Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

Tristan's gaze intensified. He stared the crying woman in the eyes hard enough that she choked on a sob.

"What HAVE you done?" Tristan asked.

"We… we…"n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Her lips trembled. It was clear that even saying these things was too much for the maid's mental state. It'd be kinder to leave her alone, but Tristan was in no mood for kindness.

"You have set the mansion on fire, haven't you? The mansion of your own employers."

The woman let out a miserable sob.

Tristan pushed on, making his voice into a drill that burrowed into the woman's mind without regard for how many holes it left behind.

"Who told you to do it?"

"The… the holy man…" The maid suddenly reached out to grab Tristan's pant leg, but he deftly stepped aside. "The Hayes family are bad people! They deserved it! I always knew. It's not a murder if they deserved it… Please, believe me, it's not!"

She sobbed again.

That speech was hard to make sense of—besides the basics—but Tristan's mind made the connections in an instant.

The maid was unhappy with her employers—unhappy enough that at some point she believed at least a bit of the nonsense spouted by Noidolists, and especially by Michael as Gospel.

And then she, and possibly other shaken people on the sidewalk—because plagues spread quickly—were told to set the Hayes mansion on fire.

They did it, and when Michael's influence weakened, became scared of what they had done. Partially because it was, after all, a murder. Partially because they were definitely going to be put behind bars for a long time for this crime.

Whether or not this was a just punishment for something done under the influence of what was basically a brainwashing, Tristan didn't care to think about.

"When did you see the holy man? Where did that happen?" Tristan asked, leaning closer to the woman's face.

She shook with her entire body, but the weight of Tristan's presence, and the terrifying aura part of which he released almost subconsciously, made it impossible not to reply.

"A… two days ago… Then—always. At nights. In my dreams… We would fly… I saw a dream on fire… I knew I had to do it. The others, too…" The maid let out a half-sob, half-sigh.

'Dammit,' Tristan thought, taking several steps away from the woman. He was scowling.

He could tell she wasn't acting on either of her emotions. She wasn't lying about anything, unless her acting skill was also around six thousand points.

The chances of Michael being in the mansion were around zero. Tristan reached for his earpiece.

"Team Two, this is Team One. The Ass-Angel isn't at my location."

Damien's voice came from the other side after only a moment of delay.

"Got it, Team One. We are approaching our target site, will be extrrrra ready."

Tristan huffed, but didn't comment.

He stared at the burning mansion for a moment. Although little to no time was passing, his thoughts swirled in his system-enhanced brain.

His parents were there. Only them—the last Tristan checked on his family, his terrible older brother, was at an event in New York.

But his parents…

'I don't have to do anything,' Tristan mused. 'Such a perfect crime—one of inactivity.'

It really would've been, if Tristan actually wanted his parents dead. Right now, from the depths of his soul, he could tell… That he wanted them to suffer, to be scared, to realize how wrong they were about everything—but these all things required them to be alive.

'Enough time had passed. They are suffering now, and I bet they are scared. And after today, they will realize how wrong they were—I will make sure of it. But first…'

Resolute, Tristan went back to his car—only to return with a gas mask and protective goggles that he immediately put on.

'The things were lying around in case I wanted to throw more tear gas grenades around, but they will help with the smoke, too.'

After that, Tristan quietly walked into the mansion's garden gate, past the guard with a garden hose. The woman next to him was still sobbing, and apparently, trying to convince him to put the hose away.

Everybody was too shaken or too focused on the fire to notice Tristan at all, thanks to the stealthy way he moved. Almost like a part of the background.

He stepped inside the building and sped up.

Heat immediately licked Tristan's skin and began burrowing under his clothing. Black smoke was blocking his vision, but at least the mask let Tristan breathe with only a little difficulty.

His mind was making mental calculations about where his parents would be. The fire started way before their normal waking up time—the bedrooms were the most likely location.

That was upstairs, at the place with the most fire. They could easily be trapped inside by the fire.

'I have to hurry before the entire building falls on itself. At least it was built from something more robust than plywood. Money has been spent not just on decorations here…'

But first, Tristan scanned the surroundings. Money has also been spent on following fire regulations—and just like Tristan remembered, behind one of the large decorative sculptures was a fire extinguisher.

The main staircase was covered with stone tile, which made it more protected from fire than wooden floors in other rooms. Tristan was thankful for that, too, as he ran upstairs with the fire extinguisher in his hand.

The place of nostalgic childhood memories and bitter adulthood remembrances now looked entirely different. Despite that, his body moved almost on autopilot toward the bedrooms of his family.

Tristan ran past his own old room, noticing the flames of fire licking from behind it. He didn't stop there.

His parents slept in separate bedrooms; his mother's was the closest. When Tristan ran up to it, the door was half-open, showing the burning furniture inside and a lack of people.

By now, Tristan was dripping with sweat despite all his toughness. But he could still move.

He went to his father's bedroom—and saw that it was closed.