SWY 68

“P-please… spare me…”

“Answer me first! The silver-haired one, where is he? Is he dead?!”

Roman’s face turned pale from lack of air. His eyes were rolling back.

“I… I can’t breathe…”

Just before he passed out, Sharhan slightly eased the pressure around his neck. Roman gasped, mouth open wide, drawing in ragged breaths. But Sharhan didn’t intend to let him recover fully. He squeezed again, then gave him just enough air to keep talking.

“I’ll ask one last time. The silver-haired one?”

“H-he’s alive.”

Sharhan let out a short breath. The crushing weight that had choked his throat finally lifted.

‘I knew it. There’s no way Lestel would die and leave me behind.’

Sharhan licked his dry lips and steadied his voice.

“Where is he?”

“He’s locked in another cell… where they keep the slaves for the arena… kuh…”

Hearing the words arena and slaves, Sharhan’s fury flared and he tightened his grip again. Roman coughed violently.

“Where is this prison?! Give me the exact location!”

“G-go out of here and turn left. First… first iron door you see… kuh.”

“Is there a guard?”

“N-no… they’re tied up tight, so…”

Remembering how he’d been when he woke up, hands and feet bound tightly behind iron bars, Sharhan nodded. If not for Derry, he wouldn’t have escaped either.

“The key?”

“S-Sam has it. So p-please, spare me…”

“What do they do in the arena?”

“E-every morning, they t-toss in the captives unarmed into an arena full of moving corpses… sometimes they make the slaves fight each other until only one survives. People bet on it… winners get more food, losers get less…”

“You sick bastards.”

The curse slipped out. The thought of these monsters turning desperate survivors into a source of entertainment filled Sharhan with disgust. Derry clenched his jaw, rage burning in his eyes.

“P-please, spare me…”

Roman begged over and over, but Sharhan had no intention of sparing him. He briefly considered using him as a hostage, but it would only be a nuisance. Even if Delos prized Roman, Sharhan knew the kind of man he was. Delos wouldn’t hesitate to discard a subordinate who was no longer useful.

Sharhan had all the information he needed. His eyes darkened with murderous intent as he tightened his grip. Roman’s neck cracked and he began to gurgle, thrashing and clawing at Sharhan’s arms.

But it was no use. Sharhan only squeezed harder.

Moments later, Roman’s body went limp. Sharhan loosened one arm, grabbed his head, and twisted it.

Crack.

Just in case he had only passed out from lack of air. Now there was no doubt. Roman collapsed to the floor with wide, lifeless eyes. Killing, no matter how justified, never felt good. Sharhan’s face contorted as he stepped over to Sam.

Surprisingly, Sam was still alive, groaning in agony. His body was charred and mangled, but he clung to life.

“Any of the inn people dead?”

Now that Lestel was confirmed alive, Sharhan needed to check on the Red Wolves. Regret flickered in him for killing Roman too quickly.

Sam opened his mouth as if to answer, but his head slumped to the side. He was dead. Sharhan rummaged through his scorched body and found the key. It seemed to be the master key for all the cells.

“Let’s go.”

Taking a deep breath, Sharhan picked up the weapon lying by Sam’s feet, a hammer Sam had drawn just before being hit by the fireball. It was short, but heavy, and could deal serious damage with a good swing.

Sharhan practiced a few swings to get the feel of it. Derry, watching nervously, swallowed hard and replied.

“Yes.”

“If you see an enemy, don’t hesitate, attack. If you hesitate, we’ll die. We need to save Lestel and the others.”

“I know. D-don’t worry.”

Though his face was pale from witnessing Sam’s death, Derry seemed mentally stable. Sharhan gave his shoulder a firm pat, proud of his inner strength, and led the way. He gripped the hammer tightly.

Outside the cell was another hallway lined with similar iron-barred doors. It had taken a while for them to reach the cell where he and Derry were held, now he understood why. There were many.

Inside the cells, two or three people lay unconscious. Sharhan unlocked each one. He couldn’t wake them or bring them along, but he hoped they’d escape on their own once they came to.

“Stay close behind me.”

He climbed the stairs and carefully opened the heavy iron door. Despite his caution, it creaked. Tense, he peered into the hallway, it was quiet. No guards in sight. Roman hadn’t lied.

Sharhan stepped out, moving silently. He didn’t know where they were, but the place was luxurious. Carpets on the floor, paintings on the walls, and decorative porcelain, it was furnished like a noble’s mansion. It felt grotesque, disconnected from the ruined world outside.

“This place feels… wrong.”

Derry whispered, rubbing the goosebumps on his neck. Sharhan nodded silently, putting a finger to his lips.

They continued cautiously, alert for any sounds or footsteps. Then they saw it, the iron door Roman had mentioned.

Sharhan opened it as quietly as possible. A wave of damp air hit them. The smell was awful – a mixture of filth, blood, and mold. Groans and sobbing echoed through the space. One door, just one, separated a grotesque hell from the rest of the world.

They hurried down the stairs. More iron-barred cells, similar to where Sharhan had been held. But here, the prisoners looked worse.

Some were missing limbs. Others lay collapsed, oozing blood and pus. One man stared at the ceiling, giggling like a madman.

“Wh-who…?”

“No, no! I fought yesterday! It’s not my turn today!”

“Please, give us food…”

“M-my body… it’s rotting… please, medicine…”

Terrified, the prisoners screamed, mistaking Sharhan for a hunter. He ignored them and scanned the cells, searching for Lestel’s silver hair. It would’ve stood out, but no matter how carefully he looked, he didn’t see it.

‘Was that bastard lying?’

Sharhan bit his lip in frustration and approached someone who looked relatively lucid.

“Have you seen someone with silver hair?!”

“S-silver hair… they took him. Just now. With the others they caught last night.”

“Where?!”

“To the arena. They said… since someone killed the Lord’s right-hand man… he was in a foul mood. So they took them to blow off steam. I-I doubt he’ll survive… the arena is hell. They throw them in with the corpses… then watch them die slowly… while cuddling their new consorts.”

The man trembled with fear. Sharhan grabbed the bars and asked urgently.

“Where is the arena?”

“I-I don’t know. They come pick us, blindfold us, and take us there… A-are you here to rescue the silver-haired one?”

“Yes.”

“P-please, can you save us too?!”

The man cried out desperately.

“I doubt we can. But I can open your cells. That much I can do.”

“Please. I don’t want to be caged like an animal anymore!”

“Are there any prisoners left from this morning?”

Sharhan had focused only on hair color while searching, so he wasn’t sure if any familiar faces were there.

“Over there… the opposite cell.”

The man pointed. Several people lay bleeding, badly beaten. Sharhan hurried over, unlocked the door, and checked each of them.

They were survivors from the Blue Spider’s Goblet. Thankfully, they were injured but alive.

But when Sharhan looked at the last man, he fell silent.

The merchant guild employee, John, was dead.