Escaping from the old armory, they passed through drifting motes of dust gleaming in the light above, some etched into thick patterns upon worthless scraps of chipped metal.
The entire route connected to countless archive rooms, forcing them to hide from watchful eyes that could not be confronted. The structure seemed carved out of a colossal stone, hundreds of rooms stacked across many levels, impossible to grasp the full size or number.
Near the central balcony, glowing from the topmost floor down to the base of a statue, the stone figure yearned for freedom, straining as if to reach outward—motionless yet speaking through the artistry of emotion.
Along the labyrinthine stairways, more than hundreds of people continued their work.
Thus, the two avoided the center of this headquarters, choosing instead the abandoned passageways.
Yet the patrols of White-Armored soldiers stirred deep unease. To cross paths with miracle-bearers of unknown powers was a risk too perilous.
A risk that could turn into being hunted.
Brian led Victor quietly into a chamber with a dark stone staircase. A light scratch of his nail sparked faint glimmers along the jagged wall as the thin black-haired man guided him, explaining:
"As I once researched, during the Dragon Hunter Era, more than half the continent's people had to live underground. Lighting flames consumed the very breath of life, so ores were adapted to provide light. But no explanation remains—this knowledge vanished long ago from history."
This world is far more intriguing than it appears.
At one point they passed the sounds of mining and the screams of slaves, victims of crimes tangible, destructive, devaluing, and murderous.
At last they reached a hall of ancient armors and weapons from bygone eras.
Surrounding corridors lay deserted, as expected of upper levels with excessive rooms. But on the lowest floors, abandonment would mean structural weakness within the Blood Empire's headquarters, a vulnerability that Brian checked against with repeated vigilance.
Thus, they pressed forward to a gate that opened into the waste pits deep within the headquarters' shadows.
Beyond stretched a path through countless rooms to a small exit door beside the great waterfall.
No one lingered outside the vast square, beautiful beneath lamplight across the city. From the plaza's edge, one could see a luxurious carriage waiting.
Victor parted from Brian, adjusted his attire, and climbed the short iron steps, seating himself on the thick cushions inside the dark wood chamber, the wavering lamplight unsteady.
A blond-haired man lifted a lantern, hanging it from the wooden frame. His black suit contrasted sharply against the customary white garb.
Mourning, is it?
His eyes still brimming with thought.
"Welcome, arrogant Victor. Are you prepared to step into the dark market, seeking powers beyond your grasp?"
"You've learned to speak more gracefully, but remember this: our path ahead is harsher than wounds of flesh. Clinging to fleeting feelings will only cost us control."
"You've not changed at all. Yet I cannot deny such reasoning. I, too, feel fear for what awaits tonight."
Victor crossed his arms firmly.
"So tonight, no safeguards?"
"Exactly. With Radiant Knights patrolling the capital, nocturnal travel is under heavy watch by the Empire."
"Are you not a noble?"
Daniel signaled the driver to move. He dimmed the lantern, eyes locking deep with Victor's as passing lights painted fleeting shadows.
"The point is this act cannot be explained, revealed, nor concealed. Do you understand, Victor? I am deadly serious."
"There's no need to declare intent—I already see it. But why that stare? Is there something you want to say?"
"Our pact is not yet sealed. I want collateral for the future."
Victor sighed heavily, rolling his eyes and propping up his leg in annoyance.
"The names of the Revolutionaries I recall:
Oliver Dengart, the man behind many things, still alive to act in the future. His power lies in control, but whether of humans or beasts is unclear.
Bradwin Wemhel, killed by me during duty. His alignment uncertain, but irrelevant to you.
Rena Wemhel, likely his lawful wife, but never appeared.
Jorn Lum, a border guide, perhaps uninvolved within the city, maybe even a traitor.
Eran Raveny, infiltrator among the Republic's leaders, likely slain after the true events began upon my arrival.
Francis Wen, missing.
Michel Zachfrey, unknown.
Russ Reson, unknown.
Victor Weber, killed at the Republic's port by false accusations, an act of Oliver Dengart."
Daniel retrieved something from his coat and set it beside him. An ancient parchment glowed red with shifting letters, unseen from Victor's side.
"Seems you're not lying—whether mere opinion or deflection of blame. Choose between present and future. Remember: trust allows only one chance."
A faint, cold smile spread across Victor's rigid face, soulless and false.
"And your collateral? The death of your brother won't sway a man raised in these customs. How can I be sure you're not prying information from me?"
Their eyes clashed, ice-cold, beneath the dimness that shifted into a twisted ruin-city ruled by black-furred wolves, their gaze tracking as the carriage entered the hunted lands.