Extra is the Heir of Life and Death

Chapter 227 227: The moan from inside came again

He had once been called handsome.

In another life, perhaps, in another place where sunlight had meant warmth instead of exposure, where mirrors had been made of polished silver instead of puddles on cold stone floors. Now the only thing that reflected his face was dirty water mixed with soap and blood, and even that distorted him into something smaller, thinner, less human.

The boy with blonde hair and red eyes knelt on the marble floor of the imperial castle, scrubbing.

His name was Xavier.

A metal collar circled his neck, dull iron etched with sigils that bit into his skin whenever he moved too far from the invisible boundary set for him. It marked him as property. Not servant. Not attendant. Property.

The chain attached to it lay slack behind him, bolted to a ring in the wall outside a pair of towering double doors carved with gold filigree and imperial crests. The corridor itself was grand, impossibly so, lined with crimson carpets and towering pillars that reached up into vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of conquest and divine favor. Chandeliers hung high above, each crystal catching candlelight and scattering it into fragments that danced over polished stone.

Xavier scrubbed.

The brush in his hand had long since frayed at the edges. His knuckles were raw. His fingers trembled from cold and exhaustion. He had been working since before sunrise, and the day had bled into night without mercy.

From beyond the doors came sound.

Soft at first. A murmur. Then a woman's voice, low and breathless, breaking into something unmistakable. A moan.

Xavier's hand stilled for half a heartbeat before he forced it to move again.

He scrubbed harder.

The male voice followed, deeper, confident, threaded with amusement and possession. It did not need to raise itself to command attention. It carried the weight of someone who had never once been denied.

The master.

The most handsome man in the empire, they said. Black hair like ink poured over silk. Golden eyes that glowed faintly when he smiled. A figure sculpted as if the gods themselves had taken special care when shaping him.

And power.

Unimaginable, unfathomable power. The kind that bent air around him. The kind that made seasoned warriors bow without being told. The kind that turned rebellions into footnotes and kings into cautionary tales.

Xavier tightened his jaw until it hurt.

He scrubbed.

The woman's voice rose again, trembling with pleasure. The master murmured something too low to catch, and she laughed softly, breath hitching.

Xavier's chest burned.

Jealousy was an ugly thing. He knew that. It festered quietly, like rot under polished wood. But he could not stop it.

The master had everything.

A mighty castle. Endless wealth. Power that defied reason. A beautiful wife whose voice carried down the corridor like music meant to mock him. Even the empire itself seemed to kneel before that man.

And Xavier had this.

Soap water. Bruised knees. A collar.

He dipped the brush again and resumed scrubbing the same section of floor he had already cleaned twice over.

He was weak.

That was the truth beneath everything else. Weak enough to be captured. Weak enough to be collared. Weak enough to kneel outside another man's door while that man enjoyed a life Xavier could not even touch.

The sounds from inside shifted, the rhythm growing more frantic. The bed creaked faintly. Fabric rustled. The woman gasped his master's name.

Xavier swallowed.

He had seen her only from a distance before. The lady of the empire. Skin pale as moonlight, hair cascading in dark waves down her back. Eyes that seemed to look through people instead of at them. She moved with quiet elegance, every step measured, every gesture deliberate.

She had never looked at him.

He wondered, sometimes, if she even knew he existed.

The brush slowed again.

Curiosity crept in like a thief.

He knew it was wrong. He knew it was dangerous. The sigils on his collar pulsed faintly, a reminder of his place. The rules had been made clear the day they fastened iron around his throat.

Do not look where you are not permitted.

Do not listen beyond your station.

Do not exist beyond your function.

And yet.

The sounds inside the room twisted something in his chest. Not just jealousy. Not just desire. Something uglier. A need to see. To confirm that such a life was real. That the warmth and laughter and indulgence he imagined were not illusions crafted to torment him.

He set the brush down slowly.

The chain rattled softly as he rose to his feet.

The doors loomed before him, dark wood inlaid with gold, handles shaped like coiling serpents. They were not locked. They rarely were. No one would dare enter uninvited.

No one but a fool.

Xavier's heart hammered against his ribs.

He told himself he would only take a glance. A second. Less than that. Just enough to satisfy the gnawing question.

He stepped forward.

The collar pulsed once in warning, a sharp sting at the base of his neck.

He ignored it.

His fingers hovered over the handle. He hesitated. The moan from inside came again, softer now, almost a sigh.

That was enough.

He pressed the handle down.

The door opened a fraction of an inch, then two. A sliver of warm golden light spilled into the corridor, chasing back the colder candlelight.

Through the narrow gap he saw movement. Silk sheets tangled across a massive bed. A glimpse of pale skin against dark fabric. Black hair cascading over a pillow.

His breath caught.

He leaned closer.

The door creaked.

It was a tiny sound, barely there, but in the stillness of that corridor it might as well have been thunder.

The noises inside stopped.

Silence fell, heavy and absolute.

Xavier froze.

Slowly, deliberately, the door swung wider.

Not because he pushed it.

Because someone inside did.

The master stood there.

Black hair fell loosely around his shoulders. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, not with surprise, not with embarrassment, but with something far colder.

Disappointment.

He wore only loose trousers, his upper body bare, skin unmarred, flawless. Power rolled off him in subtle waves, pressing against Xavier's lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

Behind him, the lady of the empire sat up on the bed, sheets drawn loosely around her. Her expression was calm, almost bored. She did not scream. She did not gasp. She simply watched.

Xavier's knees buckled.

He dropped to the floor instinctively, forehead nearly touching marble.

"I—" His voice cracked. "Forgive me—"

The collar flared.

Pain exploded through his body, white-hot and merciless. He screamed, the sound ripping itself from his throat as sigils burned against his skin.

The master stepped forward, bare feet silent against the floor.

"You dared," he said softly.

The words were not shouted. They did not need to be.

Xavier's body convulsed as the collar tightened, biting into flesh. He clawed at it uselessly, nails scraping metal.

"I only—" he gasped, vision blurring. "I only wanted—"

"To look?" the master finished.

Xavier's scream echoed down the corridor as the pain intensified. It felt as though fire had been poured into his veins. Every nerve lit up, every muscle locking and tearing at once.

The lady's voice drifted from the doorway, cool and distant. "He is young."

"That is not an excuse," the master replied.

He crouched in front of Xavier, golden eyes meeting red.

There was no anger there. No rage.

Only judgment.

"You were given a place," the master said. "You were given life when it could have been taken. And you chose to stain it."

Xavier wanted to curse him. To spit in his face. To scream that it was unfair, that he had been born into chains while this man had been born into glory.

But the pain stole his breath.

The master raised a hand.

The sigils on the collar flared brighter than ever before.

Xavier's scream broke into something hoarse and raw, then into silence as his voice failed. His body arched, back bending unnaturally as the magic tore through him.

He felt something inside him snap.

Bones cracked. Skin split. Blood spilled across the marble floor he had spent hours cleaning.

The world narrowed to agony.

And still, somewhere beneath it all, resentment burned.

Why him?

Why this fate?

Why should he kneel while another man stood above everything?

The master stood again, watching as Xavier collapsed fully to the floor.

"Let this be remembered," he said quietly.

Xavier's vision dimmed, edges going dark.

He tried to lift his head.

He could not.

He tried to curse the master.

Instead, his thoughts turned upward, toward something vaster and more intangible.

Fate.

The gods.

The cruel weave of existence that had placed a collar around his neck and a crown upon another's head.

If he had been stronger...

If he had been born differently...

If the world had been less unjust...

His final breath rattled in his chest.

He did not regret opening the door.

He regretted being too weak to survive it.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

The corridor fell silent once more, save for the faint drip of blood across polished stone.

Behind the closed doors, the master turned away as if nothing of consequence had occurred.

And the castle, mighty and indifferent, stood unmoved.