Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are Are So Dangerous! [BL]-Chapter 273: Unsettling Revelation

Over the past few years, he had allowed himself to be influenced by Rocco’s innocence, growing far too soft in his judgment.

His duty was to shield Rocco from corruption, to ensure that no filth ever tainted him.

To let his own resolve waver—to let himself be drawn into Rocco’s purity—was an unforgivable failure for someone in his position.

And yet, he had willingly taken him into a gathering hosted by Don Ferocelli, a man long suspected of conspiring against the crown.

In hindsight, it was an egregious mistake—one that defied all logic.

Regret clawed at him, fueling the fury that burned in his chest.

Feilu flinched momentarily but soon resigned himself, a look of grim acceptance settling over his features as he bowed his head.

"...I have no excuse. I couldn’t bring myself to discard my doubts until it was too late. The blame lies entirely with me."

Sylas’s grip on his collar tightened.

The pained expression twisting Feilu’s face was unbearable to look at.

The only one who had the right to display such anguish was Rocco—the one who had been dragged into this mess.

No matter how complicated the circumstances were, no matter how conflicted Feilu’s position had been, he had no right to play the victim.

"That’s right. This is all your fault. You drugged Rocco. You dragged him here. I will never forgive you. Don’t even think about running—accept your punishment."

He spat out the words before forcefully shoving Feilu backward.

The man hit the ground with a dull thud, collapsing in a heap.

Sylas didn’t spare him another glance as he turned to follow Georgio’s lead, heading up to the second floor.

As much as he was concerned about Rocco’s condition after being taken by Laxus, securing the king’s brother took priority.

At the very least, he was certain that fool wouldn’t harm Rocco.

Although Laxus had taken him without reporting anything, there had to be a reason for it.

It irritated him, but for now, he had no choice but to entrust Rocco’s safety to him.

With that decision made, he advanced through the mansion.

The estate’s defenders had already been mostly dealt with—Georgio had made sure of that—so there was little in the way of obstacles.

Soon, they arrived at their target location.

"The king’s brother is in here?"

"Yup, no doubt about it~. I saw him crouched by the window."

"I see... Then you go back and find Don Ferocelli’s head. If Feilu is here, then that bastard must be somewhere in this estate as well."

Georgio saluted playfully. "Got it!"

Rocco watched him dart off before turning his attention back to the door.

From the first floor, he could hear multiple sets of footsteps approaching.

It seemed that Georgio, on his way out, had called for reinforcements.

Normally, the man was an infuriating fool with no sense of tact, but at least he was competent when it came to missions.

Sylas exhaled quietly and placing a hand on the door.

There was no sound coming from inside the room, but the presence of someone was unmistakable.

At the very least, it didn’t seem to be a trap.

Not that it mattered—if it was, he would simply break through by force.

Lifting his foot, Sylas kicked the door open with a sharp impact, only to freeze at the sight before him.

"What... is this?"

The first thing that caught his eye was the enormous bed, surrounded by pristine white lace curtains.

It was as if the entire room had been designed for the sole purpose of housing that bed.

Everything about the layout and proportions felt unnatural, and apart from the bed, there was barely any furniture to speak of.

Candles were scattered around the bed, their dim glow flickering against the walls, and a thick, sweet fragrance filled the air—one that carried an unmistakable, illicit undertone.

The entire space was reminiscent of a chamber in a brothel.

Rocco clenched his jaw while suppressing the sickening feeling that crawled up his spine.

"What exactly were you planning to do to Rocco in here?"

The cloying scent threatened to muddle his senses, and he instinctively raised a hand to his nose, trying to block out the overpowering aroma.

Steadying himself, he stepped forward toward the lone figure sitting weakly at the edge of the bed.

At the sound of his voice, the man slowly lifted his head, his expression disturbingly vacant.

"Ah... so it’s you. You arrived sooner than I expected."

"...?"

Sylas had expected the king’s cowardly younger brother to break down the moment he entered—to beg for his life in a fit of desperation.

Yet, the man before him showed no such reaction.

His face was devoid of fear, devoid of anything resembling human emotion.

It was as if all traces of anxiety and terror had been stripped away.

Something was wrong.

This was not the same man Rocco knew.

An unsettling chill crept down his spine, and before he realized it, he had instinctively taken a few steps back.

For a brief moment, a grotesque sense of unease gripped him—something about the man exuded a foreign, almost inhuman dread.

A long silence stretched between them before Sylas noticed it.

Something was off—besides the eerie demeanor, something fundamental had changed.

His eyes.

They were a different color now.

The same detestable shade as that bastard Del Fiore’s.

And yet, there was a difference—whereas that Del Fiore’s eyes burned with vivid crimson, these were dull, muddied... tainted.

Sylas’s breath caught in his throat.

No.

This man is not the king’s brother.

"...Who the hell are you?"

...

His body burned.

It was an unbearable heat, scorching him from the inside out, pushing him to the brink of what he could withstand.

The unbearable sensation forced his eyes open.

His skin was feverish, his breath came out ragged.

At first, he thought someone was holding him, feeding him warmth—but no, that wasn’t it.

The heat was coming from within.

What... is this? Where is this heat coming from?