Page 54

In the dim dungeon, torchlight flickered.

From the cells came curses and screams from time to time, while bear goblin guards patrolled back and 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 unidentifiable 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, muscular creatures only talked among themselves and had no personal ambitions.

From the bear goblins’ conversations, he learned that the Ember Nest was growing stronger and that the terrifying red dragon was also becoming 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 innocent beings; the sight did not bring him any satisfaction of vengeance but often left him feeling a pang of regret.

The scent 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 coincidental.

He needed the truth before death.

Alger often told himself not to dwell on these matters, repeatedly recalling his old instructor’s teachings: “Do not question right or wrong, just obey.”

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

“I need the truth.”

Alger murmured to himself.

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

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

Alger stroked his companion’s feathers.

The giant eagle simply looked at him, gently flapping 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, forget about me, and leave us to rot in this dungeon.”

This scenario 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 commotion at the dungeon door broke his thoughts.

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

“Human, come 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 no resistance, allowing the bear goblin guards to drag 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 manipulated like a pawn, which made Alger deeply uncomfortable.

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

“What new deception are you planning?”

“What new scheme do you want me to serve?”

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

“Medrolash, come out.”

Hearing that name, Alger’s expression changed drastically, his hand instinctively reaching for his waist.

That name was notorious throughout the Lackman lands. 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, once inseparable, until—Alger’s parents died, and he entered Lackman Castle with hatred in his heart.

Medrolash 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-black eyes.

The Tiefling had once seen this former friend, as the duke’s loyal servant, wielding the blade 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 former Alger would have seen him as an enemy. But after hearing the dragon’s words, he could no longer tell what was truth and what was falsehood.

Cassius exhaled a breath of sulfur, saying only:

“Medrolash, the contract I asked for?”

“I have it, my lord.”

Medrolash took out a leather-bound contract.

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

Cassius commanded:

“Let him see it.”

Medrolash walked forward, unrolling the contract 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 necromancer, the Voice of Night,”

“...witnessed by the River of the Dead, sign this contract.”

“...requiring a sacrifice of a thousand lives.”

“...and in return, he shall gain eternal life, drink blood freely, and bask in eternal 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, reaching the signatory’s name.

“Duke Brad Lackman.”

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 contract that sacrificed his parents.

Brad Lackman.