I'm Trapped Inside a Prince as the Most Powerful Entity-Chapter 58: Infiltration and Escalation

Master 22 stared at the frantic messenger, his masked face unreadable but his stance radiating disbelief. "Who attacked?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the operative’s panicked gasps. "Can you identify them?"

The messenger, still struggling for breath, stammered, "Master... it’s... it’s a child! With golden hair!"

At these words, Billy and Bryan, who had been bracing for their imminent capture, both stiffened. Their heads snapped up. Golden hair. The description was unmistakable.

Before either of them could voice their sudden, dawning horror, Master 22 scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound. "A child? And you’re making this much commotion? Go and capture him!"

"But Master," the messenger choked out, his eyes wide with terror, "he’s... he’s killed everyone! All the guards on the first level! Many of them were knights – our own city guard contingent, and even some of the Roland Kingdom’s border patrol stationed with us!"

Master 22 froze. The casual dismissal vanished, replaced by a stunned silence. A child... with golden hair... capable of slaughtering seasoned guards and knights?

From behind Master 22, Billy spoke, his voice laced with a horrified certainty. "Master... it must be the Third Prince. His hair... it’s golden."

The messenger, desperate to convey the full scope of the disaster, added, "Master, there’s a girl with him too!"

Bryan, seizing the confirmation, lurched forward. "Yes! It has to be the Third Prince!"

Master 22 whirled around, his masked gaze fixing on Billy and Bryan with a new, burning fury. The earlier suspicion was now a conviction. "This means," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous, "that you two led him here!"

Billy stepped forward, his hands raised placatingly, though his face was pale. "No, Master 22! We would never do such a thing, not even in our worst nightmares! We swear!"

But Master 22 was beyond listening. The pieces, however improbable, were clicking into a horrifying picture in his mind. He gestured sharply towards the armed guards who had entered with the messenger. "Seize them! Take these two and lock them away!"

Bryan and Billy exchanged a desperate glance. Just as the guards began to move, the chamber door opened again. Another figure in dark robes and a rabbit mask strode in. The number "20" was clearly inscribed in stark white on the forehead of this newcomer’s mask.

Master 20 surveyed the scene – the panicked messenger, the furious Master 22, the apprehensive Billy and Bryan, and the advancing guards – with a calm, appraising look. He addressed Master 22 directly, his voice even and authoritative. "This can wait, 22. Our priority right now must be to secure the base."

Master 22 turned, the rage still simmering in his posture. "Master 20," he bit out, "call a meeting of all Masters. Immediately."

"I already have," Master 20 replied coolly. "And I came to get you. Let’s go." Without waiting for a reply, Master 20 turned and swept out of the room, Master 22 following a moment later after a final, venomous glare at Billy and Bryan, who were left under the uneasy watch of the guards.

Meanwhile, deep within the Syndicate’s sprawling headquarters, Adam moved like a phantom. He now wielded a longsword, its steel gleaming faintly in the poor light – the same sword he had taken from Lucas at the Baron’s mansion before his swift departure.

[System Alert: Host body’s biological integrity rapidly deteriorating. Estimated time until forced control relinquishment: 90 seconds.]

Adam acknowledged the warning with a mental flicker. Time was of the essence. He couldn’t afford elaborate displays of power, no large-scale magical spells or devastating area-of-effect attacks that would rapidly drain the remaining reserves of energy he was leeching from Eric’s body. He needed to be efficient, brutal, and fast.

He moved with a speed that bordered on teleportation. One moment, a corridor was empty; the next, Adam was there, a blur of motion.

He appeared before a group of surprised Syndicate thugs, their shouts of alarm cut short as the sword flashed. A single, precise strike for each – a severed artery, a pierced heart.

He prioritized those in Roland Kingdom knightly attire or any form of significant armor; they were the professionals, the true threats. The thugs, though numerous, were fodder.

The slaughter was chillingly methodical. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. His strikes were like lightning, finding vital points with inhuman accuracy. For Adam, this was almost trivially easy.

The majority of the personnel in these outer sections were low-level Syndicate enforcers and conscripted Roland Kingdom soldiers, their skills no match for his millennia of combat experience.

Identifying the slaves was simple; their ragged clothes and terrified, hopeless eyes set them apart. He bypassed them, focusing his lethal attention solely on those who bore arms or wore the Syndicate’s insignia.

Not far behind him, Alina hurried, her breath coming in short gasps. In her hands, she clutched a strange, metallic object. It was a gun, sleek and dark, unlike anything she had ever seen.

Adam had pressed it into her hands just before they had breached the hidden entrance to this monstrous facility, a silent instruction to defend herself.

He had explained nothing of its workings, but as she held it, she could feel a faint thrum, a connection to her own nascent energy. He had somehow crafted it to draw upon her own power, channeling it into focused projectiles. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

It looked like a weapon from another world, far more advanced than any crossbow or crude firearm she knew of. The creation itself, conjured seemingly from nothing but his will, left her in a state of continuous astonishment.

As Alina pressed deeper into the base, following the trail of carnage Adam left in his wake, the sheer scale of the underground complex astounded her. Tunnels branched off in every direction, opening into vast caverns and interconnected chambers. It was a city beneath the earth.

Along the way, she encountered pockets of terrified slaves, cowering in alcoves or huddling in cells Adam had presumably ripped open.

"Go!" she urged them, gesturing back the way she had come. "Head for the exit! You will be safe! You will be returned to your homes, your kingdoms!"

Hope, a fragile and almost forgotten emotion, flared in their eyes. They scrambled to their feet, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming relief on their faces, and began to stream towards the surface, their numbers growing with each group she directed.

The path was littered with bodies, grim testament to Adam’s passage.

Soldiers in Roland Kingdom colors, Syndicate members in their dark attire – all dispatched with clean, fatal efficiency. She saw more slaves, their faces streaked with dirt and tears, stumbling past her, some of them injured. She pointed them towards the escape route, her voice tight.

Running to keep up, a troubling thought echoed in Alina’s mind. We’re in Roland Kingdom, a rival nation. I’m not part of Royal Family, but I can’t help but feel a sense of dread for Eric.

By slaughtering their soldiers like this, he’s practically declaring war. The consequences... She shuddered, pushing the thought away to focus on the immediate task of helping the escaping slaves.

In a central, heavily fortified command chamber within the headquarters, a long, circular table dominated the room. Seated around it were figures clad in black robes, each wearing an identical rabbit mask, distinguished only by a number from 1 to 25 emblazoned on the forehead. These were the Masters of the Spider Syndicate.

At the head of the table, in a chair slightly larger and more ornate than the others, sat another figure. He too wore black, but his mask was different – a fearsome, snarling bear’s head, crafted from what looked like burnished gold. This was the First Prince of the Roland Kingdom, a silent partner and overseer of this particular Syndicate branch.

Master 16 was speaking, his voice tense. "Our latest reports confirm it. The intruder has breached the inner sectors."

Master 20, who had just arrived with Master 22, slammed a fist on the table. "We must make a decision, and quickly! He’s cutting through our forces like they’re made of paper. We’ve already lost nearly a quarter of our active personnel within the base at his hands, and he’s released hundreds of slaves!"

A low growl emanated from behind the golden bear mask. The First Prince’s voice, when he spoke, was laden with contempt.

"I didn’t install you nobles in this facility to sit around and hold meetings when a crisis erupts. All of you Roland nobles... you are utterly incompetent. Today has only served to solidify that truth in my mind."

A wave of humiliation washed over the assembled Masters. They were, indeed, all members of Roland’s noble families, their positions within the Syndicate a product of political maneuvering and familial ambition as much as any inherent skill.

They collectively bowed their heads, the insult stinging, but none dared to voice a rebuttal against the First Prince. His authority here was absolute, backed by the power of the Roland throne.

The First Prince rose slowly from his chair, his golden mask catching the light. "Enough of this dithering. I will deal with this intruder myself." He swept his gaze around the table.

"While I am doing so, your task is to get every single one of my Roland soldiers out of this base. The lives of the slaves are inconsequential. The fate of your Syndicate thugs means nothing to me. Let them die if they get in the way. But my soldiers – every last one – are to be evacuated. Now!"

His command brooked no argument. The Masters scrambled to their feet, their earlier shock and fear now galvanized into urgent action.

They practically stumbled over each other in their haste to exit the command chamber and carry out the Prince’s orders, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the chilling sounds of distant conflict that were growing ever closer.