B2 - Chapter 4: Attempted Escape

  “What do you mean his health is low? Is he hurt?” Manny asked.

  Enya stared at her status screen. When Josier had informed her that Pell had been arrested, she immediately checked the party screen. From there though, Pell’s information was hidden, due to the distance that they were away. Once they came close to the guardhouse, she saw that Pell’s health was near full. Now, however, his health had plummeted some time in-between then and now.

  She flicked her gaze back to Shelmi. “W-what’s happening to Pell? Is someone hurting him?” she asked, worried.

  Shelmi furrowed her brows, and a complicated expression covered her face. “Hmm… I don’t know much about the actual incident involving him. He should be in the interrogation room downstairs. He might be hurt from the scuffle he had with the adventurers before the War Paragons came to stop the altercation.”

  Enya shook her head. “Pell’s health was fine a few minutes ago. It dropped just now. Like, just now.” Her eyes creased, projecting her serious, affirmative statement, allowing no questions.

  “If someone is roughing him up, it could only be him, right?” Josier asked to Shelmi.

  She stroked the underneath side of her chin. “Probably… but it wouldn’t go much more than that. He does get a bit physical with arrestees from time to time. He never goes too far though, unless you constantly insult him. Calling him a lizard is probably the worst thing you could do, but aside from that, he’s usually well-reserved. Maybe a bit cynical though.”

  Enya opened her mouth, and her chin slowly began to droop.

  “What’s wrong Enya?” Berry asked, stopping down next to her.

  Enya thought about her words. This might or already was a problem for Pell. Did reducing someone’s health to 22 out of 100 really count as ‘roughing’ someone up? That seemed too excessive, no matter how she thought about it.

  “Miss dwarf! Can we go see Pell? I think he might be in danger,” she asked.

  Shelmi rose an eyebrow. “Well, bringing you to him was why Josier was sent to fetch you in the first place. But, what do you mean, danger? He’s probably in custody in the interrogation room.”

  Enya’s own eyes creased before giving her answer. “Because Pell insults people almost every other sentence!”

  The sound of Pell’s bones clattering against the ground echoed through the long, white hallway. His neck was caught firmly in the draconid’s massive, scaled claw. The overgrown red lizard was dragging him somewhere, and the earlier threat of execution lingered uncomfortably in his mind. Pell squirmed and struggled against the grip, but it was no use.

  “Where the hell are you taking me you sorry excuse of a dragon?!” Pell shouted, his voice bouncing off the pristine walls. This was the third hallway they’d passed through, and they were already several floors deep beneath the building where he’d been brought.

  They continued down more corridors and staircases until they came to a halt in front of a large, reinforced door. Thick iron bars crisscrossed its surface, glowing runes pulsing along the metal and radiating a faint, unsettling hum. Nakrin’s claw tightened around Pell’s neck, lifting him until they were eye-to-eye socket.

  “Of all the pathetic excuses I’ve heard from monster-types entering Talo, a puny skeleton claiming adventurers tried to kill him for experience? Laughable. Absolutely laughable. You really expect adventurers to throw away their livelihood and commit a crime for what? Ten? Eleven? Points of experience?” the draconid growled, his disdain dripping from every word.

  Pell was fairly certain he gave more experience than that, but right now, that wasn’t the issue—though it hardly helped his mood. The real problem was this pompous lizard was either about to toss him into a cell or make good on his execution promise. This was exactly what he’d been dreading before stepping into town. Monster-citizens never had a good reputation. And trust? That was nonexistent. Not that Pell had ever been one to trust them either, back when he still had flesh.

  “You can call me a liar all you want, but what I’ve told you is the damn truth!” Pell snarled, his bony hands prying uselessly at the draconid’s oversized claw. “You heard their story, and you heard mine, but you’re not doing a single thing to check it! You really think a couple of no-name adventurers are that much more trustworthy than me, just because I walked out without a busted skull? Would I be more believable if the Paragons had found me in pieces?!”

  The draconid creased his leathery scaled eyelids over his slitted pupils. He turned his gaze away and peeked at the iron door. He lifted his free palm up at the center, and an magic circuit made itself known right before the door, the mana filling up instantly. The iron bars began to shimmer and slowly retract into the walls.

  Pell noticed the mechanism. If that door fully opened, he would probably be done for. Whatever the draconid did with him in there—he would probably try to cover it up. That was the power of influence and position. Just because you had the prestige or power to do something, you could fucking do it. This was exactly how that filthy noble from the first layer got away with debting the orphanage in the first layer. He had the power, the connections, and the lack of consequence to enslave Elara—just because he could.

  Right now, Pell had to take a gamble. Those adventurers were definitely an unsavory bunch, but it also seemed like the Draconid didn’t have any close connections with them. Pell probably couldn’t convince the lizard to let him go, but perhaps he could stall. Just enough for the brat to come by in time.

  “Answer me this—that guy—the three of them. I bet you they’ve been involved with the prison multiple times, huh?” Pell sneered.

  The draconid’s claw stopped pulsating mana, and the iron bars froze in place, about halfway from full retraction. He peered back at Pell, his eyes still threatening, but now curious.

  Got him, Pell thought. “I hit the nail on the head, huh? The three of them. You know it, don’t you?” he asked.

  Nakrin stayed stoic, but his hand stopped pouring the mana. The iron bars began to close up again.

  “Speak,” the draconid said.

  Pell gave a chuckle and shook his head. He kept this motion up for a few seconds too long, purposely trying to extend as much time as possible. The instant the draconid began to speak or tense a muscle, Pell cut in. “Those three. You know them. Am I right?” he said.

  “Of course I do. I am Nakrin, the captain of City Watch War Paragons, I know almost all adventurers that have registered or taken up a commission at the guild here,” he replied.

  “Yes, but do you know them,” Pell asked, emphasizing his words. The more he stalled with insane, extended questions that led nowhere, the better. By implying he knew more than he let on, he could captivate the lizard, pulling his intrigue and controlling the situation. This was a skill of a merchant—the power to control a conversation. It seemed simple, almost stupid in explanation, but it was a much more involved skill than people would think.

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  A few seconds passed as Nakrin considered Pell’s words. “What do you mean? Are you implying you know something about them?” he growled.

  Once again, Pell chuckled. And again, before Nakrin could react after the excessively long laugh, Pell chimed in once again. “Tell me, Draconid. You know them because they are adventurers. But let’s say you didn’t. Tell me, is there any other time you’ve seen them? Interacted with them?” Pell asked.

  More seconds passed as the draconid thought. His gaze was heavy, piercing through the dim light of the chamber, and Pell could feel the weight of those slitted pupils scrutinizing every word he’d just said. Finally, the draconid spoke, his voice as steady and cold as the iron bars in front of them.

  “Yes. I’ve met them at the prisoner check desk before. What of it?”

  Pell’s heart probably thumped in whatever grave it’d lay in—probably buried beneath where Sable’s dungeon had been. This answer was the confirmation he needed. Those bastards had been here before. The way they had so casually spun lies to frame him—it wasn’t a first-time thing. It couldn’t be. They were people who had played this game before. And now, here they were again, likely weaving the same story they’d used to trap others.

  This was his opening, and he had to play it right.

  “Tell me, then,” Pell said, leaning forward as much as his bound state allowed. His voice dripped with feigned nonchalance, though inside he was scrambling to keep up the facade. “What was the crime that big guy accused someone of before?”

  It was a bluff, of course, but Pell knew the draconid wouldn’t ignore a question like that, not after the seed of doubt had already been planted. The magic circuit on the iron door was still stalled—proof that Pell had the lizard’s attention, if only for now.

  The claws on Nakrin’s hand flexed as if resisting the urge to lash out. Pell could almost see the gears turning in the lizard’s mind. This wasn’t about Pell anymore, not entirely. Now it was about whether the draconid himself had been played. And if Pell could keep pulling at that thread, he might just unravel everything.

  Nakrin opened his mouth to speak, but Pell wasn’t about to let him control the tempo. Timing was everything, and if he let the draconid regain his composure, the moment would slip away.

  “Let me guess,” Pell interrupted, his tone taking on a sharper edge. “It was just the big guy, right? That older adventurer? I bet he personally came to the prison—or maybe to one of the city watch. He probably spun some tale about a fight or a theft. Something small enough to seem plausible, but big enough to get someone locked up.”

  The slitted pupils of the man narrowed, and Pell felt a flicker of hope. He was on the right track, or at least close enough to keep him guessing. Pell let a few seconds of silence hang in the air, the tension thick enough to choke on.

  “They probably accused someone, huh? Like my situation. Their words against someone else’s,” Pell pressed on, his voice rising just slightly. He let out a dry chuckle, the sound echoing faintly in the chamber. “And you bought it, didn’t you? The guards, the desk clerks—they didn’t catch on. Those rotten bastards tricked you all. And now—”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Nakrin cut in, his voice a low growl replacing the ambiance of the hall.

  Pell’s gaze snapped back to the man’s eyes. He could read expressions to a certain extent. This was more of an innate skill of a merchant. However, reading the expression of a hard-scaled, dragon-faced lizard? It was near impossible.

  “Mr. Hendel came to the prison desk a month ago to return Lamerick’s lunch bag that he’d left at the city park,” Nakrin said flatly, his tone laced with irritation. “That man and his nephews have never been involved with crime in this city before.”

  Pell stared at him, stunned. For a moment, he couldn’t even process the words. The big guy and his cronies—those three shitstains—actually had a clean record? How the hell was that possible? Shit.

  Pell’s mind raced. His plan was unraveling faster than he could patch it together. He had banked on those three having a history of trouble, a pattern of lies and deceit he could exploit to shake the draconid’s confidence. But instead, he was left with nothing but the lizard’s unflinching stare and an empty bag of tricks.

  Nakrin’s hand moved, and Pell’s soul flames flickered. With a purposeful gesture, he raised his claws and reconnected the flow of mana to the spell circuit. The iron-barred gate began to grind open, the noise echoing like the growl of some ancient beast awakening.

  Pell froze for a fraction of a second, but panic quickly surged through him. He’d been sure his bluff would work. All he had to do was make the lizard hesitate long enough to find a gap, to say something convincing. But now, every second brought Nakrin’s claws closer to dragging him past that cursed gate.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Pell sputtered, trying to plant his skeletal feet against the stone floor, but to no avail. “You’re seriously buying that? Those three were saints? Come on! Even you’ve got to see through their little act! You’re smarter than that, right? Right?”

  Nakrin let out a menacing growl and glared at Pell. “This damn act you’re saying they are pulling, that I can’t see through—are you saying I’m stupid?!”

  “Yes! No! Wait—I—What kind of stupid question is that?! There’s no correct answer to—“

  “Enough! One more word out of your skull and you’ll be splinters on the floor!” he roared. His grip on Pell’s spine tightened like a vice, his scales glinting under the faint light of the hallway’s sconces. Without a word, he stepped forward, pulling Pell through the now-open gate.

  Inside, the air felt heavier, colder. Pell couldn’t feel temperature, but his bones did react to the cold.

  The hallway stretched long and narrow, flanked on either side by doors made of reinforced magical stone—the same abnormally high mana-infused stone Pell had seen in the interrogation room. Each door was sealed with its own intricate magical locking mechanism, glowing softly with complex circuits.

  Each door was probably a cell—one without light or windows. It was only a solid wall with a rectangular door with a magical lock on them.

  Pell continued his struggle, but nothing seemed to work. No amount of wriggling or protesting could loosen his bones from the lizard’s grasp. Nakrin’s claws wrapped around his spine like a mixture of hardened concrete.

  Despite Nakrin’s earlier threat, Pell spoke again anyway, because words were all he had. “So, uh, what’s the plan, big guy? Toss me in one of these cozy cells, give me a minute to gather my thoughts, and then we have a nice chat tomorrow? Maybe over tea?”

  The draconid didn’t answer, but his snarl was answer enough. Pell’s skull rattled as the claws gripping him shifted, dragging him with even less care along the floor.

  Ahead, a particular door came into view, its runes glowing faintly as if awaiting their master’s command. They both stopped abruptly, and for one fleeting moment, Pell thought he might actually get tossed inside.

  “Wait, hold on!” Pell’s voice jumped an octave as the draconid released one clawed hand and reached for the lock. “This isn’t serious, right? You’re just throwing me in there until my representative arrives. Surely that’s the plan?”

  Nakrin didn’t pause, his glare colder than the damp stone walls around them. “You’ve done nothing but lie and distract since you set foot in this prison,” he said. “You’ve wasted my time, insulted the honor of this city’s adventurers, and attempted to undermine the integrity of our system.”

  The words hung heavy in the air, and Pell felt the tension closing in around him like a tightening noose. He tried again, desperation creeping into his tone.

  Enya’s high-noble status was his only bargaining chip, even if it was more rusted than polished. He clung to it like a drowning man grasping at a rotten plank.

  “You can’t act yet! My representative’s status—let’s just say it’s way above your pay grade. If you make the wrong call here—” His voice cracked as he pleaded.

  Nakrin’s glare sharpened and he leaned forward, silencing him instantly. Pell’s thoughts spiraled as his last fragments of leverage crumbled. No escape, no backup. His mind flickered to the brat. She’s not going to make it in time. Damn it, I’m on my own.

  Desperation seized him. With a sharp motion, he reached up, grabbed his own skull, and twisted it free from his neck with a loud crack. Without hesitation, Pell hurled it down the hallway.

  The sound echoed loudly, his skull bouncing once, then twice, before rolling to a stop far short of the gate.

  “Damn it,” Pell cursed to himself, scrambling to wiggle himself further into a roll.

  Nakrin’s grip on his leftover skeletal body loosened. With an irritated grunt, the draconid let go, letting his body clatter to the floor in a heap of disconnected bones.

  It didn’t just stop there. Nakrin raised one clawed foot and brought it down with terrifying force, shattering Pell’s spine in a single, deafening crack. A notification pinged in Pell’s mind, alerting him to critical damage, but it was a distant concern now.

  Pell’s skull twitched, rolling once, then twice, in a futile bid for freedom. That door that they had entered through, was now sealed by magic and closed. He managed two pitiful rolls before he realized the futility of his effort. Despite that, he continued to roll anyway, desperate to escape away from the crazy lizard.

  The world spun as he rolled. One moment, he saw Nakrin looming 50 feet away where his body had been abandoned. On the next rotation, his executor was already standing over him.

  “You think that was clever?” the draconid growled, his voice low and simmering with menace. “Now I can actually execute you for attempted escape.”

  How the hell is he this fast? Pell’s thoughts scrambled as Nakrin bent down, his claws reaching for the skull. What fucking rank is he?

  Before Nakrin’s claws could close around him, a loud clang shattered the tense silence. The grind of stone and the hum of magical energy filled the corridor.

  Both Nakrin and Pell turned—or rather, Nakrin turned, and Pell tilted helplessly on the floor.

  Someone was entering.

  Pell's mind whirled with hope, but also fear, at who could be behind that door. Please, let it be who I think it is.