Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 224

Chapter 224: ’Unpleasant’

"Hmm."

The sound barely left Heinz’s lips, yet it sliced through the thick silence like a blade. It was nothing more than a breath of sound, but it carried weight—a weight that settled over the villagers like a suffocating shroud.

The shift was subtle but unmistakable. Where there had been grief, there was now something far more dangerous—an unspoken, simmering bloodlust.

The woman who had been cradling the remains of her child only moments ago, sobbing brokenly into the charred remains of tiny bones, now stared at him with a chilling emptiness. Her tears had dried, her face was rigid. The flames behind her raged on, devouring the village with hungry, crackling fingers, but no one turned to stop them anymore.

Their mourning was over.

Now, all that remained was him.

A normal village—normal people—would still be in chaos. They would be screaming, wailing, desperately clinging to the last vestiges of what they had lost. But these people?

They had already cast aside their grief. Their fear. Their humanity.

Heinz exhaled slowly. The acrid scent of burning flesh and wood coiled in his lungs, thick and heavy.

’Good. Let the fire burn. It will make things easier.’

Even as the thought crossed his mind, his fingers twitched—an involuntary, almost imperceptible movement. His gaze flickered toward Florian.

The boy was still alive. Barely.

Blood painted his face, a glistening crimson streak trailing down his temple, disappearing into the strands of his light-purple hair. His body hung limp, arms slack, breath uneven. The sight of it—of Florian like this—sent something dark and unpleasant twisting in Heinz’s gut.

He didn’t like it.

Didn’t like the uncertainty.

Didn’t like not knowing how deep the wound was.

Didn’t like that it bothered him.

But there was no time to dwell on that. Not now. He needed to keep control.

He forced his voice to remain level, sharp enough to cut through the suffocating tension.

"Are you all aware that harming another is a crime under the law of Concordia?"

Silence.

A silence so heavy it felt like a living thing, pressing down on them, stretching between each breath.

Augustus—the man who had been so quick to soothe these villagers, to whisper reassurances, to play the part of the weary old leader—said nothing.

Instead, Kane adjusted his grip on Florian’s unconscious body, shifting him like dead weight, like a sack of grain slung over his shoulder. The movement was careless, thoughtless, as if he barely registered the fragile human being in his grasp.

Then—metal caught the firelight.

A butcher knife.

The blade gleamed with a cold, merciless edge as it settled against Florian’s exposed throat.

Heinz’s fingers twitched again.

Kane’s smirk widened.

"Throw away all your mana stones." His voice was laced with amusement, casual, almost lazy. "Give them to one of the villagers."

Heinz tilted his head slightly, unreadable.

"And why would I do that?"

Kane chuckled. A slow, indulgent sound. Then, without hesitation, he yanked Florian’s head back by the hair, forcing his throat to press further against the waiting edge of the blade.

A thin line of red bloomed.

Fresh blood.

Heinz narrowed his eyes at the man.

Kane’s grin stretched wider. "Because if you don’t, I won’t hesitate to chop off his head."

The words dripped into the air, thick with something vile.

Heinz’s gaze darkened.

Kane wasn’t bluffing.

The way he held Florian—the way his fingers dug, precise and unfeeling, into the boy’s jaw—this wasn’t the first time he had done something like this. He was experienced. Efficient. Used to killing.

That was what sealed it.

Without a word, Heinz lifted his hand. The mana stones slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the scorched earth. A villager lunged forward, their fingers greedy as they scooped them up.

It didn’t matter.

Heinz had already calculated his next move.

Azure was still here. Somewhere within the fire. He had prepared for this.

’How unpleasant.’

’I had wondered how these people survived.’

And yet... they lived.

’They weren’t burying the sick.’

Then—Augustus.