Dumping The Ice King His Mini-Tyrant novel Chapter 424

Dames turned to look at his assistant, the man responsible for watching over him.

The assistant clutched his head in both hands, staring in horror at the part of the auditorium that had collapsed.

Suddenly, Dames felt a tug at his jacket. Looking down, he saw Dames pulling at him.

Dames’ cheeks were flushed and streaked with tears and snot, his whole face damp and miserable.

“Is Mommy… is she going to die in there?”

He asked his assistant again, voice trembling.

The assistant jolted as if he’d been shocked. “I—I don’t know!”

He’d scouted the auditorium more than once, but how was he supposed to know the upper floors were so badly maintained? He’d set the fire, and the roof burned through so much faster than he’d imagined.

“This can’t be happening,” he muttered to himself. He’d checked the building reports—fireproof materials, top of the line. That was why he’d chosen to start the fire up there in the first place.

His plan had been simple: once the flammable material was gone, the fire would burn itself out, leaving the rest of the auditorium intact.

But now, a chilling possibility dawned on him.

The reports must have been forged. Someone had pocketed the budget for fireproof materials, but used cheap substitutes instead.

It made twisted sense. Charteris Academy, the most prestigious private school in Capital City, had a generous construction budget. That was exactly the kind of place where someone could skim off the top.

As the realization sank in, the assistant’s face went ghostly pale, sweat matting his hair to his forehead.

*

Inside the burning auditorium—

Selene worked desperately, twisting a hairpin against the knot. At last, it loosened.

“Uh—uh!”

Altair tried to speak, but no sound came. Panic rose in his chest; he wanted Selene to get out. When he’d woken up in the cabinet earlier, he had no idea what had happened.

It wasn’t until Selene opened the door that he realized—the auditorium was on fire.

Selene’s shirt was wrapped around his face, filtering out some of the choking smoke.

He could see Selene was holding her breath, her face turning red from strain.

Tears streamed endlessly from Altair’s eyes.

He tried to calm himself, to form words for Selene.

But nothing coherent left his throat.

“Go!” he croaked, voice hoarse and broken, as if his throat had been slashed.

His lips moved, but he couldn’t say what he really wanted: Leave me. Save yourself.

It’s okay.

Even if I die here, it’s okay.

He was only five, but frighteningly precocious, with an intellect far beyond his years.

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