Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Yet, Benedict, riding at the head of the procession, remained impassive, as if devoid of any emotion. In truth, his spirits were low. The headache that had briefly subsided had returned. It was highly unusual for another headache to strike so soon after the last one. The cheers of the crowd, which he would normally ignore, now grated on his nerves.
Beside the Duke, who passed by the cheering citizens without a glance, his aide, Moritz, was tense, sensing his lord’s displeasure from his furrowed brow.
‘We failed to find the Holy Sword.’ Moritz surmised this was the reason for his lord’s worsened mood and cautiously asked, “Shall I have the knights disperse the crowd?”
“All the way to the capital?” A scoff and an incredulous chuckle silenced Moritz.
Benedict ran a hand through his hair irritably, recalling the events of a few days prior. The moment his agonizing headache, sharp as a knife in his brain, had completely vanished. Which noble house in the Holy Kingdom was it? He couldn’t recall the name, only the woman, her face smeared with blood, trembling with fear.
‘Yes, certainly…’ The instant he saw her pink eyes, the torment in his head had ceased. That was why he hadn’t driven the sword, already piercing his enemy’s throat, through her as well. The sudden release from the excruciating pain was akin to euphoria. In that moment of relief, he had spared the insignificant life of the pleading maid, taking her prisoner.
But what did it mean that he now recalled her face, her eyes? With his uncanny, almost inhuman intuition, Benedict recognized a possible link between his headache and the woman.
“…Interesting.” He felt a flicker of intrigue, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He had made the decision to spare her without much thought, but it now seemed his instincts had been remarkably accurate.
“Did the prisoners arrive in the capital?”
“Yes. I received a report last night that they were all safely accommodated. The auction is scheduled to be held within a few days… Do you have any instructions?”
The perceptive Moritz quickly inquired about his intentions, and Benedict pursed his lips.
“I need to find one of the prisoners.”
***
The prisoners brought to the Empire were confined in a subterranean jail cell, their faces etched with fear of the unknown. The soldiers who had participated in the battle were particularly distraught.
“I didn’t do it, I didn’t do anything, don’t kill me, don’t kill me…”
Hilde gazed at the half-crazed, rambling soldier with pity. ‘What could he have possibly endured…’ She, too, had experienced horrors, but nothing compared to the carnage these soldiers must have witnessed firsthand.
“They say a soldier was sliced clean in half…”
“And that no one survives his interrogation without confessing.”
The enemy commander, Duke Oaklien. Grim tales surrounding him, painted in shades of crimson, circulated heavily among the prisoners.
“Mealtime!”
Bread and water were distributed. The bread was hard and difficult to chew, but edible. However, this relatively decent treatment was reserved for the female prisoners. The male prisoners, mostly defeated soldiers, fared far worse.
A much smaller portion of bread was tossed into their cell, instantly sparking a brawl. The soldier who had been muttering to himself moments before also lunged for the food, only to be overpowered by the others.
“No!”
“No, what?! You crazy b*stard…!”
Kicks rained down, and the pinned soldier’s screams echoed through the cell. Hilde, pale with horror, cried out to the guard, “Stop them! Someone’s going to die!”
The guard glanced into the cell, shrugged, and offered Hilde a piece of advice. “Worry about yourself. You’re all going to be sold as slaves anyway.”
The blood drained from Hilde’s face. The guard shook his head at her. “Still, you’re better off than those lot. Warming some nobleman’s bed is better than being whipped to death, isn’t it?”
Only then did Hilde realize the purpose of their capture, the reason for their comparatively better treatment. Her fingers, clutching the blanket provided for warmth, trembled slightly.
“Ugh… ugh…” The battered soldier, curled up in a corner, whimpered softly. Hilde couldn’t tear her eyes away from his pained face.
Later, during the brief period allotted for the women to use the latrine, she secretly slipped her portion of bread to the injured soldier.
***
A man, dressed far too finely for the setting, appeared before the underground prison at dawn.
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