I Died and Received an SSS-Rank Unique Ability-Chapter 92: Questioning

Vale moved through the smoky tavern with deliberate calm, each step silent yet assured. The noise, the clink of mugs, the hush of private deals, the occasional burst of laughter—faded into a dull throb at the edge of his awareness.

His focus had narrowed.

Elias was just in front of him.

The name echoed like a promise—and a threat.

The hooded figure accepted his drink from the barkeep with a curt nod, then turned and strolled toward an empty booth near the back wall. His gait was smooth and practised—someone used to keeping an eye on his surroundings but not alert enough to expect danger in familiar territory.

Vale followed, weaving through crowded tables, careful to avoid eye contact. By the time Elias slid into the booth, Vale was already there.

He sat down across from the man without a word.

Elias looked up, eyes narrowing in faint surprise. Then his expression hardened.

"You’re not a regular," he said, his voice low and wary. "I don’t remember inviting you."

"I’m not here for pleasantries." Vale’s voice was iron wrapped in silk. "I need answers. I’m looking for Sir Tyne."

A twitch passed across Elias’s brow, but his tone stayed measured. "I wish I could help you, but I don’t know anyone by that name."

Vale leaned forward slightly, allowing the hood’s shadow to slip just enough to reveal his face.

"It wasn’t a question."

Recognition flickered in Elias’s eyes—it was not familiarity or personal history. It was something worse.

He’d seen that face before—On parchment, pinned to posts all around the city.

"You..." Elias leaned back slowly, as if distance might shield him. "You’re the one on the bounties."

"I guess the bounty posters reach even this far north," Vale thought grimly.

"Sir Tyne," he said again, voice like winter.

Elias hesitated. "Look, I think you’ve got the wrong—"

Before the lie could form, Vale released a wave of mana essence. A heavy pressure blanketed the booth, dense and suffocating. The air trembled, and Elias’s eyes widened—his breath caught in his throat.

"I know you’re the one managing the estate that used to belong to the royal family," Vale said, his voice calm amidst the storm. "The same estate now held by a man who calls himself Sir Tyne. A man whose family used to go by a different name."

Elias didn’t blink. But he didn’t move either.

"You’re talking about dangerous things," he said, voice low. "Things people don’t survive bringing up in public."

"Then keep your voice down." Vale’s eyes glinted.

Elias opened his mouth to speak—

But the moment shattered.

"Oi! That’s him!"

The voice rang out from behind. It cut through the tavern like a blade. Vale didn’t need to look to know what had happened.

Someone had recognised his face from the bounty posters.

Chairs scraped across the wooden flooring. A tankard crashed to the floor. A group of men, half-drunk and half-armed, rose from their seats with wicked smiles and greedy looks in their eyes.

"The Butcher of the South Outpost," one of them sneered, hand on his sword. "To think we get this lucky."

The men chuckled at the opportunity.

At the same time, Elias moved fast.

In the blink of an eye, he slipped from his stool and darted toward a side door behind the counter.

"Wait—!" Vale turned, but it was too late. Elias vanished into the shadows like a man who’d had escape plans already prepared.

Vale cursed under his breath.

But he had no time to dwell on Elias’ escape.

One of the bounty hunters, a bearded man with a notched axe, stepped forward. "Bounty says dead or alive boys, so don’t hold back!"

There were five of them. Maybe six. Vale didn’t wait to count.

He rose calmly, then extended his arm and summoned his weapon. The tavern had fallen into a hush, the other patrons shrinking into corners or ducking behind tables. The bartender had already disappeared.

"I’m not looking for trouble," Vale said evenly.

"Then drop the weapon and let us collect the bounty," the axe-man replied.

Vale’s expression darkened.

They rushed toward him.

The first attacker came swinging wildly—a short man with a dagger and no discipline. Vale ducked low and swept his leg out, knocking the man off his feet. Before he hit the ground, Vale was already on his feet, slamming the heel of his boot into the man’s chest. The crunch of ribs echoed against the wooden floor.

Two more came at once. One swung a mace, the other one a sword. Vale stepped into the sword-bearer’s space, caught his arm, and twisted hard. The blade clattered to the floor. Vale shifted his stance and drove his blade upward through the man’s gut. He shoved the body aside just in time to catch the mace wielder’s arm and force it down, driving his knee into the attacker’s face.

Blood sprayed, and teeth hit the floor, as the third attacker dropped to the floor.

Another lunged from behind with a short spear. Vale twisted aside—the point grazed his ribs—and spun, Hellfire crackling to life in his palm. The room pulsed with an orange glow as he activated the weapon’s enchantment. The man tried to dodge, but was far too slow. Vale’s weapon shot forward, a whip of fire searing across the attacker’s chest. He screamed and dropped, rolling on the floor to put out the flames, only to flame as the orange flames turned black and devoured the man whole in almost an instant.

That left only one.

He was young, around the same age as Vale. His arms trembled as he tightened the grip on his sword.

Vale stared at him, breathing hard. The fire running across the blade of his weapon flickered, brighter for a second, then dimmed.

"Go," Vale said.

The boy didn’t move.

"I said go." His voice was cold steel.

The boy dropped the sword and ran.

Heavy silence hung in the tavern’s smoky air. The acrid stench of burnt flesh clung to the walls, mingling with spilt ale and the ghost of violence.

A few patrons peeked out from behind overturned tables and shattered stools. No one dared move, let alone stop Vale as he turned away from the booth.

Elias was gone.

Vale’s eyes swept the dimly lit room, scanning the overturned chairs, scattered glass, and stunned patrons. Then his gaze locked onto the back exit—the one Elias had slipped through. Without hesitation, he lunged toward it, boots hammering against the floorboards like war drums.

He burst into the alley.

There was nothing.

No sign of the man. No trailing cloak rounding the corner, no fleeing shadow vanishing into the night. Not even the echo of retreating footsteps. Just stillness. Elias had disappeared as if swallowed by the very air.

"Damn it," Vale muttered under his breath.

His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. His fists curled into trembling balls at his sides. He’d had Elias—had him right there. All it would’ve taken was a few seconds more, a moment’s delay, and the slippery bastard would’ve been in his grasp.

But before he could finish cursing the man’s escape, movement near the tavern’s entrance drew his attention. Two figures stepped through the threshold, pushing aside stunned civilians. Their movements were too precise and rehearsed. They wore crisp dark suits. A silver insignia glinting under the flickering lantern light—one that matched the seal etched into the bounty posters that haunted every corner of this city with Vale’s face on them.

Government officials.

Vale’s hood snapped back over his head in a single, fluid motion. He spun from the doorway and melted into the crowd, weaving between the waves of people.

"Someone from inside must’ve tipped them off," he thought grimly. "There’s no other way they’d show up this fast."

He kept his face down, his movements calm and casual. Careful not to raise any attention to himself.

His thoughts churned with frustration. He needed a lead, anything, to point him toward Elias. But the man had vanished like smoke in the wind. There was no trail to follow, no clear direction to chase, only the sharp, bitter taste of failure settling on his tongue.

Unless...

His mind flashed back to the bartender. A burly man with tired eyes and a voice roughened by smoke. He’d spoken to Elias like an old acquaintance, even called him by name. That hadn’t been idle chatter. They knew each other. There had been recognition in his tone and history behind those words.

That was a thread—a fraying one, perhaps, but worth pulling.

Still, going back wouldn’t be easy. Not after the scene he’d caused. Not with broken bodies still slumped against walls and wary eyes remembering his face. And definitely not with those black-suited officials sniffing around like hounds catching the first scent of blood.

If they were here now, they’d post up nearby, watch the streets, and ask questions. They wouldn’t leave until they were sure he was gone—or dead.

But Vale wasn’t leaving the city. Not yet. Not without what he came for.

He’d wait, bide his time. Patience and precision would serve him better than brute force.

He would find Elias again. And when he did, there would be no escape.

One way or another, he will get his answers.