Welf's fake chains disappeared halfway down the staircase.
As if ending up near the catacombs weren't already a clear sign that Konrad's plans went south.
But he was always prepared.
If those fancy tactics failed, he could fall back on his favorite method to turn things around.
His brute force.
He kicked the guard in front of him, giving him no warning.
Sparks flew between the narrow walls as the soldier fell, gathering momentum.
He wouldn't stop until the bottom, then sprawled out, unmoving. Those bulky red plates might've worked well in a battle, but they only made his fall worse.
The other one yelled, but his reaction was too slow.
Welf took his greatsword—invisible until now—and grabbed it halfway on the blade.
It wasn't his first time brawling in such a confined space. He spun it like a staff, using the pommel as much as the point, and seconds later, the thug joined his comrade on the floor.
The blacksmith was lucky they didn't send more to escort him.
Konrad's chains and to make his sword invisible must have been the reason. He'd thank him later, though—reaching the top of the stairs was his priority now.
A battle already raged on the surface.
The Church cornered his tribe in that dirty little inn across the annex. Vargas barked orders.
"Barricade the entrance. Don't let them through."
"Where's Konrad?" the redhead shouted over the chaos, running across the square.
He got inside the last second before they rolled a table across the room, sealing the splintered door. The captain didn't wait for anyone—but the Blood Moon warriors weren't slow, either.
"He's in the annex with the blonde and the bald one," Vargas groaned. "We're fucked."
While math wasn't the blacksmith's strong suit, the red armors outnumbered them two to one.
They already knew that the Inquisitor had two hundred men. But that was the total—they should have been guarding the entire town, not this one square alone.
It seemed like they were waiting for them the whole time.
"Even the rest is abandoning the gates now," a tribesman moaned. His arm was bleeding, but he wouldn't stop fighting as armored footmen tried to break down the windows.
They were too bulky to get in fast enough, and the warriors pushed back hard.
"They want us bad," Vargas grunted, dragging another table to the entrance. "Feels like a trap."
"Then let's break out and grab Konrad, too," Welf offered, keeping the windows in check.
"Hah, easier said than done," the captain scoffed, stopping to analyze the chaos. "It's been decades since I walked Halaima's streets. Who knows how much it had changed—"
"Still the same, but rotten," the redhead claimed.
He was finally in his element, his greatsword the perfect area-denial weapon.
Whenever someone poked a head inside the windows, they had to pull back or lose it. It didn't matter if they wore a helmet or not. The momentum alone would've taken their heads off.
The flimsy wall kept him hidden from crossbowmen, but it was anything but safe to stay there.
"In that case—" Vargas kicked down a door towards the server's quarters. "We can take the alleyways and circle the temple. Numbers won't matter there, especially if we split."
"Oh?" Welf lowered his sword to gather his breath. "Sounds like a plan."
They ran across the corridor as the main door's barricade broke down behind them.
The soldiers poured in, but only two of the Inquisitor's men waited for them at the back.
They were no match when their entire group moved as one. Before they could shout for reinforcements, the greatsword silenced them both.
Two narrow alleys met at the inn's back, the captain moving towards the right.
"Take the other one," he barked over his shoulder. "Fifty paces straight, then across the street. Follow the path on the other side, then left, right, another street, and two more lefts."
The old man knew more about Halaima than he let on—at least Welf hoped he was right.
"If you lied, and they changed the layout," the captain paused, looking back. "Tough shit."
***
Stella's head was about to explode.
Not from a headache—the voices went wild inside. The thick ozone smell also drove her crazy.
She didn't want to come back here. She chose to defect. The spirits made her do it. But now they were urging her to act. To do what exactly? Even they didn't seem to know.
'Free her. Kill the Inquisitor.'
'Help the girl. Protect her at all costs.'
'Don't let the cursed one fight her, she's more fragile than she looks.'
'Run. Stay. Hide. Fight.'
Absolute chaos—and her own indecision didn't help, either.
Otto Ostfeld scoffed, standing up behind his sturdy desk.
"And this is how long your friends lasted," he said, waving towards the window. The fighting quieted down after only five minutes. "Forty less savage to worry about. No more backup, kid."
Konrad still struggled to get on his feet, his expression painful but unreadable.
"I don't need help to deal with a coward like you," he gritted through his teeth. "Hiding behind women and children, forcing them to do your dirty—"
He couldn't finish. Another lightning strike hit him, almost shattering Stella's eardrums.
"You were saying?" Otto asked, only sparing him a side glance from the window.
Brigida, the child, was taking shallow breaths, still standing on the desk.
She had no idea the girl was this strong—and this willing to use her powers for the Inquisitor.
It was no wonder the spirits would flood Stella's mind with their chatter every time she was close. She never had her talent. This seemed impossible.
When the silver bracelet was on her wrist, she was helpless. And yet this child—
"Anyway," Otto interrupted her thoughts, turning to face her. Their eyes met only for a second, and she had to look away. "What exactly happened with the mercenaries I have sent?"
He must have known. It was a mistake to betray him.
Crushing her would cost him nothing. Light her on fire. Have the child finish her off.
But he didn't do anything.
His gaze lingered, hot against her forehead, until her knees almost buckled. But nothing else.
"No explanation," he said. It wasn't even a question.
She glanced up to meet the Inquisitor's impassive face.
The man she feared, desperate to serve, to please all her life, wasn't even upset or surprised.
Not even her obvious betrayal was enough to spark emotions, as if she were a nobody.
"Very well." Otto turned. "We'll figure out your punishment after I have reached an agreement with our Prodigy here. Brigida, please convince him—but be nice."
And with that, another lightning strike, stronger than the ones before.
Konrad had no chance to resist it.
He couldn't even get up, and yet, when her gaze met his eyes for a moment—
She only saw pity in them. She imprisoned and tortured him. Her replacement struck him down, and he was still pitying her.
And the child—she was panting, obeying, even if it tore her apart.
As if they were two sides of the same coin.
She never had the courage or the talent but was eager to serve.
Brigida had a real blessing, but it almost crushed her—she was unable to resist.
"So about that signature," the Inquisitor reminded Konrad. "You can sign it, and you'd only have to deal with the transmutation artifacts. Or the child can convince you a little further."