one sample. ”Perfect for containing mana signatures.”

”Or for protecting people,” the student coughed again, the sound carrying just the right note of pain. ”Like I tried to do when I saw what Harold was planning... Many other covers can contain mana too...”

”Why didnʼt you alert the guards?”

”With what time?” a pained smile crossed the bruised face, the expression carefully crafted to show both sincerity and trauma. ”Everything happened so fast. I saw Harold acting strange, followed him, and when I understood what was happening...” Another perfectly timed cough. ”Well, youʼve seen how that ended.”

”Why did he hit you?”

”Because he wanted to, because he lost control,” the student gestured at his bruises, using them as both shield and evidence. ”Isnʼt it obvious?”

”Did you know Harold well?”

”No, he was a classmate,” another careful truth, delivered with practiced casualness.

The interrogator leaned forward. ”The coverings we found... some have been there for months.”

”The academy is big,” the student smiled weakly. ”And many of us can make coverings. Some use them to hide and sleep between classes...”

”Like you?”

”Sometimes,” another truth. ”Darkness can be very comfortable with a good hammock in a hollow.”

”Many of the coverings have this same base.”

”The material is common,” the student maintained his composure, letting exhaustion do the work of hiding any tension. ”My beast produces it, yes, but others have the same. Check the beast registry if you want.”

”Oh, we did,” the interrogatorʼs smile carried a predatory edge. ”There are 33 students who can produce organic coverings similar to those found.”

”See? Not so special.”

”But only 11 can make them this resistant.”

”Practice makes perfect,” the studentʼs weak smile never wavered. ”When you spend so much time...”

”Practicing coverings?”

”Studying and resting,” another truth that revealed nothing. ”The covering is just for comfort and avoiding punishment from the auxiliaries.”

”Did you know Harold had an abyssal beast?”

”A what?” the student allowed genuine surprise to show. ”I just saw him transform into something horrible. I thought it was a failed cultivation or...”

”And you still tried to stop him?”

”I didnʼt think much,” the student letting shame color the voice. ”I saw he had hostages and... acted on instinct. It was stupid, I know.”

”Very stupid,” the interrogator nodded slowly. ”Or very brave. The question is... which was it?”

”Considering how I ended up,” the student gestured at the injuries, using them one final time as both shield and proof, ”Iʼm leaning toward stupid.”

”Very well,” the interrogator rose with deliberate slowness. ”Rest. We may have more questions later.”

”Iʼll be here,” the student indicated with resigned humor. ”Not like I can go anywhere else.”

As the interrogator left, he couldnʼt help but admire the studentʼs performance. Every answer had been truth, every explanation logical and simple. The story was perfect… too perfect perhaps.

♢♢♢♢

The mushrooms in Renʼs hair pulsed weakly when he finally opened his eyes, their dim light barely illuminating his pale face.

”Where am I?” he murmured while trying to focus his vision, the elegant room swimming before him like a dream.

”Ren!” Min jumped from his bed, relief breaking through his usual composure. ”Finally!”

”Lower your voice,” Taro glanced nervously toward the door where two guards maintained their silent vigil. ”Theyʼre observing us.”

Ren sat up slowly, taking in their surroundings. The room was beautiful, with rich furnishings and tasteful decoration. But the walls themselves seemed to hum with the energy of detection beasts, their presence a constant reminder that this comfortable prison was still very much a cage.