Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Lucas watched the man's reaction with the same measured intensity he had held from the moment he stepped into the dungeon. The vial, now back in the safety of his robe, had done what he needed it to, it had awakened not just dormant Qi, but something far more potent in the prisoner: desperation. He had seen it countless times in both lives. When a man loses everything, he either breaks or becomes dangerous. But when you give such a man a glimpse of hope, even a sliver, you gain power over him unlike any chain or cell could provide.

He took a step closer, his voice low and unhurried, but carrying the weight of unspoken consequence. "If you're going to have any chance at cultivation again… if you truly want your power back… your place in this world… then you're going to tell me everything."

The man didn't respond immediately, but Lucas saw it, the flicker in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. He knew the words before they were spoken. Of course he did. That was always the cost, there was no miracle without price, no redemption without blood. Lucas could almost see the calculation behind his stare. The pride, resistance, ingrained loyalty to a cause that had discarded him the moment he became broken. He was just a cripple now, an echo of the terrifying force he once was. Even the people he had once called allies had moved on, perhaps they had already forgotten him. Either way, he was no longer essential to the mission.

Lucas leaned down, just enough to ensure their eyes were locked.

"You know it's come to this," he said. "That's the price. If you want a second chance, if you want to reclaim what you lost, then you're going to give me everything. From the beginning to the end, the plan and conspiracy. The ones behind it and the real power in the shadows."

Still, the man said nothing. But his breathing had changed. He wasn't angry or defiant, he was thinking. Lucas knew that look better than most. The man wasn't wrestling with betrayal. He was wrestling with usefulness, his own, and what little remained of it.

"You refuse to speak, to compromise the mission, hoping to die a martyr for a cause that already moved on without you," Lucas continued, his tone now cutting. "But what good is that to you? What do you gain from it? You think they'll honor your sacrifice? No, You're already forgotten, dispensable, and if they succeed, if their plan works without you, you're still a cripple rotting in chains. You'll have no place in their victory....mo place at all."

He stood upright again, allowing the words to settle like dust around them. "But… you have a choice. Switch allegiances and compromise. Tell us what we need to know, and you won't just survive this. You'll return stronger and whole. You'll rise again, not as their discarded weapon, but as ours, and we don't throw away what's useful."

He had already planted the seed, and it was beginning to grow. Hope was a dangerous thing in the hands of the broken. And Lucas knew how to shape it into a blade.

He didn't need to convince the man any further, the truth was already choking him.

At last, the man lifted his gaze from the floor. His pride was still there, clinging stubbornly to the last remnants of his former self, but it was no longer the kind that fought against reason. This pride had shifted, no longer defiant, the glint in his eyes had changed. He had seen the truth in Lucas's words, and he could not deny it. He had been left behind by those he once served, cast off like a blade too worn to be of use, and now a hand had been extended toward him, offering something he never thought he would grasp again.

"I'm ready to talk," he said finally, his voice hoarse from disuse but steady. "But not to you or her." His eyes flicked briefly toward Henrietta, who scowled but said nothing. "I'll speak only in the presence of the King."

Lucas's lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile. That was all he needed to hear. He gave a single nod, not pressing further, not questioning the reason. Whether the man wanted to negotiate, confess, or plea for something greater, it didn't matter now. He had chosen to speak, and that meant the first wall had crumbled. The rest would follow, stone by stone.

Henrietta caught the exchange and understood it at once. No words passed between her and Lucas, but her nod in return carried volumes. She turned on her heel and left without delay.

When she reached the King's private chamber, she did not wait to be summoned in. The guards at the door recognized the urgency in her face and let her pass without hesitation. The King, seated at his writing desk, barely looked up as she entered. Scrolls and sealed letters lay across the polished surface before him, and a goblet of dark wine rested untouched near his right hand.

"Your Highness," Henrietta bowed to the king.

"What is it? Any developments?" The king asked.

"Yes my King, there has been a great development with the help of Xavier Alden."

"Well?" he asked, his voice tired but sharp. "What now, Henrietta? Has the boy gone and done something reckless again?"

She bowed slightly before stepping forward. "He's done more than that, Your Majesty. He's managed to do what we thought impossible."

The King lifted his gaze fully then, eyes narrowing. "Speak clearly."

She drew in a breath, steadying her voice. "The prisoner, the crippled Grandmaster. Xavier has managed to awaken his crippled cultivation and has convinced him to switch sides."

The King's brow creased deeply, and he pushed back from the desk slowly, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to determine if he'd heard correctly. "Impossible."

"I saw it with my own eyes," Henrietta said, her voice firmer now. "The man asked for you. He said he would speak, but only in your presence."

The King rose to his feet with a look of disbelief tugging at his features. "Henrietta, you understand what you're saying. That man's cultivation was crippled beyond repair. Even the best physicians in the world deemed it hopeless to do something like that. And Xavier… he is clever, yes, but he is still only a boy."

"I understand, Your Majesty," she replied. "And yet it happened. Somehow… the boy did it. He gave the man a glimpse of power again. Enough to make him believe. Enough to make him beg for more."

The King turned slowly, pacing to the side of the chamber, one hand folded behind his back. He remained quiet for a moment, deep in thought, as if weighing the validity of it all. "You truly believe he pulled this off?"

"I believe it because I saw the man's face when it happened," Henrietta said. "The disbelief. The desperation. It wasn't an act, he felt something stir within him,he knows what it means."

The King stopped pacing, his gaze far off, for a man who had seen countless schemes, and miracles in his reign, even he found it difficult to accept what he had just heard. That Xavier, the quiet, unassuming youth they had only begun to pay attention to, might have actually awakened something that had been deemed lost forever.