Chapter 602: Jobbing (1/2)

Chapter 602 Jobbing

Ilea turned to the terrified soldier. “What about him?”

“I have no clue. He did attack, but given the situation, I would’ve done the same,” Paulson said.

“L… Lilith… please… I surrender,” the man stammered.

“Ah well. Okay, you lead us through this place then. Shout, warn someone, or attack us and I’ll have your head, understood?” she said.

“Yes, of course. I don’t want to die,” he said. “I’m Rorge. Stationed in Mothine before we made our way west here when the imperials breached the walls.”

Shows your bravery, I suppose. Hopefully I’m scarier than the imperial army breaching the walls of Mothine, Ilea thought with a smirk. She had heard and seen enough of Lord Veltan to justify a rather… direct response.

“Show me to the sacrifice hall,” she said. Both the slaves and the few attendants she had ran into painted a rather decrepit picture of this fort and its current inhabitants. Desperate situations did apparently call for desperate blood magic. The good thing was that Veltan and his allies apparently didn’t have access to something quite as intricate as the higher ups in the Order of Truth.

“Of course, this way Lady Lilith,” Rorge said. “Those who didn’t follow the orders were used in the experiments too,” he added.

“Yes Rorge, please keep the sob stories to yourself for now. I’m sure we’ll find someone to listen at a later point in time,” she said, sure that an imperial judge could deal with that instead. Not that she heard much about their benevolent trials, but maybe the man had a chance, considering the war ended months ago. Officially that was.

They freed a few more slaves alone the way, Ilea teleporting their whole group through the corridors and to the cellar before going back up with Rorge and Paulson. She noted that none of the prisoners had reacted particularly shocked when they glanced the Baralia soldier. A good sign at least.

When they reached the sacrifice hall, Ilea left Paulson to guard Rorge near the door and simply walked inside. She stepped past the group of soldiers playing cards at a long banquet table and went straight to the hooded man standing near the improvised stone tub carved into the ground. A thin layer of blood still remained at the bottom, the smell quite strong.

She saw the naked and crying slaves in their cages a few meters away and heard the hooded man giggling to himself.

The soldiers had noticed her by now and scrambled up, drawing their weapons and shouting.

“What’s so funny?” Ilea asked, her ashen horns nearly scraping the hooded man’s brow when he turned and stumbled, nearly falling into the tub. She caught him by the throat and held him there. “Now, now, boys and girls.”

The soldiers stopped when they saw her holding the mage, weapons drawn and ready to fight.

He gurgled something before a whip of blood slapped uselessly against the side of her head. “I’m sure you’re aware that your king is dead. Lord Veltan is dead too and this fort has fallen. Now I’m going to give you once chance,” Ilea said when a blood spike slammed against her head, just as uselessly shattering. “Lay down your weapons and face trial, or die right here and at my hands,” she added, activating her third tier Deviant ability.

They immediately took a step back, most dropping their weapons with a few whispers of Lilith.

Only two of the soldiers remained hostile, one of them attacking one of his own. He quickly found himself vanishing and appearing at the top of the rather high reaching hall, falling before he broke a leg on the ground. The last soldier dropped his axe.

Her aura stopped and she nodded to the man she held up, his magic still flung against her head. “I assume this is the man who plans and executes the rituals?”

The soldiers all confirmed quickly.

She pressed her hand together, breaking the man’s spine and killing him before she dropped the corpse into the tub. Ilea displaced the soldier who had attacked the others and killed him too. “Leave your weapons and look for rope or something else to bind each other,” she said, going to the cages before she ripped the doors open.

Her ash spread to heal the captives but she found them in good health already. “Paulson,” she called out and cut apart a Baralia tapestry, handing each of the captives enough to cover themselves with.

The soldier stepped into the room, his swords held casually as he urged Rorge forward. “Yes?”

Ilea appeared next to him and marked the man. “Use this to call for me if any of them attack you. Wait here.”

“What if they kill me in a few seconds?” he asked.

“I’ll make sure to avenge you,” Ilea replied.

“Wonderful,” he said.

She punched his shoulder. “You survived Veltan. I’m sure you’ll be fine against this bunch. Rorge is the strongest after all.”

Ilea left for the indicated dinner hall upstairs and near the top of the fort. Flames still clung to the entrance and her sphere already told her enough.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, finding about fifteen corpses burnt and splattered throughout the hall. The long table in the center was covered with food and drinks, as well as limbs and intestines. Feyrair sat in the largest chair with his armored boots on the table, a human leg in his hand.

He bit into it with glee, ripping through the flesh and muscle with ease. He chewed and swallowed, blood dripping down his chin. “I’m wonderful, thank you.”

“Slaves and staff?” she asked.

“Do you think me an animal? I sent them away beforehand,” the elf said.

Ilea looked around the room before she glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, revealing her face just to get the gesture across.

“Hey, there are plenty for the both of us. I’m willing to share,” he said and pointed the leg at her.

“Anyone left?” Ilea asked, sniffing on a bottle of wine before she displaced a glass from a serving table at the side of the hall, checking it for blood before she filled it.

“This floor is clear. Only one way up, probably soldiers on the roof,” he informed her before he continued his meal.

“Anyone above two hundred here?” she asked.

He looked up for a moment. “A few, yes. Oh, two forty for one of them. They all immediately attacked though.”

“Ah whatever. Just don’t eat their faces if you can resist. Might be good for the imperials to know who was present,” Ilea said and walked towards the stairs leading up.

“Sure you don’t want any? It’s fresh!” Feyrair called out.

Ilea rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I can smell that,” she said and sipped on her wine. I really am more of an ale person. But I suppose if it’s here.

She found a few slaves or employees hiding in the kitchen and told them to go down to the cellar, her armor and the blood still clinging to it enough to prevent an argument. When she reached the roof, she found fifteen more soldiers, some of them mages and the rest armed with crossbows or normal bows.

One of them stared at her, unsure how to react as she stepped onto the roof with a glass of wine in hand, the bottle in the other.

She charged Monster Hunter and whistled, freezing the lot and repeating her offer. This time, they all dropped their weapons and looked around with fearful eyes.

“Alright, come on, down to the square,” she said, picking up everyone else on the way down. The door to the dinner hall remained closed. Feyrair would come when he was done.

About twenty minutes later, every human in the fort had come to the central square where the main gate to the fort remained closed.

“What do you think?” she asked the only imperial in the large group.

Everyone looked at them, the Baralia soldiers bound while the ex slaves exchanged clothing and food they had gathered.

Paulson sighed. “It’s getting pretty late. You don’t suppose we can continue tomorrow?”

“You just want to loot the place,” Ilea said.

He smiled. “Ah well that too, but I meant it. Can you bring us all to Mothine then?”

“It’s better if you get a few soldiers here, I’m sure Lord Veltan should be enough of a name to get Barren moving,” she said.

“In the middle of the night? That promotion is looking grim,” he murmured. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ll go of course. Can you keep some of the wine for me? And that bag of silver in Veltan’s office, doubt someone like you has much use for it.”

Ilea laughed, his behavior downright refreshing compared to everyone else in the vicinity. “Know what, sure. But only if you get them here in less than eight hours.”

“Ten?” he asked.

“Eight, come on, you’re not that slow,” she said.

“Plenty of monsters and bandits in the area,” the man murmured but went to get two horses anyway. “I’ll be here as fast as I can.”

“Do be,” she said and walked to the closed gate. She placed down her glass and bottle before she wedged her hands into the thick wood, pulling hard. The wood groaned as the mechanisms turned and the gate was lifted. She gripped below and moved it further up until it was high enough for the soldier and his horses to pass.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he said with a smile.

Ilea let the gate fall when the man had passed, displacing the glass and bottle back into her hands. Now let’s see if we can’t gather some evidence in the meantime.

The sky was pitch black when the sound of riders came closer to the front gate. Ilea saw them with her sphere and went to open the entrance.