"Where do you plan to go now?"
The boy shrugged, an elegant motion far too practiced for someone dressed in rags.
"Where else? I'll head for a nearby town, as planned. Enough ruckus here already."
His nonchalance was theatrical, almost rehearsed. But beneath it, Arthur sensed calculation.
His fingers drummed absently against the railing, the cold metal singing dully beneath the leather of his gloves.
"Hmm. You've got some useful skills, Archie. Tell me, do you plan on serving another noble anytime soon?"
Archie's posture stiffened, not by much, but enough. Just a heartbeat of hesitation, a flicker of wariness that clouded his gaze.
"Pardon me, but I've had enough of nobles. I don't want to get entangled in their games anymore."
It was a wise choice, for someone without the tools to play and survive.
Arthur's gaze narrowed as he asked:
"Are you certain? It won't be long before they come after you."
Archie paused for a moment, like a prey animal deciding whether to run or freeze.
"I appreciate the warning, sir. But I've lived this way my whole life. I'm used to it by now."
'I don't know if he's foolish or rather brave. After all, the two are sometimes indistinguishable.'
"Very well. You may take your leave. As planned, you will find your siblings at the station."
"Yes. Then, I'll get going."
Archie turned and walked away, his silhouette swallowed by the dim torchlight and shifting shadows of the corridor.
Not long after, the nobleman, with his purpose fulfilled, rose from his private box across the arena. His cloak fluttered behind him as he descended into the depths of the underground passages, vanishing like a ghost into the gloom.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the darkened corridor where Archie had vanished. His fingers drummed a quiet rhythm on the worn wood of the armrest.
"Alfred, have a man tail the boy. And have another infiltrate that nobleman's place."
"Understood, young master."
There was still one matter left to attend to before they left this place.
'Hmm... I wonder how he's doing?'
***
Arthur and Alfred descended into the depths of the arena, slipping past drunken gamblers and nobles basking in the aftermath of blood-soaked entertainment.
The air thickened as they moved further in, heavy with the metallic tang of rust and something fouler, perhaps unwashed bodies, dried sweat, and despair so potent it seeped into the very walls.
Dim torches flickered against damp stone, their feeble glow barely keeping the darkness at bay.
The underground dungeon stretched before them, a grotesque display of men reduced to commodities, their worth measured in how much pain they could endure for sport.
A greasy-looking man in fine but unkempt clothes greeted Arthur with a practiced smile, his hands rubbing together as if already counting his profit.
"My, my~ which one would you like to buy, Sir?"
The voice was oily, its owner no different.
Arthur didn't bother responding. His gaze swept the rows of iron-barred cells, their occupants little more than hollow shells — some crouched in corners, others staring ahead with vacant, deadened eyes.
The few who still held on to their defiance glared at him, their hatred a flickering ember in the suffocating dark.
And then, Arthur's gaze found him in the dim corner of the cell.
Ralph.
He sat at the back of his cell, his body unnaturally still, yet the tension coiled within him was unmistakable.
Even in shackles, even drugged into dullness, he radiated the quiet menace of a beast lying in wait.
His crimson eyes, though hazy, flickered with an instinctive awareness, like a wolf assessing whether to bite or remain caged.
Arthur stepped in front of his cell.
"I'll take this one."
The merchant's smile widened as if I had just made his evening.
"Ah. An excellent choice, I'd say! But I must warn you, this one's temper is… volatile. He requires a firm hand, if you catch my meaning."
'I already know. I don't need your warnings.'
Thick iron shackles bound Ralph's wrists, the kind used for beasts, not men. The drugs they had fed him dulled his gaze, yet Arthur saw it. Beneath the haze, awareness stirred. Instinct fought.
"I wish to speak with him. Alone."
It wasn't a request.
The man hesitated, before bowing with that same ingratiating smile.
"Of course, sir. But I can only give you ten minutes."
"That will be more than enough."
He gave a shallow nod and scurried off, his footsteps retreating into the dark.
Now it was just the two of them.
"Ralphian Raglan."
As soon as Arthur called him by his real name, his reaction was immediate.
His eyes widened, blood-red and blazing. His body surged forward with the sudden violence of a storm breaking.
The chains screamed against his movement, rattling as he lunged. His breathing came in sharp bursts, ragged and animalistic, as though the name alone had gouged open a wound long festering.
"Calm down, Ralph. I'm not your enemy. If anything, I'm here to free you. Don't you want revenge against the Arundell family? Don't you want to find your younger brother?"
His movements slowed, not from exhaustion, but from calculation.
He stared at Arthur now, properly, and the question in his gaze was clear. Who was he?
"Who…?"
His voice sounded ruined, like it had been dragged across broken glass.
Whether it was the drugs dulling his mind or the constant agony of the collar around his throat, Arthur couldn't tell.
"That is not something you need to know... not yet."
His lip curled faintly, a bitter smile ghosting across his face.
"Wh-what do... you want…?"
"Your freedom. The restoration of your family... And in return, I want you to serve me."
He let out a dry, rasping laugh as he spoke.
"Haa! What's the difference between you… and them? You nobles… You all think the same. You place bets on us, toy with our lives... and when we break, you toss us aside like spoiled meat."
Arthur didn't try to deny it. The truth in his words didn't bruise him. It settled, matter-of-fact, like ash after a long-burning fire.
"You're right. I made a good amount of money off you today."
His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing into slits of disbelief.
Arthur continued to speak without a pause.
"But unlike them... I have a conscience. That's why I'm here. I'm trying to get you out of this pit. To give you a chance to leave."
Arthur shrugged, turning his head slightly, letting the flickering torchlight catch his profile.
"Of course, if you'd rather stay, rot, and die here choking on the stench of blood and mold, I won't lose any sleep over it. The choice is yours."
For a moment, the silence was thicker than the foul air around them. Then he noticed it, a twitch in his wrist, the faint gleam of something metallic catching the light.
"Now, why don't you drop that pathetic little knife you're hiding in your palm and listen properly? I already told you, I'm not here to harm you."
The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the distant, muffled cheers of the arena above.
"How do I trust you...?"
His voice cracked like dry wood, hesitant and raw, each syllable laced with a desperation he struggled to conceal.
"The choice is solely yours. If you follow me, I will help you find your brother. I will also help you destroy those who tarnished your name and cast you into this pit. But if you refuse…"
Arthur's hand slipped into his coat. The faint jingle of metal accompanied the motion as he retrieved a small pouch, the drawstrings knotted tightly in crimson cord.
"I will simply hand you this, and you may walk away. Alone. Though I doubt you'll ever find him that way."
His breath faltered, his body tensed as if recoiling from an invisible truth.
Arthur stepped closer, just enough that the flickering torchlight caught the edge of his profile, casting long shadows against the damp stone behind him.
"I know it's not easy for you to trust me, Ralph. But choose wisely. You won't get this chance again. Not soon. Perhaps not ever."
His lips parted slightly, trembling as though caught between words he couldn't bring himself to speak. Then they pressed shut.
His hands, dirt-streaked and blood-specked, clenched into trembling fists at his sides, the knuckles pale, the veins threading angrily beneath the grime of the dungeon's darkness.
Then, at last, he spoke.
"Alright... I'll follow you."
Arthur held his gaze, unflinching. Those eyes that were once wild with suspicion now flickered with a fragile resolve, as if some unseen weight had shifted behind them.
"A wise choice, but listen closely."
Arthur stepped forward, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his face.
"Until you prove your worth, I will hold you accountable for everything you do. Every word you speak, every step you take, every breath you draw will bear the weight of my scrutiny. Should you act without my approval, I will not turn a blind eye. I will not be merciful."
His jaw tightened. The muscles in his face twitched as he forced a nod, just once, short and stiff, like a soldier accepting orders on the edge of battle.
"I understand."
Arthur signaled for the merchant to unlock the cell. As the shackles were removed, Ralph staggered slightly, his limbs sluggish from confinement, but he did not fall. He stood upright, ragged and filthy.