"Well, it seems the evening promises to be delightfully interesting," he said with a cheerful note. "I never could have guessed our next meeting would take place here, Alex."
Alex smiled in return, though far less sincerely.
"You won't believe it, but I didn't expect to meet you under these circumstances either, Jester."
"And what are we going to do?" came Siren's anxious voice in his thoughts. "His presence changes everything…"
Alex briefly tore his gaze away from the Jester, letting it sweep over the corpses carpeting the corridor floor like a bloody rug. Then, raising his voice, he addressed the Jester.
"So, the secret guest Lorenzo gathered all these poor souls for… is you?"
The Jester exhaled heavily and replied with a faint smile.
"I'm flattered the duke put in so much effort, but it would've been much quicker and easier if I could have just reached him without all this dancing around. Well, at least now I have company, which means the road won't be so boring."
His expression changed abruptly. The playful ease vanished, leaving only sharp, almost dangerous focus. The Jester shifted his gaze from Alex to the man still kneeling before him.
"Where is Lorenzo?" His voice was grim, each word pressing down on the poor soul's lungs like a weight.
The man trembled even harder, his voice breaking on the edge of collapse.
"In… in his underground room… Go straight… don't turn… Not many left… in the tunnels… That's all I know, I swear!"
"Perfect." The Jester smiled, and a bright magical circle flared on his raised hand.
Light-formed spikes erupted beneath the man's body, piercing through him with precise, merciless strikes. He didn't even have time to cry out. Within a second, streams of blood were trickling down the gleaming, sharpened edges.
The Jester turned to Alex.
"I hope you weren't planning on leaving him alive?"
Alex replied calmly.
"I'd have finished him off myself after getting the information."
"Then that's fine." The Jester spoke curtly, then snapped the neck of the other man he still held above the ground. The sound was dull, like a dry branch breaking. The body fell limply onto the stone floor. "We have nothing else to do here," he added, striding down the corridor.
Alex lingered for a moment, staring intently at the two corpses, then silently followed.
The Jester walked to his left, moving soundlessly like a shadow. The air still carried the scent of blood and magic.
"What are you planning?" Siren asked in a worried tone.
"Looks like he and I have the same target. And as long as that stays true, I don't mind a temporary alliance," Alex answered in thought. "If he wanted to kill me, he would've done it already. This way, I have a rare chance to see what the Jester can do in a fight. Though I doubt he'll show much—these enemies are weak… but still, something."
"I hope you know what you're doing," Siren whispered. "Be careful, my Lord."
"I'll be fine. If I sense danger, I'll use teleportation magic right away," Alex replied evenly, without slowing his pace.
They walked for several seconds through the dim, silent corridors, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. At last, the Jester broke the quiet.
"By the way, Alex… what do you want from Lorenzo?"
Without changing his stride, Alex answered calmly.
"First—just to talk. After that… it depends on how he answers my questions. And why do you need him?"
"I've spoken to him before," the Jester sighed, stretching slightly. "And I thought I made his place in the world very clear back then. But it seems he didn't get the message. So I'll have to… apply harsher methods."
His tone was still calm, but it carried an icy resolve. After a moment, he added:
"And after the talk—do you need him alive?"
Alex thought for a moment. The question hung in the air for several paces before he said:
"Honestly… no. I'm not too interested in his fate. I don't even care much about talking to him. I just need the documents for the 'Rays of Hope.' And I'm sure he has them."
"Interesting. Why do you need them?" the Jester asked with a faint smile.
"Let's just say he's not the best owner for such establishments," Alex shrugged.
"So… you want to become their patron yourself?"
Alex gave a short, amused breath.
"I have neither the time nor the experience for that. I'll simply put them in reliable hands. Someone I can trust."
"I see," the Jester nodded. "Good news. That means a little less work for me."
"What do you mean?"
"After his death, I'd have to find someone who could take control. The 'Rays' can't be left without an owner. But if you already have a candidate—perfect. In any case, they couldn't be worse than Lorenzo."
Alex raised an eyebrow slightly.
"You talk about them so… seriously. Do you actually care about the fate of orphanages?"
The Jester didn't answer right away. His gaze darkened slightly, his voice becoming more muted.
"Orphans have already been dealt a cruel hand by life. Places like that should give them a chance, hope—not take it away. The 'Ray of Hope' should be a light, not a trap."
Alex stopped for a moment, staring in surprise at the man's back.
"What?" The Jester turned to him calmly, without a trace of hostility.
"It's just… I'm shocked. I didn't expect to hear that from someone who worked with the Montameras."
The Jester gave an easy shrug.
"I don't know what kind of monster you've painted me as in your head, Alex, but it's not that simple. Not as black-and-white as you probably think."
"You talk nicely," Alex said with a faint smile. "I'll give you that. But your actions… let's just say they tell a different story."
"We'll have time to talk later," the Jester replied, turning back to the road. "Right now we have another goal, and this place isn't exactly suited for a heartfelt conversation."
"I agree," Alex said, catching up with him.
They walked side by side again, and silence briefly returned to the corridor.
"Looks like we're starting to find some common ground," the Jester remarked slyly. "Don't you think?"
Alex only gave a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
"Maybe."
Alex's thoughts began to spiral into chaos. "I don't understand anything at all. No logic in the Jester's actions, no hint of his motivation—nothing even close to clarity. The words that had just come from his lips, his concern for the orphans, his wish to find them a better guardian… None of it fit into the picture I've had in my head since the past. A picture painted by stories, facts, tragedies. A picture where the Jester was one of the main culprits of the great war that erased countless orphanages from the face of the earth and claimed the lives of thousands of innocent children. If he truly cares so much about these orphans, then how the hell could he have allowed that war to begin?"
As if in response to these thoughts, a quiet voice echoed in his mind—Sirena's:
"May I offer a suggestion?"
Alex replied briefly in thought:
"Go ahead."
"We know that the Jester is somehow connected to the start of the war, from the Montamers' words. But knowing the fact is one thing, and understanding the motive is another. They, like us, didn't know why exactly he did it. What if, right now, you're seeing the Jester… before some event happened that completely turned his mind upside down? What if whatever pushed him onto the path you remember… hasn't happened yet?"
Alex froze for a moment. He didn't immediately know how to respond.
Sirena's words slowly settled in his mind, like a complex puzzle whose pieces were only now beginning to fall into place. Not entirely yet—but with a hint of form.
"If you see contradictions in him, My Lord," Sirena continued gently, "then perhaps it's because this is not yet the Jester you remember. Perhaps the war was his reaction to some event that simply hasn't happened yet."
Alex glanced again at the man walking beside him. The smile on his face, the steady step—as if there were no bloodstained corridors and dozens of corpses behind them. And at the same time—something human in his words. Concern, pain, disappointment.
And then one single thought flashed through Alex's mind, sharp as lightning:
"Could it be that I've… been wrong all this time?"
"Everything I've said is just a suggestion. I'm not claiming anything for certain. I just… feel that the picture you had of the Jester as absolute evil is starting to crack. And you know it yourself. You have no clear explanation for what he does or why. No logic to tie it all together."
She paused briefly before adding with a touch of sadness:
"Take my words as just a theory. It might turn out to be false. Or not. Don't focus on it—just consider that it could be true. Either way, your next conversation with the Jester will clarify things much more."
"Maybe," Alex replied thoughtfully. "But no matter what he says, and no matter how he tries to win my trust… I won't be able to just believe him. Not after everything I know about him. Or thought I knew."
He sighed lightly, without stopping.
"It could be an elaborate manipulation. All of this—a mask, meant to calm me down, dull my vigilance, make me slip up. He could have calculated it all several steps ahead."
"That makes sense," Sirena agreed softly. "But think about it: what's in it for him? Why would he play such a game with you specifically?"
Alex clenched his jaw.
"And that… is exactly what I don't understand," he answered in thought. "That's the thing."
At that moment, he felt a touch on his shoulder. In the next instant, Alex jumped back sharply, his body instantly shifting into a fighting stance, the blade of his dark scythe glinting just centimeters from the Jester's neck.
The Jester simply raised his hands in a placating gesture and looked around mockingly.
"Sorry for rudely pulling you out of your deep thoughts or philosophical chat with your Sirena. But I must have called you a dozen times—and got no reaction at all. I thought you'd spotted something suspicious about me… but it turns out, you were just lost in thought."
Alex slowly straightened, exhaling.
"Got distracted. For a moment."
"I get distracted like that sometimes too," the Jester said with a light smile. "But now's not the time for it."
He gave a slight nod forward, into the dimly lit corridor, then turned his head toward Alex.
"Feel it?"
Alex took a deep breath and focused, trying to sense a foreign magical aura. After a few seconds of silence, he said:
"About fifty weak auras ahead… and around a dozen more—slightly stronger."
"Correct answer," the Jester smiled with satisfaction, keeping his pace as he walked forward.
Alex paused for a moment, watching him, then quickly caught up and raised an eyebrow.
"So you didn't sense them yourself?"
"I did," the Jester replied slyly. "A few minutes ago. But I was curious if you could. I can say you handle cold weapons well… but sensing mana is an entirely different art. I wanted to see how you'd manage."
Alex folded his arms across his chest, feigning offense with a nod.
"I hope the result impressed you?"
The Jester chuckled.
"Quite. Though I had to wait a bit."
His gaze slid to the dark scythe Alex carried calmly on his back.
"But… tell me, are you really planning to engage them in close combat?"
Alex gave him a silent, mildly puzzled look, prompting the Jester to quickly explain:
"I mean—why waste time and energy when you could just wipe them out with long-range magic attacks? You've already demonstrated that… in that cave."
Alex smiled faintly, tilting his head slightly.
"So you won't even deny that you saw it all?"
"Well, you did catch Heinrich and me in our little game. Why pretend anymore?" the Jester shrugged. "Though I must admit… I was surprised you could sense my mana."
"It wasn't easy," Alex replied calmly. "When I fought that monster in the cave, I wasn't paying much attention to Heinrich. But his strange interaction with that creature… or rather, the lack of it—made me suspicious. And also—his appearance. It reminded me, if only a little, of Reiner after his transformation."
The Jester nodded silently, and Alex went on:
"And during our last conversation, I wasn't really listening to Heinrich. I was trying to sense your mana. I managed it—barely. Your mana was strangely muted. Almost invisible."
"I underestimated you," the Jester smiled—this time, genuinely. "I'll be more careful from now on."
"Wait, if you already know I sensed your mana," Alex said, looking up at him, "then you should have realized I have no problem sensing others' mana. So why bother with this whole 'test'?"
"I just got bored," the Jester waved it off. "Wanted to entertain myself somehow, and that was the first thing that came to mind. That's all there is to it."
His voice hadn't even faded when the space ahead flared with dozens of magical blasts. From the darkness of the tunnel, lightning bolts, water streams, ice arrows, and fireballs shot toward them all at once. With a hiss and a loud roar, the magic filled the corridor. A powerful explosion shook the walls, sending clouds of dust and smoke into the air.
"Ha!" laughed one of the bandits, watching the blast. "After that, they're not getting up!"
"Easiest money I've ever made!" shouted another, turning to his comrades. Raising his hands high, he yelled cheerfully: "Tonight we're drinking so much the whole continent…"
His words were cut short. In the next instant, a magical projectile of light pierced straight through his chest, easily passing through his body. A hole the size of a fist appeared in his ribcage. The man looked down at it, watching the blood already flowing out, and collapsed to the floor without a sound.
Several bandits stared at the body in shock. Others, suddenly turning pale, shifted their gaze forward again. The dust began to settle, revealing the silhouettes of two figures. Alex and the Jester stood in the middle of the corridor completely unharmed. There wasn't a single trace of the magical strike on their skin.
Suddenly, some of the mages, regaining their senses, began gathering mana again, preparing for another volley. But they never got the chance.
The attack was instantaneous.
The darkness beneath the bandits' feet suddenly trembled, and in the next moment, spikes burst from the ground—black, sharpened, with curved blades like the claws of a demon. Among them appeared blindingly white, almost transparent spears of light, emitting a piercing sound like the whistle of death itself.
The first of them impaled entire bodies, driving through groins, stomachs, chests, throats, tearing flesh and breaking bones with a sickening crunch. Several men were hurled meters into the air, then slammed against the ceiling with such force that their brains and bones splattered across the walls. One mage managed to scream before his head cracked open with a disgusting snap, crushed between two spikes.
Another was ripped in half—a dark spike shattered his spine, after which a light one shot up from the ground and split him from pelvis to chest. Internal organs spilled onto the floor, drenching everything around in a bloody rain.
One of the bandits fell to his knees and tried to beg for mercy, stretching his hand forward, but his palm was instantly pierced by a thin, needle-like spike. A second later, another—thicker and wider—drove through his face from chin to back of skull, leaving nothing but a mangled piece of flesh where his head had been.
Someone tried to run, but the spikes chased after them like living things. One mage cast a protective spell, but a blade of darkness tore through the barrier like paper and skewered his chest, dragging his insides out with it.
In just a few seconds, the entire group was reduced to bloody pulp. Flesh, bones, shattered skulls—everything turned the corridor floor into a true slaughterhouse. The walls and ceiling were splattered with crimson, and the air was heavy with the hellish stench of death.
When the last body fell to the stone floor with a wet splat, the darkness and light faded. The spikes slowly vanished in flashes of light and shadow, as if they had never existed. Silence once again filled the corridor.
And through that silence, like ghosts, Alex and the Jester walked calmly forward. No survivors. No witnesses. Only death—and the two who had brought it.
The Jester's gaze slid over the blood-soaked corridor. His eyes lingered on the mutilated corpses, the severed limbs, the scattered organs and broken bones. He froze for a moment, then calmly turned to Alex and, almost playfully, said:
"I dare say… remind me, how old are you again?"
Alex raised an eyebrow slightly, but replied without emotion:
"Seventeen."
"Seventeen," the Jester repeated thoughtfully, an easy smile spreading across his face. "Just curious. I've lost count of how many people I've met in my life… And honestly, this is the first time I've seen a teenager handle human corpses so calmly. And even… create them with such bloodthirsty enjoyment."
"I don't care whether the one in front of me is a monster or a human," Alex answered just as calmly. "If it's an enemy, I'll kill them. Without a shred of mercy or doubt."
The Jester laughed softly, lightly, but with a hint of genuine surprise.
"You never stop surprising me," he said, then turned, motioning for them to move on. "Well… I suggest we pick up the pace. I'm getting tired of this damn corridor. The path ahead is straight, so we can just run—without getting distracted by side tunnels."
Alex nodded, but immediately added:
"According to the man you interrogated, there could still be bandits hiding in the tunnels. It would be better to finish them off now, before they come to the surface once all this is over."
The Jester grew serious for a moment and nodded.
"I was thinking the same thing. And I have a solution. We simply stop hiding our magical aura. Even these weaklings will feel that kind of power and crawl out on their own—like rats from their holes. And then we'll be there to greet them."
Alex narrowed his eyes slightly.
"And you're sure they'll all come out? After feeling your monstrous aura on top of mine?"
The Jester spread his hands in mock innocence.
"Well, if you sense even one left, you can just collapse the tunnel. I doubt any of them know teleportation magic. They'll die in the dark, and that will be that."
"No further questions," Alex replied shortly.
The dark scythe vanished from his hands, dissolving into the air. Alex and the Jester exchanged a glance, and in the next moment, as if on cue, they surged forward down the corridor. Their auras flared to full strength, like two colliding hurricanes: Alex's deep, dense darkness and the Jester's cold, destructive light.
The rest of the dungeon didn't yet know what was coming for it. But it would soon find out.
Alex and the Jester raced through the corridor. The air around them trembled with the density of their mana, and the atmosphere grew heavier with each step.
Within a minute, a new group of bandits appeared ahead—men who had just stepped out of a side tunnel and didn't even have time to react before the Jester's palm lit up with a bright magic circle.
"Catch," he said coldly.
Hundreds of sharpened light spears shot forward instantly, like a rain of arrows. They whistled through the air, tearing through the silence—and through flesh. The first row of bandits didn't even have time to raise their hands before the spears pierced their chests, throats, and heads. One man on the edge screamed as dozens of spears tore through his body at once, sinking into his soft ribs and exiting the other side. Another's leg was torn off, and as he fell and tried to crawl away, the next wave of spears drove through his back, pinning his body to the stone floor.
When the last flash of light faded, nothing remained of the bandits but mutilated corpses bleeding onto the stone floor.
Meanwhile, Alex slowed slightly, focusing. He sensed weak magical auras pulsing in a side tunnel several dozen meters away. Raising his hand, several dense projectiles of darkness shot upward like hungry predators, striking the tunnel's ceiling. The explosion brought the rocks down, blocking the only passage.
But a moment later, Alex stopped abruptly. The Jester, who had taken several more steps ahead, also stopped and glanced back with feigned impatience.
"Don't tell me you're already tired?"
Alex didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the blocked passage.
"There's one thing we might not have considered," he said calmly. "If there's even one earth mage in there, they'll get out easily."
The Jester opened his mouth to object, but stopped himself just in time. He rubbed the back of his head and muttered with a carefree, almost childlike expression:
"Ah… right. Didn't think about that."
Suddenly—dull thuds came from within the blockage. Screams. Men's voices merging into panic.
"Ideal," the Jester whispered, smiling wickedly. A magic circle flared to life once more on his palm.
From the stone trap beyond the wall came piercing cries, quickly escalating into agony. Men screamed, fought, begged. Then—silence. Only dead quiet remained.
"Done," the Jester sighed. "I can't sense a single aura anymore."
Alex nodded, smiling faintly. The two of them moved forward again.
A few more minutes of running passed before the narrow corridor suddenly opened into a vast cavern. It was almost perfectly round, with a high stone dome and well-organized lighting—dozens of crystals and torches skillfully placed along the walls, spilling soft light over the space.
At its center, slightly lower down, lay a large arena with a stone floor covered in the traces of old battles. High, tiered seating surrounded it on three sides. It was here, on the upper platform, that Alex and the Jester emerged.
To the right, in the arena wall, a narrow passage led into another tunnel. From it drifted a faint, barely perceptible magical aura—even weaker than those the bandits had carried.
Alex swept his eyes over the place and, frowning slightly, asked,
"What is this place?"
The Jester stopped at the edge of the platform, glancing down indifferently.
"An arena. This is where Lorenzo holds fights between slaves. And auctions. It's where he amuses himself with everyone he considers 'property.'"
Alex lowered his eyes. His voice carried neither anger nor emotion—only a hollow, dim sigh.
"So that weak magical aura I sensed…"
"…Slaves," the Jester confirmed softly, gazing toward the tunnel. "Mask your aura."
Alex nodded silently. His dark mana slowly faded, as did the light around the Jester. Their silhouettes became ordinary—indistinguishable from the stone walls. Both dropped easily down into the arena and headed for the tunnel in the wall. It led deeper, further into the bowels of this cursed place.
After a few meters of walking, they stepped into another cavern—and this time, darkness greeted them.
There was almost no light here—only a few faint crystals fixed to the ceiling, flickering like dying embers. The walls were damp, coated in slime and mold. The air was thick, suffocating—a heavy mix of dampness, rot, the stench of corpses, and human waste. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, softened by years of moisture, in places turned to mud.
And everywhere—cages. Haphazard, as if quantity mattered more than order. They were made of earth magic: jagged, torn bars of stone rose from floor to ceiling, forming prisons right within the cavern's body. Some bars were so narrow they resembled blades—one wrong move and the rock would slice into skin.
In each cage—humans, elves, beastfolk, and spirits. Dozens. Hundreds. And more in the darkness that even the dim magic light could not pierce. In one cage—only children. Emaciated, with sunken eyes, matted hair, and bruises on their frail bodies. Their legs were drawn up beneath them, their eyes empty, as though these small beings had long since said goodbye to the world.
In the next—women. Many were wounded, with torn scraps of clothing, deep scars, or fresh injuries. Some held small children—tiny, barely alive. Eyes—empty. No surprise, no fear. Only apathy.
The men were further back, in the largest cages. Emaciated, their faces stripped of individuality. They looked like animals long since broken. Some lay unmoving. From several cages came an unbearable stench—inside were the dead. Long dead. But no one had bothered to remove them.
Around each neck was an iron collar. Deep indentations marked the skin, as though the metal had tightened under magical force. On some, blood ran down from the wounds.
A few of the slaves slowly lifted their heads as Alex and the Jester passed. Their gaze carried no hope or fear. Only silent astonishment. As though their minds refused to believe someone could appear from the darkness bringing anything other than pain.
And even then, those eyes remained empty. Empty like this whole place. Empty like what was left of their souls.
Alex felt something bitter and burning rise in his throat. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to make a single move, not to let anything show. The bile he was barely holding back pressed against him stubbornly from within. Cold sweat coated his skin. The smell of rot, blood, and human despair seeped into his lungs, dissolving into every breath.
"And I thought… that after ruined cities, mangled bodies, and death dogging my heels during the war, I'd never see worse. But this… This is worse."
Scattered coughs, the rattle of chains, quiet sobbing—all blended into a ghastly symphony of human suffering. Alex forced himself not to look away.
The Jester didn't speak a word either. He only tilted his head slightly, silently taking in the scale of what he saw. Then he touched his ear lightly—there, a communication artifact gleamed, identical to the one recently given to Alex.
"I'm in position," the Jester said dryly.
Almost immediately, Heinrich's calm voice sounded in his ear.
"Understood. We're ready."
The Jester traced a magic circle on the ground a few centimeters away. Within seconds, several dozen men were standing on it. They wore dark robes and masks, their faces half-hidden. Heinrich stood among them—unmasked, but with a deep hood. His eyes met Alex's—calm, cold. One short nod. Alex returned it in kind.
Heinrich stepped closer to the Jester, stopping at his side.
"My lord," he said, lowering his head, "what is he doing here?" His gaze flicked toward Alex.
"He's helping me," the Jester replied without the faintest trace of irony. "You can relax."
"Understood," Heinrich answered curtly, stepping back slightly.
From the group of men, six immediately stepped forward. They moved to different corners of the cavern, forming a perimeter. Their palms touched the stone floor. Only a few seconds passed before the ground began to tremble—not violently, but noticeably.
Then—a sharp sound.
The stone cages in which the slaves had been sitting began to vanish. The bars beneath them drew back into the ground, one after another, slowly, as though the cavern itself was exhaling the centuries-old stench of slavery.
But no one rushed to run.
Some slaves looked around in bewilderment, others touched the stone floor in disbelief that it was smooth again. But most… simply sat there, unmoving. As though the cages had gone, but the chains in their minds remained.
The Jester let out a heavy sigh.
"Expected reaction," he muttered.
He took a few steps forward. Several more men in robes followed him. All of them raised their hands, and dozens of fireballs shot into the air, hanging beneath the cavern's ceiling. Now it was bright as day. Everything that had been hidden in darkness—every wound, every trace of beatings, every stain of blood—now lay before all eyes, stripped of concealment.
The Jester stopped in the center and swept his gaze over the cavern. When he spoke, his voice rang out clear and loud.
"I know how your eyes look at me. Not with hope. Not with faith. But with silent submission—as if everything has already been decided, as if life ended for you long ago."
He paused for a moment, looking at those who had turned their faces toward him. Then he went on.
"I have not come here as a messiah. I do not promise to make you happy. I cannot return to you those you have lost. I will not change the past."
His voice grew quieter, but warmer—almost aching.
"But I can give you one thing. A chance. One, single, but real chance to start with a clean slate. Without chains. Without cages. Without masters who called you property."
The Jester briefly turned back, gesturing toward the men in robes.
"These people will now transport you to a safe place. There will be food. Clothing. Beds. You will be given medical care. And most importantly—a choice in how you wish to continue your lives."
He turned again to face the slaves. The fireballs flickered above, casting fiery reflections over his figure.
"I know Lorenzo has turned your lives into hell. He wanted you to forget what it means to be free. But today everything changes. Today he will answer for it all. And not only I—this young man," he gestured toward Alex, "will also have a hand in it. Together, we will make him pay. For every tear. For every corpse. For every scar on your bodies and in your souls."
The Jester paused. Then he walked forward slowly, speaking to the slaves again.
"However, you may remain here. Die in the dark. No one will force you to go. But if you still have even a spark of will—stand. Go to those people. They will lead you out. Not into a fairy tale, no—but to a place where you will no longer be valued only as merchandise."
His voice grew firm, decisive.
"I give you the chance to be free and to live anew. Whether or not you take this chance—that is for you to decide."
And with these words, he fell silent, letting the quiet reign in the cavern.
The Jester slowly approached Heinrich, who stood apart, watching the process.
"From here, you handle it," he said briefly.
"My lord, you can count on me," Heinrich replied with a slight bow, showing not a trace of doubt.
The Jester merely nodded and, turning, headed toward the exit of the slave cavern. As he drew level with Alex, he said shortly,
"Let's go."
Alex cast one last look around the dark cavern, filled with the marks of suffering and death, lingering on the figures of people who had just been given a chance at life. His fingers clenched into a fist on their own. Then he turned sharply and quickly caught up with the Jester.
Returning to the arena, both leapt up to the stands in a single bound. They did not linger there—the narrow corridor ahead was the final stage of their path to the duke. Without stopping, they broke into a run again, unleashing their magical auras once more, letting them surge outward in powerful waves—a warning to anyone still alive in these cursed dungeons.
Within minutes, another group of bandits appeared. There were about forty of them, well armed but far too slow.
"I'll handle this," Alex said shortly, without slowing.
On the move, he created a dark magic circle, and in the next instant a solid torrent of black darkness burst from it. Like a living whip, it lashed forward with a deep roar, sweeping through the enemy ranks. The bandits didn't even have time to cry out—their bodies simply evaporated under the assault of pure destructive power. Not a scrap, not a drop of blood remained—only scorched stone beneath their feet.
"No magical aura in the nearest tunnels," the Jester remarked, glancing around.
"Good," Alex replied, quickening his pace again.
A few more minutes of running, and before them loomed massive doors of dark stone.
"Well," the Jester drawled, peering at them intently, "looks like our favorite duke is hiding behind these."
He cast a glance at Alex.
"Ready?"
"Yes," Alex answered curtly.
The Jester nodded and stepped up to the doors, pressing both hands against them before trying to push. The stone gate didn't budge. He strained again—same result. Alex, standing slightly behind, sent a few projectiles of darkness at the doors. They barely touched the surface before dissipating into nothing.
The Jester smirked crookedly.
"I wonder how many mages Lorenzo had to buy to enchant these doors so well that even your attacks couldn't break through."
"Those were weak shots," Alex replied, "just to check if the doors were enchanted."
"Ahhh," the Jester said, clenching his fist. "Got it now."
A familiar vicious grin spread over his face.
"So, how dramatic do you want our entrance to be?"
"As much as possible," Alex replied, clenching his fist too and gathering dark mana into it.
"Then… on the count of three," the Jester whispered, stepping back and drawing his arm behind him. "One," he said, taking a deep breath.
"Two…" Alex felt his heart beat a little faster.
"Three!"
The two lunged forward in perfect sync and struck the doors with immense force.