The next morning, the city sank back into its usual bustle. Only market gossip and the silent question in the eyes of the common folk "What next?" reminded them of the recent hurricane.
Rumors actively circulated through the districts that the dragon slayer whoever he was would become the new Emperor. But not only was he a killer (that was only half the trouble), he'd done it for someone else. He'd broken the rules of the Trial set by the Empress, and Katarina... well, she was known for her sharp turns from wrath to mercy and back. Everyone, young and old, knew this and watched the development of events with interest.
"I'm telling you, she'll present him to the people soon!" a drunkard waved his mug in the smoky tavern "At the Three Ravens." The smell of cheap ale and fried offal hung thick in the air.
His drinking buddy, his face covered in beer foam, snorted: "Nah... Just think. Yeah, the guy's strong, but he's also unpredictable and a killer. Who'd off our Katka in a heartbeat if something went wrong, right in the marriage bed. She's no fool; she must understand that."
The first one hiccupped, proudly wiping his mouth with his sleeve: "You could say that about anyone with enough steel in their balls to take down a dragon solo! It's about something else..."
"And what's that?" the second asked with mock intrigue, staring into the murky bottom of his mug.
The first giggled cheekily, tracing a clumsy heart in the air with his palms: "Lo-ove!"
"Heh-heh... Now you're really reaching!"
"Why is it reaching? She could've pointed at anyone long ago, and he'd be hers, but here... he himself, like, had to take the initiative! Romance!"
"But only..." the second interrupted, "our case is rather far from the concept of 'a feat for the sake of a beloved woman'..."
"That's true..." the first one slumped. "That's true..."
Both fell silent for a moment, sipping their swill. A figure in a dark cloak, sitting by the back wall, silently stood up. Coins clattered onto the sticky oak table.
She walked out into the street without looking back. Her gaze, sliding over the dirty alleys, fixed on the castle—a stone giant looming over the city in the rays of the setting sun.
"Well, you've really gotten yourself into it this time, brother Saigo," the figure whispered softly, and a slight, almost invisible smile trembled on her lips. "Though... maybe it'll do you good." She dissolved into the crowd, heading to where the prisoner was being held...
…
Saigo came to with a strange sensation. For the first time in a long time (a rare occurrence), he... felt no pain.
Absolutely nothing! It was nonsense. He always carried a collection of bruises, sprains, broken ribs, and if his body was suddenly silent and there were no assignments, he'd wring every last drop out of it in training until exhaustion.
Now, however, he felt... reborn. A clean slate. Full of energy. And that was more alarming than any pain.
His eyes snapped open, scanning the surroundings with the speed of a weathervane in a hurricane.
"A room. Empty. Rich? No, luxurious, maybe even excessively." Gilding on the moldings, heavy velvet drapes, a marble fireplace with not a single ember glowing. The sheer ostentatious luxury made him want to shut his eyes for a second.
"A circus."
He listened. "Outside the door two. Maybe more." In the room itself no one. He'd been dressed in a new nightshirt, silk with white cotton and stupid golden monograms on the chest.
"How could anyone come up with something so uncomfortable and tasteless?" Saigo hissed, pulling off this unthinkable garment. It billowed, slid, hindered movement death for a fighter and a shame for any man.
His own clothes, clean, clearly washed and even ironed, lay in a neat stack on a carved bedside table. Next to them his knife in new, sturdy sheaths. And... the gauntlets, meteorite.
"Interesting... What's the hint here? Are they politely waiting for my escape? Or another trap for a fool?"
His fingers, accustomed to inspections, flew over the seams, the lining, the sheaths. Quickly and professionally no poisoned needles, no hidden pockets with surprises. Although... "What good boys."
On the inside of the jacket lining, where it lay against his chest, right over the heart, a symbol was neatly embroidered with the finest silver thread. A small, elegant rune of "Tracking."
"How sweet..." Saigo smirked without a trace of amusement.
Whoosh!
The piece of fabric with the treacherous mark was cut out with one movement of the knife and thrown onto the carpet.
"Right, now to get out."
His gaze darted to the window. Wide, arched. Beyond it the daytime sky and distant city lights, and also... bars. Not wrought iron, but cast and, damn it, massive. Heavy even to look at. Saigo stepped closer, touched the cold metal with his finger, his eyes narrowing in amazement.
"Damned alloy..." he whispered with almost reverent horror. That's what they called the legendary dwarven metal—incredibly dense, absurdly heavy, and just as absurdly strong, doubly so.
His fingers knew—these bars couldn't be sawed, bent, or torn from the wall without noise that would alert the entire castle. "It'd be easier for me to break the wall itself..."
He raised his eyes to the ceiling high, painted, with molded rosettes. Smooth as an egg. "No hooks, no beams, no chandeliers to hook onto." The conclusion was disheartening. "Can't reach it without noise."
"Then... only the door." He turned, slowly shifting his gaze to the massive oak double doors with iron fittings.
"Hmm... What to come up with?" Thoughts swirled like knives in a juggler's hands, bouncing off every object in this luxurious cage the carpet, the table, even that stupid silk shirt...
…
Thump! A dull sound from behind the door made the guards flinch. They slowly exchanged glances.
"You hear that?"
"Maybe I imagined it...?"
A slight shiver ran down their spines. They feared the killer, but the Empress's wrath was scarier than a dozen Saigos.
"Go take a look."
"Why me?!"
"Don't worry! I went last time quiet as a mouse."
"Lucky you, I must say... Should've been that crow pecking a nut on this very window..."
"Heh-heh... Really..."
"Ugh, fine, I'm going."
The door creaked, opening a crack. One guard stuck his head in, scanning the semi-darkness...
"Um... Oh, damn!" He pushed the door wider, bursting inside. His partner followed.
By the bed, to the side, lay... it. A figure under the blanket, motionless and seemingly dead.
"Now..." Saigo mentally smirked, pressed against the ceiling above the doorframe like a huge bat.
An old trick. He'd quickly "constructed" a decoy from a pillow and the blanket, pulling his doublet over it. And the chair... he'd knocked over by tying a long thread, pulled from the same fabric, to it. A tug and the crash was ready.
He dropped down silently, like a shadow, and bolted down the corridor. But...
Clomp-clomp-clomp!
As if by magic, from all doors, niches, and seemingly from the very air, guards and mages in various robes carlet, emerald, sapphire poured out, forming a living barrier.
Saigo froze, pressed against the wall, baring his teeth in a silent snarl, just like a cornered beast, which he was ready to become at any moment.
"Kid, let's not be stupid," the senior guard began. "Just turn around and..."
Saigo lunged, not back, but forward! Using the shield of the nearest guard as a springboard, he vaulted over the first rows, light and swift, and dashed away…
And immediately crashed onto the stone floor.
Squelch!
His legs seemed stuck in quicksand. He looked down and his lips barely held back a curse. Tentacles slimy, bluish, glowing with a dull light from within. They were wrapped around his ankles and thighs, pressing with inhuman force, cold and relentless.
Then footsteps sounded quiet, measured steps. A figure emerged from a nearby archway.
A girl in a wide-brimmed, pointed hat hid the upper part of her face, leaving only a mocking curve of her lips visible. Her dress wasn't just blue. It shimmered with shades of turquoise and deep indigo, like the sea's surface under the moon.
"Supreme Mage of the College Leila de Paras," Saigo grated out.
She stopped before him, the cold curiosity of an entomologist in her posture.
"Awake, I see," her voice was low, melodic, and utterly impassive.
Whoosh!
Saigo's hand shot toward her ankle a desperate, useless lunge. The tentacles merely dragged him back, like a doll, to a safe distance. The blow cut the air a centimeter from the silk of her stockings.
Leila sighed, almost imperceptibly: "Where do they even find such... aggressive specimens? On my poor head..." She tilted her head slightly. "Be a good boy and go back to your room."
"Or what?"
"A chance to escape?" Saigo assessed in a flash: a narrow corridor, zero room to maneuver, the Supreme Mage a couple of meters away, dozens of guards and other mages behind... Escape? No. Utopia.
But... Mari. Her face flashed in his mind brighter than magical flares.
"Not yet..." he gritted through clenched teeth, more to himself than to her.
He pushed himself up on his hands, muscles rippling under his skin from the strain, ignoring the cold grip of the tentacles. And he walked not forward, but back to his luxurious cage. The tentacles slid away slickly, dissolving into the floor in a blue haze.
"Nothing," he thought, walking under Leila's gaze, feeling her magic hanging in the air. "I'll just find a better moment. And running..." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I can run better than anyone in this damned world."