Finally, I Got Transmigrated Into Another World!

"Haah, you never fail to surprise me, Tristan," Lucien sighed before speaking again. "So, what prompted you all to use the communication scroll?" he asked, his sharp gaze shifting toward Tristan and the others.

Albert stepped forward and answered, "Allow me to explain, sir..." He began detailing the events that had unfolded.

"Hmm, I see," Lucien murmured before turning to Eloria. "My apologies, Princess Eloria, for failing to recognize you earlier." He offered her a respectful bow.

"It's quite alright, Sir Lucien. No need for such formalities; this isn't an official gathering," Eloria replied with a calm smile.

"Understood, Your Highness," Lucien responded before his eyes returned to Tristan. "So, you intend to send Princess Eloria here because it's too dangerous where you are, is that correct?"

"That's right, sir," Tristan replied firmly.

"Are you saying you can't protect her, Tristan?" Lucien inquired, his tone probing.

"If it's just Low-Class demons or those of similar strength, I can manage, sir," Tristan explained. "But if it's a Middle-Class demon or stronger, things would become difficult. I can hold my ground, but if they target Princess Eloria directly, I'll likely be overwhelmed."

"So, you're saying you could defeat Middle-Class demons or stronger if you were fighting alone?" Lucien asked again, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, sir. If I can go all out and focus solely on defeating the enemy, I can handle them," Tristan answered confidently.

Lucien gave a small nod. "I see your point. Very well. Since this is your request, I'll ensure it's handled appropriately."

Turning toward Albert, he issued his next order. "Albert, your mission has changed. You're to escort Princess Eloria to the Roussanne estate safely and as quickly as possible."

Albert straightened his posture and replied, "Understood, sir. Consider it done."

Lucien then glanced back at Tristan. "Take care of yourself, Tristan. I hope your journey proves fruitful."

Finally, his gaze shifted to Rowen. "Rowen, your mission remains unchanged."

"As you command, my lord," Rowen replied with a respectful bow.

"Thank you, sir," Tristan added, inclining his head in gratitude.

The glowing image of Lucien on the scroll began to fade, turning black before it disintegrated into ash on its own.

Tristan and Rowen stepped down from the carriage, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. Turning to Eloria with a gentle smile, Tristan said, "It seems this is where we part ways, Eloria. Take care of yourself, alright?"

Eloria's expression clouded with sadness as she replied, "Will we meet again?"

"Hmm, maybe? Well, if you visit the Roussanne family, we're sure to again," Tristan responded with a lighthearted shrug.

"Alright, take care, Tristan. If I get the chance, I'll visit the Roussanne estate after I return home," Eloria said, her voice tinged with resolve.

"Sounds good," Tristan replied simply.

Albert then stepped forward, bowing slightly as he addressed Tristan. "Take care, young master. May your journey be a safe one."

"Thank you, Sir Albert," Tristan replied with a respectful nod.

Albert smiled and turned to Rowen. "Master Rowen, take care on your journey as well."

"Leave it to me, Sir Albert," Rowen replied confidently, giving a firm salute.

With that, Albert and Eloria walked in the opposite direction, their figures gradually fading into the distance.

Tristan adjusted his gear and turned to Rowen. "Alright, Uncle Rowen, let's get moving. We'll need to run like horses if we want to reach Brighthold by today."

Rowen chuckled and smirked. "Oh? Don't complain later when you can't keep up, Tristan."

Without another word, the two broke into a swift sprint, their figures dashing toward the city of Brighthold, their determined strides cutting through the vast expanse of the road ahead.

***

In the city of Brighthold, within a shadowy room in an unnamed laboratory...

"No! Please, don't hurt me!" Cheryl screamed, her voice echoing in desperation.

Smack! A man clad in a tattered robe struck her across the face, then grabbed her hair, yanking her head back violently. "You'd better cooperate, little girl. Or would you prefer to end up like your family? Slaughtered to the last by your dear uncle's own hands? Hahaha!"

The door creaked open, and another figure entered the room. The robed man immediately straightened, bowing with exaggerated reverence. "Greetings, Lady Elza."

Elza's cold, piercing gaze swept over the room. "Have you obtained the blood sample yet?"

The man stammered, fear creeping into his voice. "F-Forgive me, my lady. This child keeps resisting, making it difficult to extract her blood."

Slap! Elza's hand hit the man's face, her icy glare freezing him in place. "Who are you to give excuses in front of me?"

The man cowered, trembling.

"Finish the task," Elza ordered, her voice like a dagger. "Or I'll drain every drop of blood from your body."

"Ye-yes, my lady! I'll take care of it immediately!" he stammered, bowing repeatedly as Elza turned on her heel and left the room.

The moment she was gone, the man's expression twisted into one of rage. He grabbed Cheryl by the hair again, his voice venomous. "This is all your fault, you insolent brat!"

His fists rained down on her, each blow tearing cries of pain from Cheryl's lips as blood began to stain her pale skin. Weak and battered, Cheryl could only groan in agony.

"If you'd just let me take your blood from the start, none of this would have happened!" the man spat, finishing his assault with a cruel sneer and spitting on her.

Collapsed on the cold floor, Cheryl's body trembled as her tears fell silently, her thoughts spiraling into despair.

"Why? Why am I going through this? Is it true that Father, Mother, and Dheryl were all killed by Uncle Bran? Someone... anyone... please, save me. Tristan..."

Alone in the dark, empty room, Cheryl wept, her cries filled with grief and hopelessness.

***

Several hours later, Tristan and Rowen arrived at the gates of Brighthold, both gasping for breath after running nonstop.

"You're impressive, Tristan. You managed to keep up with my pace," Rowen wheezed, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

"Haha, I've done a lot of running back at the Roussanne estate, Uncle," Tristan replied, equally out of breath.

"Alright, we've made it. Where are we supposed to go again?" Rowen asked, his breathing slowly steadying.

"They said it's in the slums, an abandoned house at the end of the second street," Tristan answered, his breath now more controlled.

"Got it. Let's head there right away," Rowen said, already moving.

"Right, Uncle," Tristan nodded, following close behind.

The two began their journey to the slums, stopping occasionally to ask locals for directions. After some time, they arrived at their destination.

"Is this the place, Tristan?" Rowen asked, scanning the derelict building before them.

"Seems like it, Uncle. Let's head inside," Tristan replied.

Entering the abandoned house, they quickly discovered a staircase leading downward. At the bottom of the stairs, they encountered a man with an eyepatch over his left eye.

The man scowled as his gaze fell on them, irritation clear in his voice. "What are kids like you doing here? Get lost."

"Apologies, sir," Tristan said calmly. "I'm here to meet someone named Brutus."

"There's no one named Brutus here. Leave," the man growled dismissively.

Rowen's patience snapped, and he stepped forward, his voice sharp. "Hey, you bastard! We were invited by someone named Brutus, and this is the location he gave us!"

The man's eye narrowed dangerously. "Who are you calling a bastard, bastard?"

Tristan, watching the situation escalate, sighed internally. "Of course, something has to complicate things."

Without hesitation, Tristan stepped forward and delivered a swift punch to the man's stomach. The man doubled over in pain, falling to his knees before he could react.

Grabbing the man by the hair, Tristan stared into his eye with an icy glare. "Listen, old man. I'll ask one last time, where's Brutus?"

The man, overwhelmed by Tristan's intensity, froze in fear, his trembling form unable to muster a response.

Rowen, witnessing the sudden shift, could only sweat nervously, choosing to remain a silent observer.

"Alright then," Tristan said, his voice cold as he raised his fist, ready to strike. "If you won't talk, I'll just beat the answer out of you."

Just as his fist was about to connect, a deep, resonant voice echoed through the room. "Stop."

The heavy footsteps that followed reverberated like the growl of a lion, steadily growing closer.

Tristan paused mid-strike, exhaling in annoyance. "If you don't want to get beaten, tell me where Brutus is. I'm tired of these intimidation games."

From the shadows of the corridor, a figure emerged, his presence commanding and his gaze locked onto Tristan.

Tristan released the man, his grip loosening as he turned his cold, unflinching eyes toward the newcomer.

After a few moments of tense silence, with their gazes locked, Tristan finally broke it. "What now? Are we playing some staring game, old man?"

The towering man smirked faintly. "Do you want to meet Brutus?"

"Yes," Tristan replied curtly, his cold stare unwavering.

"Follow me," the man said simply before turning to walk deeper into the corridor.

Tristan followed without hesitation, Rowen trailing close behind, while the eyepatched man remained kneeling, clutching his stomach in pain.

At the end of the corridor, the large man stopped and turned slightly. "Only the kid can enter. You," he said, pointing at Rowen, "will have to wait in the spectators' area."

"Spectators' area?" Rowen muttered in confusion but didn't argue.

The man continued walking, and Tristan followed confidently. They emerged into the center of what appeared to be a dimly lit arena. Darkness loomed around its edges, shrouding whatever was beyond. Tristan glanced around and scoffed.

"What's this now? Another game? You'd better tell me where Brutus is before I lose my patience, old man."

Rowen took a seat near the entrance, observing quietly. Suddenly, the large man raised his voice, his words echoing through the arena. "Listen up, you fools! This kid says he wants to meet Brutus!"

Instantly, lights flickered on, revealing rows upon rows of spectators seated around the arena. Laughter erupted from the crowd, jeers and mocking words raining down.

"What? Wants to meet Brutus? Hahaha!"

"You're a million years too early for that, kid!"

The large man grinned wickedly and addressed Tristan again. "Alright, kid. If you can defeat me in a duel, I'll take you to Brutus. In fact, I'll do you one better, I the leader of this place, will hand over my authority and make you the leader of this place!"

He finished his proclamation with a triumphant smirk, only for it to falter as he watched Tristan turn and calmly walk out of the arena.

"Eh? What are you doing?" the man called out, confusion coloring his tone.

Without looking back, Tristan replied with a cold, dismissive voice. "I'm too tired for this nonsense, and I have no interest in becoming the leader of a bunch of losers."