"Mr. Finley!" The bodyguards immediately moved to rush forward. But before they could take a step, Arthur glanced at them, then suddenly ripped the knife out, the blade sliding free with a wet, slicing sound! "Ah!" Another piercing scream escaped Finley. The first time, Arthur had pulled the knife out quickly. This time, he let Finley feel every ounce of the pain before dragging the blade free, making him suffer twice. As soon as the knife was out, Arthur placed it firmly against Finley’s throat. The bodyguards froze in their tracks, no longer daring to move. Despite the unbearable pain, Finley was acutely aware of the icy blade pressing against his throat. Even the slightest movement sent a sharp sting through his skin—he could feel it, the way the knife had already sliced open a thin wound. Warm blood trickled down his neck, making him shudder involuntarily. This wasn’t like the wounds on his legs. A cut on the thigh was painful. A cut on the neck meant death. His legs were barely holding him up, the pain nearly unbearable, but he didn’t dare let his body collapse. He couldn’t risk moving even an inch. For the first time, Finley felt pure, unfiltered fear. Arthur… he was a complete madman. Taylor stood there, paralyzed with fear, his mind unable to process what he was seeing. Arthur was drenched in blood, the bright red streaks staining his face and clothes. But his expression remained eerily blank. At this moment, he wasn’t just a man—he was an unstoppable force, a god of war who would cut down anyone in his path. Just locking eyes with him sent an unbearable sense of dread through the body. Taylor had never seen Arthur like this before. He never even thought it was possible for someone’s gaze to be so terrifyingly cold and ruthless. Finley, who had been so arrogant just moments ago, now looked like a fool—a child swinging a toy sword in front of a true warrior. But it wasn’t just Finley who was scared. Even Taylor, Arthur’s own ally, felt a bone-deep fear that rooted him to the spot. He barely dared to breathe, terrified that the slightest sound might set Arthur off and make him the next target. Arthur paid no attention to the panic around him. His voice remained as calm and detached as ever. "So? Are you ready to tell me where the exit is now?" Without waiting for an answer, he lifted the dagger again, aiming straight for Finley’s stomach. "Ah—!" Taylor’s horrified scream rang out before he could stop himself. His hands shook as he blurted out, "Arthur, no, stop!" Not the stomach!That would be a death sentence! He wanted to intervene, but he couldn’t let Arthur commit murder. Taking a life meant facing the consequences. Arthur actually paused. Finley and the bodyguards barely had time to react, but the weight of impending death eased ever so slightly. Thank god. Taylor had stopped him. But just as they thought they could breathe, Arthur raised the knife again, ready to strike once more. This time, Finley completely lost it. He no longer had the luxury of wondering whether Arthur was bluffing. Panic overtook him, and he screamed, "I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!" Arthur’s dagger froze just a hair’s breadth away from his stomach. Finley was convinced that if he had been even slightly heavier, the blade would have already been buried in his gut. Arthur pulled the knife back, only to press it against Finley’s throat again. His voice was casual, almost amused. "See? You could have avoided all this if you had just talked sooner." Hearing that, Finley no longer felt anger. There was nothing left inside him but sheer terror—the kind that made his entire body tremble uncontrollably. Arthur wasn’t human. He was a monster from the depths of hell. His hands shook as he frantically pointed in another direction. "There! The exit is over there!" Arthur studied Finley’s hand. It was shaking, but the direction he pointed was firm, completely different from his earlier half-hearted attempt to stall. Arthur was satisfied. He nodded. "Alright, lead the way." "What?" Finley’s voice cracked with disbelief. Arthur expected him to lead the way? Was this guy out of his mind? His legs had both been stabbed, leaving deep, gaping wounds that were still gushing blood. Finley was certain that if the bleeding didn’t stop soon, he was going to pass out. Yet Arthur still wanted him to walk? And if Arthur needed him to guide the way, why stab him in the first place? Just to get him to talk?