Macabre Painting
'Wouldn't have helped,' Fate replied. 'Not much a Sprout Grade sword can do against a Master that kicked my ass without his Skill. He was playing with me, but pulling a weapon out could've gotten me killed on the spot.'
'Maybe, or maybe its glowing edge would've blinded him long enough to escape,' Kravoss suggested.
'Or he would've pulled out a weapon of his own and chopped my head off. Either way, it's in the past. Right now, we have to undo what that bastard did to Venden.'
Fate got his answer as to why the protestors from earlier weren't here instead of blocking the streets. The answer was that they WERE here at one point, if the discarded signs with rallying phrases written on them were anything to go by.
His theory was that they had spread themselves out far enough so everyone on the streets could hear their demands. It was an interesting tactic, but one that failed to garner sympathy from Fate. They were inherently selfish demands, after all.
'Alright, let's do this,' Fate thought, taking a breath to center himself before using Solid Surfing.
He sunk through the rooftop and into the dirt below, a thought sending him forward at the speed of a horse.
The plan was simple.
Kathrin was certain that the basement Venden was locked in held no defensive or detection Imprints. The basement's biggest advantage was that it was unknown, and anyone of sufficient power would notice the Mana being drawn from the estate and into the ground.
This would be Helga Grendeven's largest concern, especially with the scrutiny the Empress had placed her under. Guards were keeping an eye on this place 24/7, many of them trained in enchantment detection or carrying tools to do so.
Fate's job was to slip in through the bottom, free Venden, and sneak him out of the mansion above. Kathrin posited that once the Guards saw Venden in his hands, they'd step in and protect both men from the Grendevens.
All he had to do was make it out, which was easier said than done.
Kravoss' eyes were like a separate video feed linked directly into Fate's brain, so he could see the twenty or so servants cleaning or sweeping in just the front wing of the house.
That put Fate on edge, as there could easily be five times that throughout the entire building, and he had no clue how many of them would be combatants.
It was also a handy way to know when to surface, as the Dracok could instinctually feel where Fate was and use that to estimate when he had arrived at his destination.
Fate rose slowly, peeking his head out of the ground as he bobbed up and down as if swimming. A slow spin was enough to tell that no one was there, except the pitiful young man chained against the wall.
The room was small, only twenty feet in each direction, with grey stone walls and floors devoid of decoration. Against the walls, spots of pale stone suggested that there had been desks, cupboards, and other furniture stored down there.
A thin layer of dust covered everything, reinforcing the fact that it hadn't seen much use in quite some time.
The only potential exit he could find was an inconspicuous round pad of white metal. Fate could sense no trace of Imprints on the pad, which was confusing, but he was confident that it was the way out.
Venden looked like he had been beaten more than half to death.
His wrists were shackled to the wall above, leaving him sitting in an uncomfortable position with his legs pulled up to his torso to fight the slight chill.
Bruises covered every inch of his naked skin, or what was left of it. His body was rendered a macabre painting of purple and blue, with frequent highlights of crimson blood, either caked and dried or fresh and still flowing.
His brown hair, now filthy with flecks of dried blood from his bleeding wrists above, had grown to his shoulders, obscuring his gaze from Fate's view. His head was tilted toward the ground in front of him, and no sounds could be heard down there except the breathing of the young noble.
He was pockmarked by stab wounds both shallow and deep, long sections on his arms and legs had the flesh below exposed to the stale air of the basement, the severed skin and flesh cast aside in a rotting pile next to him. Alarmingly, some of that flesh was hanging from the teeth in his parted mouth.
Did they… feed him his own flesh?
Despite his horrid condition, his breathing remained steady and strong, punctuated by the occasional blood-filled cough. When he raised his gaze to the surfacing Fate, his eyes were firm and full of vigor, a stark contrast to the swollen mess that was his face.
"About time," Venden rasped with a smile. The words came out clumsy and whistly from his missing teeth and destroyed face.
"Come on," Fate said as he approached, taking out his sword. "Let's get you out of here."
Swinging the greatsword at Venden's restraints, sparks flew as metal collided with metal. The shackles didn't give.
With a grunt, Fate brought the sword back and swung again, this time destroying the first shackle and allowing Venden's limp hand to drop to the floor.
He did the same with the other shackle, glad to find that other than being made of strong steel, they lacked enchantments.
When he was freed, Venden slumped forward, landing face-first on the ground.
"You okay?" Fate asked.
"I haven't moved from that spot in a few days," Venden explained, turning his head to look up at Fate. "I don't think I can stand."
Fate nodded and stored his sword, taking his shirt off and wrapping it around the front of the young man's nude waist after helping him to a stand and throwing Venden's arm over his shoulder.
"Up you go," Fate grunted.
Venden's knees tried to buckle underneath him, but Fate held him up until he could stand on his own, albeit shakily.
As they walked forward, Fate made sure to take slow, small steps. He kept an arm on the emancipated noble at all times in case his knees gave way again, and they inched toward the white pad.