December... 1675...
Deimfel's thoughts turned static, like a swarm of flies drawn to a flame. He found it difficult to form a thought. In the end, he could only watch in a daze as the lamplight flickered in his eyes.
"Hey, bud? Hey! Answer me!"
Bam! Eliott's silhouette outlined streaks of his brown hair. He banged on the cell with his hands and thrashed about, hoping for a response. "Hey! Are you alright? For heaven's sake, speak!"
"Hey... what's all the fuss about?" Another familiar voice echoed from an adjacent block, which was next to Deimfel's cell.
"Roemel!" Eliott echoed upon seeing a friend wake up. "Deimfel had been quiet for some time! Help me check on him!"
Roemel... Deimfel snapped awake.
Everyone... everyone is alive?
"Deimfel!" Roemel echoed. He tapped on the cell twice and asked, "You alright? C'mon, our allies will be here soon, so stay stable until then!"
"I'm alright." At that moment. Deimfel finally replied. However, his voice carried an undertone that weighed upon hundreds of memories.
"Phew... that's good." Eliott was the first to express his relief. "Anytime now, Josel and others will come and break us out. Margaret should be on her way to inform them."
"...How long exactly have we been in here?" Deimfel deliberated his words before asking.
Eliott and Roemel became somewhat dumbfounded by that. They thought if anyone, it would be Deimfel who had a track of time they were kept behind bars; he was, after all, the most expectant among them, provided he wanted answers for Lucila's betrayal.
The former wanted to reply with a question; however, he felt a hint of remorse and murkiness in the way Deimfel asked that. Hence, he simply answered,
"It's only been three days. Don't brood too much. We'll get out of here and expose Guillaume and the principalities of their schemes."
Three days... right, we were accused of treason. No, Eliott and the rest are innocent, and perhaps I... am not...
What is the meaning of this?
Have I not killed myself?
I can still recall the traumas of their lives being culled one by one. Like it was yesterday...
I saw their betrayals and virtues. I was too naive, centered, and complacent back then... If I were to return, I would change it... Deimfel, holding himself to the table with both hands, suddenly lifted his chin.
Return...
A glint appeared in his eyes.
I returned!
The moment of silence broke when Roemel said, "Listen to Eliott, Deimfel. Although I doubt that you will.
"We can't allow the Regimes to abuse and misuse Monte Seul any further. After this, be relieved that we'll pay testimony to your trial.
"You were never a part of this battle."
Never a part of this battle... Deimfel's fingers quietly tightened. Back then, I used to think that. This is a battle they have because... back then I had it all...
Status, title, wealth, and education... the Regimes looked at me with dignity. Thus I overlooked their corrupt acts, seemingly complying with the idea that it just happened that my best friend Eliott is a part of the Ex-Regimes. That anything happens is none of my concern...
Yes, back then... Deimfel's hold loosened, and he finally stood up. He turned to the ceiling and just looked up, closing his eyes.
If I returned. What will be the first thing I'll do?
At that moment, he suddenly spoke.
"Josel and the others won't be here until sundown. Suppose the guards are still active; that means daylight outside.
"Let's not wait any longer and prepare to get out."
...
Monte Seul. Ravel Town by the Gale County.
Under the peak sunrise. A thatched house with refined oak walls stairs and was leveled to above the height of a person. The architectural design resembled a colonial vintage building of middle-class blood.
Josel, wearing a linen shirt over a dark vest, perched his arms over a windowsill. He stared at the populated street, bustling with maidens and gentlemen holding either a cane or a fan with intricate designs.
During those moments. A series of taps reverberated from the wooden stairs leading up to the house. By the next second, the door slammed—a woman, wearing a heavy cloak, took off her hood.
Startled, Josel turned to the door. It was Margaret, Aunt Siasta's daughter and a part of the Ex-Regimes.
She exclaimed in a hurry, "It's Eliott and everyone!"
Josel's hand that wrapped around a glass of wine tightened.
...
At a house in Ravel town, situated far East.
The building had a cobblestone socle extending about an average person's knee, and sat near a riverbank, overlooking the pasture with grazing flocks of goats and boars.
Josel arrived there with Margaret in tow; he scanned the area first before proceeding to enter. Inside was a woman dressed in a mocha shawl that wrapped around her shoulders. She was the wife of a friend and comrade, Halden Breau.
Halden Breau is a grazer who works for one of the Regime minister's pasture lands.
Although his animals were bred and solely belonged to him, due to the Tariff Act, the owners who are acclaimed with the title patriarchs or matriarchs of the land, any kind of operation that generates capital would have half of it belong to them.
Halden could only afford so much for his family; after so many years, he had the chance to provide a solid foundation for their house with the help of Pleyes.
"Pleyes. I'm glad to meet you again. Where's Halden?" Josel lowered his fedora and came with a slightly lowered gait, acting as a respectful intrusion.
Pleyes has dark hair and dark-brown eyes. Her looks are slightly above average; however, her air is that of a matriarch.
She exudes such an attitude upon seeing Josel right in front of their doorstep. The moment she let go of the handle, she immediately crossed her arms.
Josel nodded, "I promise, Halden and everyone will come back."
Pleyes wanted to remain convinced. However, a few thoughts ran through her mind, and in the end, she turned to the other side and called, "Halden!"
A sound of rustling and hurried steps echoed; there was even the noise of a chair falling by the time Halden replied, "Yes?"
"They're here." Pleyes's voice was noticeably bleak and aggravated. It was clear she didn't want anything to do with the situation.
Halden appeared in the foyer. He was dressed rather casually, with a plain white shirt and jeans; he looked rugged but energetic.
Josel smiled, feeling glad about his condition.
However, it was quickly replaced by the grimness of the incoming mission. They couldn't afford to waste time, especially since by tomorrow, provided Margaret's intel is true, Eliott and his friends will be prosecuted and sent away.
Margaret had gone through several towns to get here; she did not take the carriage traffic due to the strict regulations of the Regimes. She had to traverse several houses of friends just to get to Ravel Town.
Josel knew this; there was danger, risking everyone, but if they remained idle, it would still be a loss.
Hence, he turned to the man with a round face and a brittle chin and said: "Halden, we'll need your help."
...
"What? Prepare?" Eliott asked, extremely perturbed.
How are they going to prepare while they're still imprisoned?
Did Deimfel mean it to be mentally prepared?
Deimfel went quiet. He turned and saw the guard and the slightly unlocked door; he could get away due to the fact that he knew this prison like the back of his hand.
He had been here often in the past under a guise, in an attempt to rally the prisoners' hearts and join his cause for revolution.
Eliott will die getting me out of Monte Seul by boat, setting out to cross the Pavilion River... No, before that, the other three apart from us here will die trying to escort me to the manor Lucila's father owned...
There's six of us... Deimfel finally recalled pieces of history as he turned almost immediately to Eliott. He wanted Roemel to hear it too, so he yelled, "Where's Christopher, Aeron, and Liam?"
Only Roemel and I will be left. Roemel survived because, at the time that Eliott sacrificed himself, he was the first to do so in order for the boat to sail, to divert our pursuers away...
Deimfel gritted his teeth. But that was a cruise, a lie. Roemel had aides from the prison who would share our information. By now, Margaret is doing exactly what Prime Minister Felthren wants...
"W-What? What's gotten into you all of a sudden?" Roemel asked; he was deeply taken aback.
Eliott thought and replied, "They're at cell 12,13 and 14. Why? Why do you want to know?"
Deimfel didn't answer. Instead, he resumed muttering inwardly.
Minister Felthren must've been planning to use our containment to lure out the other Ex-Regimes. Because by the time we exited, the guards were already expecting us...
Only by the combined effort of Josel and Liam did we manage to slither out...
So what if we escaped early? What if we caught them off guard?
Deimfel sighed; his mouth bellowed a frail smoke that vanished as it appeared. He deliberately said "prepare", but he didn't intend to actually do it.
He wanted them to escape. Right now.
With all that in mind, he knelt and took the rosewood revolver. He stood up and walked calmly toward the cell door.
In that moment, he recalled something.
Bang!
He fired a shot; the intense sound echoed throughout the labyrinth; it was likely that the guards were startled.
However, Deimfel knew that it did happen occasionally—a guard taking a life out of mundane desire.
He despised it, especially this guard who came into his cell. Because now he remembered who this was—Osther of the Sixth Unit, Civil Regime, the person who had killed multiple prisoners out of habit, and in the future, among them was a friend of his.
"What is the heavens!?" Eliott was shocked, terrified, and completely stunned by Deimfel's display of indifference and casual flick of a weapon.
At the same time, Roemel was petrified. It was obvious in his eyes and understanding that Deimfel had not held a gun before! Eliott would agree!
Deimfel extended his hand forward and pushed the cell door open.
He walked out. Looked sideways first before going back and returning with the guard, Osther's keys in hand.
He first approached Eliott's cell; that was his first instinct. Under the dim light, his best friend's face was illuminated—a face with a deep outline and mature air, one whose dark eyes reflected the vicissitudes of life.
Hey, old friend... Deimfel lowered the revolver, smiled briefly, and took the keys to open Eliott's cell.
Eliott's lips quivered. "W-What in the grapeyards is wrong with you, Deimfel?"
"Will you believe me?" Deimfel said.
"Believe what?" Eliott was frozen where he stood.
"That I..." Deimfel paused. Shortly after, he smiled. "That I learned something a while back... Something that I think you don't know..."
This is a miracle...
Deimfel didn't wait for Eliott's response. He took his best friend's shoulder and got him out of the cell. He said while Eliott was in a daze, "Here's the key. Get everyone out of here while I check on the guards.
"We don't have the luxury of time." He said calmly. "So please."
Eliott finally snapped out of it and creased his eyebrows. "Forgive me first."
"Huh?" Deimfel was dumbfounded. But then, before he could hear it, he replied, "Yeah, I forgive you, just as you forgave me."
Eliott's attempt backfired comically. He grinned and chuckled, "I don't know where that comes from, but..."
He took the keys and said, "I believe you."
Deimfel smiled and nodded. He watched as Eliott confronted some of the cells that had inmates, who were all terrified and shocked by the roar of a gun.
Then finally, Eliott got to Roemel. When Deimfel saw him leave, glanced at him, and took cover with Eliott, a lump in his hand made his expression turn grim.
However, he can't do anything against this parasite for now, as by the time they moved to another block, following Eliott, Deimfel could hear faint steps coming from the stairwell.
"Gasp! It's Deimfel! He got out!"
Deimfel heard the familiar pestering voice of a guard. Soon after, he heard rustles of footsteps. He turned around slowly and aimed.
Revolvers are not allowed in the prison as per En Code 3412, an act to suit the interest of the majority to abide and reduce the rebellion rate. Only lances are allowed for defence.
Goes to show just how casually these corrupts breach a law they designed... Deimfel coldly aimed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!