The view at the 10th floor was scary.
As soon as Eamon and Damien reached the top, the smell of blood hit them like a punch. The air was thick—so thick it felt difficult to breathe. The torches on the walls flickered weakly, their flames trembling as if afraid of what they were lighting.
Everywhere they looked… there were bodies.
The guards of the 9th and 10th floor lay dead—slaughtered without mercy. Blood covered the walls, the floors, and even the ceiling in some places. Crimson puddles reflected the torchlight. Severed limbs lay scattered around like abandoned tools. A hand was lying near the staircase, a leg a few feet away, a torso split open near the railing.
Not a single guard was alive.
Damien covered his mouth. "Heavens… what happened here?"
Eamon tightened his grip on his sword. His heartbeat quickened, but his eyes stayed sharp. He had seen death before, but this… this was not simply killing. This was rage. This was destruction.
Between the bodies, amidst the blood and broken weapons, a lone man sat on the cold floor.
He was calm—far too calm for someone surrounded by such carnage. His head was lowered slightly, his arms resting lazily on his knees. On both sides of him lay two katanas drenched in blood, their blades reflecting red light like the eyes of a beast.
Eamon and Damien exchanged a look.
Whoever this man was… he was dangerous.
Both of them slowly raised their weapons, stepping carefully between the bodies. Even the slightest sound echoed across the floor.
They spotted Felis and Orzen sitting in the last prison cell at the far end of the corridor, both limp and barely conscious. But they didn't dare run to them yet.
The man in the center was the real threat.
Eamon stepped forward cautiously.
Before he could say a word, the sitting man spoke.
His voice was low… steady… but filled with an unsettling fury.
"Normally," he said, "I calculate my chances of winning a fight before choosing to draw my blades. I prefer logic over emotion. But today… I am very, very angry."
Eamon and Damien froze.
The man continued, "So if you two are here to support these dead guards… then it doesn't matter how strong you are. I will fight you."
He slowly placed a hand on one katana.
"And I will kill you."
The room fell into dead silence.
Then the man lifted his face and looked at them.
Eamon and Damien both stiffened.
It was Roneth.
The arrogant man Damien had bumped into earlier that afternoon. The same man who had once taken the adventurer trials alongside Eamon in Iskareth.
Damien's eyes widened. "You… what are you doing here?"
Roneth's face was stained with blood—some dry, some fresh—but his expression was unchanged, cold as iron.
Damien turned slightly to Eamon. "Eamon, he's the same arrogant guy I barged into today. A member of the Golden Griffon Guild."
Eamon nodded slowly, never lowering his guard. "I know who he is. He was with me in the Iskareth adventurer trials. If I remember correctly, he received Rank 3." He narrowed his gaze. "But it's still surprising he joined the strongest guild in the realm."
Roneth stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders as if waking from a long nap. He lifted one katana easily, despite the injuries visible on his arm and side.
"Oi, oi," Roneth said with a crooked smile. "I remember you too. Rank 2—the guy who rejected the Golden Griffon Guild's offer."
Eamon exhaled. "It's been a long time."
Roneth tilted his head. "Indeed."
Eamon took a step forward.
"May I know the reason for this bloodshed?"
Roneth's expression hardened instantly. "That depends."
Damien frowned. "Depends on what?"
Roneth pointed the bloody katana toward the two of them.
"Depends on the reason why you two are here."
Eamon lowered his sword slightly—not fully, but enough to show he didn't come to fight. "We're here to rescue those two people sitting in the last cell. They were framed. We just want to take them and get away."
Roneth blinked once. "Oh? So you're not here to support or protect these guards?"
"No," Eamon said. "But I still want to know why you killed them so brutally."
Roneth didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he raised his hand and pointed to the prison cell to his right. His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but from rage.
His face, smeared with crimson stains, darkened.
"The man you see dead inside that cell," Roneth said quietly, "is a member of my guild."
Eamon and Damien turned their eyes.
Inside the cell… hung a man.
Pinned to the wall by dozens of nails hammered through his limbs. His arms were stretched unnaturally. His legs twisted at odd angles. His eyes had been gouged out. His jaw hung loosely as if broken. The nails had torn through his flesh brutally, leaving him a mangled mess.
He looked like he had been tortured for hours.
Eamon's chest tightened.
Damien's breath stopped.
Roneth's voice dropped to a whisper. "His name was Karter. A good man. A strong man. A man who had a wife and two children waiting for him. He came to this town to help. To save people."
Roneth clenched his fists. "But these bastard guards captured him… tortured him… and murdered him."
Eamon felt something twist inside him. A feeling he knew too well—anger mixed with helplessness.
Roneth exhaled shakily. "I think we need to get out of here. The man named Haizer might come soon."
Damien stiffened. "Haizer? Gorochi's right hand man?"
Roneth wiped blood from his cheek. "He's also the prison executioner. The one responsible for the torture for my guild member, Karter. The man I came here to kill. But…" He touched his chest where blood was still oozing. "I'm injured. I can't fight him right now. Also, Karter died wanting to save those father-son. I couldn't protect him, but; I must save them at least."
He looked at Eamon and Damien seriously. "If you're only here to save the father and son… then we must leave before Haizer arrives."
Damien crossed his arms. "We? Since when did we decide to work together?"
Roneth raised an eyebrow. "Well… if you want to stay and fight Haizer, go ahead."
He smirked. "But I doubt either of you wants to die tonight."
Damien clicked his tongue. "Tch… fine. Whatever."
Eamon stepped toward the last cell. "I'll bring Felis and Orzen."
He rushed over, breaking the lock with one swift strike. Inside, Felis and Orzen lay on the floor, bruised and barely breathing. Felis' arm was swollen and purple. Orzen's face had dried blood on it. They were unconscious but still alive—by some miracle.
Eamon lifted Orzen gently onto his back. Damien carried Felis carefully, holding him like a fragile object.
Roneth walked to the cell containing Karter. His expression softened when he saw the body. He knelt down, slid his arms under the man's limp form, and lifted him slowly. Despite the dead weight, he held him with utmost care.
He wrapped Karter's body in a cloth torn from another guard's robe, tying it carefully so nothing would fall out.
Once all three were ready, Roneth moved to the stairs.
Eamon and Damien followed.
As they reached downstairs, they heard the guards approaching.
Within seconds, they were face to face with the guards.