Chapter 54: Crimson Scales (I)
In the dim, shadowy depths of the Dungeon, the flickering light of a torch danced like a dying heartbeat. Occasional roars of rage and cries of agony echoed through the stone walls. Bear Goliath Guards patrolled without pause, their heavy footsteps reverberating through the cold air.
Alje leaned silently against the rough stone wall, his frame gaunt, his face pale—unnaturally so, as if sunlight had long forgotten his existence. The wall bore dozens of carved notches, each one a silent testament to the passage of time. But after so many days, in this endless darkness, time had lost all meaning.
Since that interrogation, he’d been locked away, ignored, left to rot. No torture. No cruelty. Just tasteless gruel, served daily in silence, and endless hours spent in the hollow stillness of his cell. With nothing to do but think and sleep, his mind had become a battleground of memory and doubt.
The Bear Goliath Guards at the door were useless to bribe—simple-minded brutes, their only interests gossip and boasting with their comrades. Yet, from their careless chatter, Alje had learned of Ashen Hollow’s growing power, and of the Red Dragon’s ever-increasing might.
He had once considered starving himself to death—welcoming oblivion with open arms. But then came the Dragon’s words, whispered like a curse in his ear. A fog clung to his memory, obscuring everything. He knew too little. And worse—something in those words felt terrifyingly true.
Lord Duke had never once left the castle. He had never known the warmth of the sun, nor stepped beneath the open sky. From the moment Alje entered, that nobleman had been shrouded in shadow. When he executed the Tieflings, they showed no signs of demonic strength—no infernal fire, no cursed power. They looked like ordinary beings, innocent and afraid. And instead of satisfaction, Alje felt only sorrow, a gnawing guilt he couldn’t shake.
In the castle’s courtyard, the scent of blood lingered—faint, but unmistakable. As a loyal assassin of the Lakanman Family, Alje had once been indifferent to such things. But now, as the details layered upon one another, the coincidence was too perfect to ignore.
He needed the Truth—before he died.
He told himself again and again not to think. He repeated the old instructor’s creed: “Do not question right or wrong—only carry out the Execution.” But in this empty, soundless cell, what else was there to do but think?
“I need the Truth,” Alje whispered to himself.
He didn’t realize how much he had changed. The loyal hound of the family—once unyielding, unquestioning—was gone.
“Igler,” he murmured, stroking the feathers of his companion. “How long do you think we’ll stay here?”
The Giant Eagle simply stared at him, its great wings shifting slightly, as if yearning to soar beyond these walls.
“Maybe we’ll be out soon.”
“Maybe…” Alje let out a bitter laugh. “That Dragon could sleep for decades, forget us entirely, and we’d rot here—turning to bones in this dungeon.”
It wasn’t impossible. Once, a white dragon had kidnapped several nobles for ransom. It slept for over thirty years. When it awoke, the captives were long dead.
But the silence was shattered by the clatter of chains.
Alje looked up. Three Bear Goliath Guards marched toward him, dragging iron links behind them.
“Human,” one barked. “Come out.”
“The master wishes to see you.”
Alje didn’t resist. He rose slowly, shoulders stiff, mind clear. He had prepared himself.
This was it.
…
After what felt like an eternity, the black cloth covering Alje’s face was torn away.
The same cave. The same air—thick with sulfur and ancient power.
Before him stood the Red Dragon, larger, more formidable than ever.
“Long time no see, Lord Alje Yoman,” said Kai Xiusu, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement.
There it was again—the look. That cruel, knowing gaze, as if Alje were nothing more than a toy in his hands. The feeling of being played, manipulated, was suffocating.
Alje took a slow breath, forcing his voice steady.
“What now? Another trap? Another lie?” he said. “What conspiracy do you want me to carry out this time?”
Kai Xiusu only smiled. “I merely wished to introduce you to an old friend.”
“Meizhuolashi, come forth.”
The name struck Alje like a blade.
His body tensed. His hand instinctively went to his waist.
Meizhuolashi.
In the Lakanman Territory, that name was infamous. The leader of the Tiefling Resistance. The man the Northwind Eagle Guard would kill at any cost.
And… his childhood friend.
They had grown up together in the Northwind Keep. Once inseparable. Until—Alje’s parents died. And with their deaths, his heart turned to vengeance. He entered the Lakanman Castle, pledged to its service.
Now, from the shadows, Meizhuolashi emerged. His expression was cold, distant. His black eyes burned with a quiet, unyielding hatred—fixed on the human before him.
He had watched, once, as this friend—his friend—wielded the execution blade against his own kind. Had it not been for the Red Dragon’s presence, Meizhuolashi would have ended him then and there.
“He… why is he here?” Alje’s voice cracked, his mind frozen. What was he supposed to feel? Enemy? Friend?
Once, he would have seen him as the enemy. But after hearing the Dragon’s words, he could no longer tell truth from lie.
Kai Xiusu exhaled a hot, sulfurous breath.
“Meizhuolashi. Where is the Pact?”
“Here, my lord.” Meizhuolashi stepped forward and produced a leather scroll—its surface etched with ancient runes. Though the Pact had been fulfilled and was now void, a faint darkness still pulsed beneath its surface, a whisper of evil magic.
“Let him see it,” Kai Xiusu commanded.
Meizhuolashi unfolded the scroll with a sharp, decisive motion and shoved it into Alje’s hands.
A chill ran through Alje. His stomach twisted. He wanted to look away—but he couldn’t. The need for truth overpowered fear.
He read.
> Fourth Era, Year 1705, December 23rd. The clock has passed one-third.
> I, Necromancer, Whisper of the Night,
> do solemnly bind this Pact beneath the River of the Dead.
> One thousand lives shall be sacrificed.
> In return, he shall receive Immortality—Blood-drinking, Eternal Youth, bathed in endless darkness.
Alje’s vision swam. His hands trembled.
“No… it can’t be…”
He forced himself to keep reading.
At the bottom, the signature.
> Brad Lakanman, Duke.
The Crimson Name in Blood.
It was familiar. Too familiar.
He had seen it before—in administrative documents from the Northwind Keep. In approval records from the Eagle Guard logistics. In the Oath of Loyalty contracts.
But never… never here.
Never on a Pact that demanded the sacrifice of his parents.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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