Chapter 117 – Unexpected (2)
A fortress built atop a sheer cliff.
Though battered and crumbled in places by the storms of war and the passage of time, it still served its purpose.
Owl narrowed his eyes.
As expected, armed men were standing guard on the walls. Despite the absence of any people in the vicinity, the vigilance was severe, which meant Toreld must be inside.
"But the problem is, how do we get in."
Owl scanned the area around the fortress.
Aside from the bridge that connected the main gate to the ground, no other proper passage could be seen.
Verden jerked his chin toward the gate.
"Wouldn't breaking through the front be fine too."
It was, after all, the simplest way.
But Owl shook his head firmly.
"Our goal is capture. The best case is to subdue only the Black Wolf and abduct him."
If he were to rampage while using a magic item, things would get troublesome.
"That's why, slipping in first and attempting a silent subjugation is the best strategy. If that becomes impossible, then we'll have no choice but to clash head on… but with another option at hand, a frontal assault is nothing but the worst plan."
"Then how do you plan to slip in."
Owl pointed at the fortress.
"Either climb directly up the walls, or pass through that waterway midway down the cliff."
Each of them needed to pick their route.
Moving together would only be inefficient.
Owl spoke first.
"In Gray, I mainly took requests involving infiltration and assassination. Slipping past surveillance and sneaking in is child's play to me. So, I think I'm more suited to climb the walls."
Verden also had
But it was limited in uses, and if he cast a spell beyond a certain level, or received a shock, the invisibility would immediately dissolve.
Not knowing what situations might arise, it was reasonable to follow the opinion of the more experienced Owl.
And besides, they didn't even know where Toreld was.
Most likely he was inside the fortress, but the possibility that he was hiding underground couldn't be dismissed either.
"Fine. Then I'll take the waterway."
Owl toward the inner fortress by the wall.
Verden toward the underground by the waterway.
Having decided, it was time to move.
Owl immediately shot an arrow tied with a rope toward the cliff beneath the fortress. After tugging it and confirming it was firmly lodged, he launched himself into the air.
Landing smoothly atop the cliff, Owl began scaling swiftly toward the fortress.
Verden headed the other way.
Casting flight so as not to be noticed by the sentries on the wall, he dropped toward the cliff below, then clung close to the cliff where the fortress was built, and rose in altitude.
He reached the waterway without being spotted.
'Since it's an abandoned fortress, looks like no water has flowed here for a long time.'
No worries about filth or stench, it seemed.
Standing before the rusted iron bars, Verden drew up his magic power.
The flames quietly wrapped around Verden.
The bars within that range slowly began to glow hot. Once they had turned completely red, he pressed the Oculus to them.
Crack!
The sudden change in temperature shattered the bars.
Beyond them lay a pitch-dark underground waterway.
With Suggestion cast, Verden's figure vanished into the darkness.
***
Rats on the ground, bats on the ceiling,
scurried about and screeched at the unfamiliar presence. This place seemed completely neglected, as there were no traps nor guards at all.
Verden walked through the waterway, glancing around.
'It's sloping upward bit by bit.'
The waterway had a gentle incline.
Structurally, a long central corridor stretched ahead, and along the walls at regular intervals were other passages, but they were too small for a person to pass through.
So, by following this path straight, he was bound to find an entrance leading into the fortress.
Verden quickened his pace.
Casting flight, he sped through the waterway, and within minutes a staircase appeared. At the top was an iron door that looked as though it hadn't been opened in ages.
It seemed not to be locked, so with a little push, the door creaked open.
'This must be the fortress underground.'
An old torch still burned.
Proof that people were here.
With the Robe of the Wanderer, he concealed his presence and form.
Since it was underground, making a bit of noise wouldn't have been a big problem, but there was no merit in slaughtering all of Toreld's underlings after coming this far by stealth.
Floating near the ceiling, he quickly began his search. If Toreld was not underground, he would have to head aboveground at once.
Though the duration of invisibility was somewhat long, there was no reason to waste time idling.
Not long after,
Verden sensed something strange.
'Why is no one here.'
It was just as it seemed.
He had traveled quite a distance, yet hadn't encountered a single person. Considering the stacked firewood in the torch, it was clearly being maintained…
────!
Then suddenly, a faint tremor brushed his senses.
Something like a cracking edge…
'A scream.'
Judging by the deep tone, it was a man's voice. Perhaps Toreld was there.
Following the sound, at the end of the corridor appeared a narrow staircase, just wide enough for two men to pass.
'I thought this was the lowest floor, but there's another level below.'
Sharpening sight, hearing, and even touch, he moved his steps.
The further down he went, the stronger grew a stench of blood that hadn't been present above.
At last, when he reached the end, blood covered every surface.
Strangely, there were no corpses, but on the floor ahead lay bloody trails as if bodies had been dragged away.
'The blood isn't dry, it hasn't been long.'
───Aaaaarrrghhh!
Once again, the scream rang out.
'Close.'
The corpses dragged into the darkness.
Verden left behind the pool of blood and moved forward.
Iron bars lined both sides of the corridor, as if it were the fortress's underground prison, and within them lay skeletal remains long since abandoned.
The large cell at the very end.
The traces of dragged corpses led there, and at its center was the source of the screams.
'That is…'
A man whose right arm and left leg were soaked in blood.
His face was covered in bruises and blood, yet it was a face Verden recognized. He had never seen him in person, but it was the same one drawn on the wanted posters scattered all over the city.
'Why is the mage who caused the flight prohibition here?'
A question mark floated in his mind.
More than that, what stirred his curiosity even more were the black-robed man standing beside the mage, and the corpses strewn about.
Then a voice rang out.
"Speak. Where is the Orb of the Dead."
"I, I…"
When the man hesitated, the black-robed figure swept his staff.
A spiral-shaped strand of black power formed, and the moment it touched a corpse, a scream burst from the man's throat, echoing throughout the prison.
A magical reaction using the corpse as a medium.
By any measure, it was certainly a form of black magic.
Another question mark formed in Verden's mind.
'Why is a black magician here?'
The Union, Count Plishr, the third prince, the black magician…
There seemed to be some intersection between them, but for now he could not grasp the reason at all.
'But there is one thing certain.'
The words written on the flight prohibition edict.
[The mage injured the count's son and fled.]
This was certainly false.
Otherwise, there would not be a black magician torturing a mage in a place like this. Instead, it seemed to be deeply connected to the so-called 'Orb of the Dead' that the black magician mentioned.
What was being hidden here.
It was something he intended to uncover from this moment on.
Verden aimed the Oculus at the black magician.
***
Find out the whereabouts of the Orb of the Dead.
The black magician, carrying out the Master's command, tortured the traitor's mind.
He twisted the mind with painful curses, to wring out the truth of where the stolen orb had been hidden.
But the traitor's will was formidable.
Even on the verge of death, even with blood spilling from his throat as he screamed, even as the heat boiling within his body made breathing nearly impossible, he did not open his mouth.
'Ordinary curses are not enough.'
So he broke his promise, killed a man who had secretly come to spy on the black magician, and used the corpse to place an even stronger curse upon the traitor.
"Aah… aaahhh…!"
The mind torn to shreds.
The traitor fainted several times during the torment, but as if the pain had branded even his soul, he dribbled spit and muttered unconsciously.
It hurts too much.
'Just a little more.'
So judged the black magician, who immediately killed Toreld's men in the fortress underground to procure the corpses he lacked.
If Toreld were to discover this, it would become troublesome, but such things did not matter. To the black magician, the Master's order was the sole priority.
Everything else was meaningless.
As the number of used corpses piled up, more words spilled from the traitor's lips.
It hurts.
Save me.
Stop.
The traitor's complexion turned deathly pale.
The severed stumps of his limbs were infected from the effect of the Lizard Sword.
Far from being treated, the bleeding had merely been wrapped with rough bandages, so the inflammation spread through his entire body. His body was burning, and pus filled his wounds.
His head spun as though the world itself was whirling, and as the infection spread to his heart, he could not even properly cast a first-tier spell.
His breathing turned irregular.
It would not be strange if he died at any moment.
Of course, the black magician did not care for the traitor's life.
What mattered most was the orb's whereabouts.
For that, he would gladly grind down the body and spirit of another.
"Ahh…"
A powerless sigh left the traitor's lips.
His eyes unfocused, his mouth hanging open as he drooled blood-tinged saliva—his appearance was unspeakably wretched.
'This should suffice.'
Without a flicker of hesitation, the black magician seized the traitor's throat.
"I will ask, traitor. Where is the Orb of the Dead."
The wavering pupils rolled about, then fixed upon the black magician.
For the briefest of moments, the traitor regained clarity. Though moments ago he had seemed at death's door, his eyes now burned with fierce spirit.
"Begone… you… disgrace… of black magic…"
Thud.
The traitor collapsed to the ground with a groan.
And then he began to laugh. A laugh that mocked his own suffering, the curses, and even the black magician.
The black magician bit his lips.
'What kind of man is this…!'
The traitor's spirit did not break.
He had cursed him with enough to shatter the minds of ten men, and yet he still endured.
It was incomprehensible.
Why did he resist so much, and for what purpose had he betrayed. He wanted to crush him to death right then, but he had yet to hear an answer.
Smothered by frustration, the black magician clenched and unclenched his fist nervously.
But he could not stop here.
If he failed, he would end up no different from the corpses littering the place.
The black magician began his work again.
He connected corpses to the mage, preparing to curse him once more.
Thwack!
"…What?"
A fragment of stone flew from somewhere, shattering the black magician's right hand.