Chapter 27: The Dungeon Trap
As Tola departed the auction corridors, he felt a familiar shiver racing through his veins. The blood-tattooed coin sat firmly in his pocket near his chest, pulsating in rhythm with his heart. It wasn't a loud magical power, but rather a sharp clarity of the senses; the whispers of the hall reached his ears as if spoken directly to him. His eyes flashed with a faint glint as he signaled Silas's men hidden in the shadows, then turned back to the hall to ignite chaos from within.
Above, Edward had begun his game with precision. Standing among the nobles, he loudly demanded the return of his gold, questioning the delay in the delivery of his "merchandise." His tone pierced the tense atmosphere like a needle. The attendees exchanged wary glances, and whispers of doubt began to rise. Tola moved among them like a ghost, leaning in to whisper to one after another:
"I heard the dungeons were emptied before the auction even ended…""Your gold will not return… you have all been deceived."
Short words, yet enough to sow the seeds of discord. Driven by anxiety, several nobles sent their personal guards down to the cellar to investigate. The guards descended the narrow stone steps, torches flickering in their hands, preceded by the echo of their heavy footsteps.
Below, the darkness was not still. Edward's soldiers, who had been sold as slaves, had silently freed themselves and unshackled the rest. They did not flee. Instead, they dispersed behind pillars, cages, and along the sides of the corridors. Broken chains were wrapped around their arms like improvised weapons. They were merely waiting for the moment.
The moment the first guards entered the main corridor, a sharp voice pierced the gloom: "Treachery! They are the Duke's men!"
In that instant, two torches were extinguished simultaneously, plunging half the cellar into thick shadows. One guard turned in panic, but a sword lunged from the dark, piercing his comrade's side. The man fell screaming, blood gushing onto the stone stairs. The guards grew confused, unable to distinguish the source of the voices.
They drew their swords, shouting at one another: "Betrayal!""Defend yourselves!"
In a single second, confusion turned into a frantic, internal massacre. Swords clashed in the narrow passage, and another man fell after receiving a blow from his own comrade, who mistook him for an attacker.
When the panic reached its peak, the liberated slaves struck. A chain wrapped around a guard's neck, tightening until a muffled choking sound was heard before his body collapsed. Another was dragged into an empty cell, his voice vanishing behind the screech of iron. The battle did not last long; in tight spaces, only those who know the darkness prevail.
Within minutes, silence returned. Blood stained the ancient stones, and the cellar filled with the scent of iron and dampness. The remaining guards were either dying or gasping their last breaths; those who tried to crawl toward the stairs were finished off with a final, decisive blow.
Above, the tension was peaking in the Great Hall. The nobles argued louder, and accusations began to fly openly. Suddenly, a muffled thud echoed from below—as if something heavy had struck the floor.
The conversation halted for a moment. "What was that sound?" someone asked anxiously.
Tola allowed a faint, barely visible smile to touch his lips, while Edward fixed his gaze on the cellar door as if awaiting an invisible announcement. Vengeance was no longer a thought whispered in the shadows.
It had begun to take shape… right beneath their feet