No one in the room objected to Ilterish's command. They didn't even try to understand it, let alone question it. One by one, everyone bowed their heads and silently headed toward the door. Footsteps echoed, and the door slowly closed once more. The crowd within the room melted into silence.
Now, only three people remained: Vizier Ilterish, Neva—kneeling motionless—and the unconscious old man lying on the stretcher. Ilterish walked slowly toward the stretcher. He leaned in, letting his eyes study the old man's face. The man was clearly not conscious; drool trickled from his mouth, and a foolish smile had settled across his face. He seemed caught somewhere between unconsciousness and madness.
Ilterish slightly tilted his head and examined him for a moment, then a scornful, mocking smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He slowly lifted his gaze from the stretcher and turned around. This time, his eyes locked onto Neva. As he approached the man kneeling like a humbled student, the air in the room grew heavier.
Neva slowly raised his head. His eyes locked directly onto Ilterish's. There was no fear in his gaze, only the cold gleam of defiance.
Neva's voice was calm, yet carried a hidden challenge.
"You emptied the room... How wise is it to be alone with me?"
Ilterish raised his eyebrows slightly, an amused smile spreading across his face as he looked at Neva. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter—a loud, echoing sound that bounced off the stone walls of the chamber.
"Ah, you youth of this age... Your blood runs wild, yet your mind is clogged! What is it? Am I supposed to be afraid of you? Do you truly think you could kill me?"
Neva tilted his head to the side and chuckled lightly. His reply was almost a whisper, yet the words stood firm.
"Easy to talk like that when you're facing a man with his hands bound... Untie me, and then we'll see if you should be afraid or not."
The smile on Ilterish's face vanished in an instant. His expression tightened, lips drawing into a thin, cold line. Silence fell suddenly. He took a step—then another—until he stood right in front of Neva. Without taking his eyes off him for even a second, he suddenly struck Neva's head with a sharp blow from his foot. Neva was thrown to the ground. As he landed on his back, the air rushed from his lungs and his head hit the stone floor with a thud. Just as he tried to pushed himself up, Ilterish pressed his foot down on Neva's face. The pressure increased steadily, crushing down on his features. A muffled sound escaped Neva's mouth, but the defiance in his eyes still hadn't faded.
The room was filled only with the sound of strained breaths and the groaning echo of flesh against stone. Ilterish's face was contorted with rage. His gaze locked onto Neva—mockery had turned into a deep, seething disgust. Keeping his foot firmly on Neva's face, he spoke in a low, commanding voice, thick with barely restrained fury.
"Caesar's dog…" he began. Each word fell like a dagger into the air.
"Caesar and his soldiers… Your arrogance knows no bounds. Arrogant mutts, all of you! I am Ilterish, Vizier of the great Tengritugen Empire, an ancient tree standing tall… And you dare speak to me like that? Know your place, insolent fool!"
As the words rained down on Neva like a storm, Ilterish's foot remained pressed against his face. Yet Neva did not groan. He clenched his teeth and tried to hold his gaze—bloody, dusty, but unwavering. Suddenly, Ilterish stepped back. He lifted his foot and took a few paces away. From the corner of the room, he picked up a modest chair with light embroidery. In silence, he brought it and placed it directly across from Neva. Then, with great composure, he sat down slowly. He rested his hands on his knees and fixed his eyes on Neva's face. His breathing had steadied, his voice had cooled—but the threat it carried remained.
Silence wove itself between them like a taut web. Ilterish was in no rush to speak—because now, it wasn't words that held power, but time itself, and time was on his side.
Leaning slightly forward from his seat, Ilterish locked his gaze with Neva's. His voice this time was softer—but not out of kindness. That softness was the thin veil hiding something dangerous underneath.
"Now tell me… Why were you in Asmanda?"
Neva wetted his blood-caked lip with his tongue and lifted his head slightly to look at Ilterish. There was no arrogance on his face—but no submission either. A simple answer came from deep within his mouth.
"Because that's what the Caesar wanted."
Ilterish tilted his head slightly. His eyes narrowed. In the same calm tone, he asked again,
"But why Asmanda?"
Neva sighed. His voice was a bit lower now, but still clear.
"I don't know. I just followed the orders I was given."
That answer brought a sudden shift to Ilterish's face. First, his brows furrowed, then his eyes narrowed. His lips parted slightly, and a quiet chuckle slipped out. But this small laugh was not from amusement—it was laced with scorn, a venomous mockery.
"'I just followed orders,' he says—shamelessly... as if success was even within reach," he muttered, shaking his head from side to side.
"Then what the hell are you doing here, you foolish bastard?!"
As Ilterish finished his words, a mocking, cutting expression settled on his face. The sneer tugging at the corners of his mouth, combined with the cold gleam in his eyes, turned into a force that could break down any man before him.
For a moment, it seemed like Neva had lowered his head in submission. But then, suddenly, he raised his gaze. His eyes locked onto Vizier Ilterish's. There was no anger in that stare—no fear either. Only a firm, unyielding defiance.
"You won't get a single word out of me."