Chapter 54: Crimson Scales (Part One)

  In the dim dungeon, torchlight flickered.

  From the cells came curses and screams from time to time, while bear goblin guards patrolled bad forth.

  Alger leaned silently against the stone wall, thin and pale, with an unnatural pallor on his face, clearly not having seen sunlight for a long time.

  There were several tally marks on the wall.

  He used them to keep track of time.

  But as the days dragged on, he had lost track of time in this dark dungeon.

  After that interrogation, he was thrown into the dungeon, ignored by everyone.

  There was no torture as he had imagined, nor deliberate abuse; he simply ate some uifiable mush each day and spent his days in the darkness.

  Besides thinking and sleeping, there seemed to be nothing else for him to do.

  The bear goblin guards at the door were not susceptible to bribery; these simple-minded, muscur creatures only talked among themselves and had no personal ambitions.

  From the bear goblins’ versations, he learhat the Ember was growing stronger and that the terrifying red dragon was also being more powerful.

  Alger had thought of fasting, ready to face death with dignity.

  Yet every time he recalled the words spoken by that red dragon, he felt as though a mist clouded his memory; he knew far too little.

  And what frightened him most was that what the red dragon had said seemed to hold some truth.

  The duke had never once left the castle, nor had he ever basked in sunlight. Since Alger’s arrival, the duke seemed always to be in the shadows.

  When he executed Tieflings, they showed no demonic power, appearing more like i beings; the sight did n him any satisfa of vengea ofte him feeling a pang ret.

  The st of blood often wafted from the back of the castle.

  As a family death warrior, Alger was usually indifferent to such things, but when these details pieced together, it all seemed too tal.

  He he truth before death.

  Alger often told himself not to dwell on these matters, repeatedly recalling his old instructor's teags: "Do not questiht , just obey."

  But in this empty cell, he had no choice but to think; what else could he do?

  "I he truth."

  Alger murmured to himself.

  He didn’t realize that his mi had undergone a plete transformation; the loyal dog of the family no longer existed.

  "Igel, how long do you think we’ll stay here?"

  Alger stroked his panion’s feathers.

  The giant eagle simply looked at him, gently fpping its wings to show its desire to be free.

  "Perhaps we’ll be out soon."

  "Maybe..."

  Alger smiled bitterly.

  "Or that dragon will slumber for decades, fet about me, and leave us to rot in this dungeon."

  This sario was indeed possible.

  There was once a white dragon that kidnapped several nobles for ransom but slept for over thirty years, only to find them dead in their cells when it awoke.

  But the otion at the dungeon door broke his thoughts.

  Alger looked up to see several bear goblins carrying s walking over.

  "Human, e out."

  "The master wants to see you."

  The bear goblins spoke without any courtesy.

  "Finally... is it happening?"

  Alger muttered to himself.

  This time, he offered ance, allowing the bear goblin guards t him away. He was ready to face the truth.

  .........

  After some time, the blindfold was removed from Alger's face.

  It was that familiar cave.

  The red dragon before him was now even stronger and more massive.

  "Long time no see, Lord Alger Yeoman."

  Cassius's golden eyes held a hint of mockery.

  There it was again, that look, that feeling of being maniputed like a pawn, which made Alger deeply unfortable.

  He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice calm.

  "What new deception are you pnning?"

  "What new scheme do you wao serve?"

  But Cassius, unoffended, simply smiled and said, "I just want you to meet an old friend."

  "Medrosh, e out."

  Hearing that name, Alger’s expression ged drastically, his hand instinctively reag for his waist.

  That name was notorious throughout the La nds. He was the leader of the Tiefling rebels, a target the Northwind Eagle Guards were willing to kill at any cost.

  He was also... his childhood friend.

  They had grown up together in Northwind Fortress, onseparable, until—Alger’s parents died, aered La Castle with hatred in his heart.

  Medrosh stepped out from the shadows, gazing at the human not far away with an expression of extreme indifference, a hint of hatred flickering deep within his jet-bck eyes.

  The Tiefling had once seen this former friend, as the duke’s loyal servant, wielding the bde against his own people. If not for the red dragon’s presence, he would have killed Alger on the spot.

  "Why... is he here?"

  Alger’s tone was slightly halting, unsure of what to say or how to react.

  Enemy?

  Or a friend from the past?

  Perhaps the fer would have seen him as an enemy. But after hearing the dragon’s words, he could no loell what was truth and what was falsehood.

  Cassius exhaled a breath of sulfur, saying only:

  "Medrosh, the tract I asked for?"

  "I have it, my lord."

  Medrosh took out a leather-bound tract.

  Dense writing covered the tract, and though it was nullified due to pletion, it still faintly exuded dark, malevolent magic.

  Cassius anded:

  "Let him see it."

  Medrosh walked forward, unrolling the tract with a swift motion and thrusting it into Alger’s hands.

  Alger felt an intense sense of foreboding, a struggle within him, but in his thirst for truth, he began to read the lines, murmuring them quickly to himself.

  "December 23, 1705 of the Fourth Era, the hand moves past a third."

  "I, the neahe Voice of Night,"

  "...witnessed by the River of the Dead, sign this tract."

  "...requiring a sacrifice of a thousand lives."

  "...and iurn, he shall gaiernal life, drink blood freely, and bask iernal youth in darkness."

  Suddenly, Alger felt dizzy, his hand trembling as he held the scroll.

  "No."

  "How is this possible..."

  He couldn’t stop himself from reading further, reag the signatory’s name.

  "Duke Brad La."

  The name, written in blood-red letters, was all too familiar to Alger.

  He had seen that signature on administrative files in Northwind Fortress, in the Eagle Guards’ logistical approvals, in oaths of allegiance.

  But he had never imagined he’d see it on the tract that sacrificed his parents.

  Brad La.