Darkness and despair

"Adrian, the enemy will be at our doorstep in about a week. This war has taken countless innocent lives and will continue to do so if we do nothing. I don't care if you ban the compass like you did or forbid the use of this balloon, but please, do it after we've used them against our enemies. Do it after we've saved this city." Edwin stepped forward, his tone pleading yet firm.

The nobility had long understood the church's deep influence over the people, but few fully grasped the threat this influence posed. Even fewer realized that if the church's power continued to grow unchecked, it could surpass that of the nobility and perhaps even the king himself.

Edwin, as a nobleman, had enjoyed the best life had to offer and was no stranger to greed. He cared little for the well-being of the people in his city or lands, viewing them more as tools to increase his wealth. Yet, one fear loomed larger than his greed: the fear of his soul burning in hell after death. This fear compelled him to fund the church and comply with many of the high priest's demands.

The high priest, Adrian, fixed his gaze on Edwin. "I understand your concerns about the impending battle, but I am merely a messenger of God's will and voice. I will now declare His final decision. The object you call a compass and this balloon are, from this moment on, banned until we have fully analyzed them. You are forbidden to create more of them or even speak of them to anyone. Is that clear?"

Edwin hesitated, wanting to argue, but after opening and closing his mouth several times, he gave up and nodded to the old man.

"You can't be serious, right?" Rafael's anger boiled over, barely kept in check.

"What do you mean?" Adrian responded, his voice calm but laced with authority. "Such objects must be analyzed by our brothers to ensure they do not contradict the Lord's light."

Rafael facepalmed in frustration. "Countless lives could be saved with these inventions! This one—this balloon—we'll use it to scare the enemy, that's all! What the hell is your problem?" Rafael moved closer to the high priest, his finger pointing accusingly at Adrian's face.

"Insolence! Who do you think you are to speak to the high priest in such a manner?" Brother Ezequo, the priest, spat out the words, his disdain palpable.

Edwin, sensing the tension and knowing Rafael was about to explode, quickly stepped between them. "Please forgive this man, priest, and high priest. The impending war has affected his mind, causing him to lose his manners. He just needs some rest. Servant!"

"What?" Rafael was bewildered by the sudden shift, but before he could voice his outrage, the door was opened.

"Yes, milord." A man entered the room, bowing slightly.

"Take this man to his room, now." Edwin's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

The servant approached Rafael, but before he could lay a hand on him, Adrian spoke. "No, his behavior is not that of a pure or confused man. I will judge him here and now." The old man stepped forward, his presence commanding the room.

This doesn't sound good, both Rafael and Edwin thought simultaneously.

"First, dozens of soldiers felt uneasy and apprehensive around you. Many have reported your strange behavior and the hours you spend locked away in your room, working on who knows what. I've been informed you possess numerous substances and powders. What is the meaning of all that?"

"I have nothi—"

"Silence!" Adrian cut him off sharply. "There's more evidence against you. For instance, no one can explain how you defeated two well-trained soldiers with your bare hands..."

"I saw everything! He defeated them with one hand! No ordinary man can do that! Only someone who has made a pact with the devil could possess such strength!" Brother Ezequo seized the moment, his voice dripping with venom.

"There were multiple witnesses who can attest to your unnatural abilities. And then there are these inventions—witchcrafts, really—that you've shown us. First, the strange device that uses forbidden metal to attract other metals, and now this monstrosity that defies Heaven itself by trying to reach it."

"Not only that, our brothers in Calistoga have warned us about you and your evil deeds while you were there."

"I, Adrian, high priest of Fitsburg, believe there is sufficient evidence to condemn you for witchcraft, heresy, and rebellion against the Lord, Creator of all!"

"What the hell?!" Rafael's disbelief turned to anger.

"You are sentenced to the square cage, where you will be at the mercy of the All-Father. If you survive after a week, it will mean He has forgiven you. Servant, brother, take him away."

"Guards!" The servant shouted, and two soldiers entered the room.

"This is bullshit! I did nothing wrong! I demand—"

"Silence!" Adrian's voice thundered, cutting off Rafael's protest. "Take him away. Tomorrow, he will be sent to the cage."

I swear I'll kill you. Rafael's eyes darted to the soldiers flanking him and then to the open doors behind him. He knew the place was heavily guarded.

There are four soldiers in the hallway, plus these two here. Damn it, there's no way I can fight off six of them. Maybe if I wait for the right moment, when there's just two... Rafael assessed the situation, realizing his chances were slim. One wrong move, and his escape attempt would end in disaster.

"Take two more—no, three more guards to escort him to his cell, and remember that he is extremely dangerous," Adrian warned the soldiers.

"What? You cannot order my soldiers around! I remained silent about the two he defeated because they are part of the new group still in training. But these others won't leave this door; they are the best, tasked with guarding and protecting me." Edwin intervened, his authority clear.

Rafael sighed in relief, cold sweat dripping down his back.

"Didn't you see how he bested two soldiers? He must be escorted by a dozen guards, just to be safe!" Brother Ezequo insisted, nearly foaming at the mouth with rage.

"I agree with Brother Ezequo. This man is a threat to everyone," Adrian added.

"Fine, but just one soldier. Don't worry, he is among the best. Eagle! Take him away." Edwin called out, and a tall, imposing soldier stepped forward. He wore chainmail over a well-crafted gambeson and a richly decorated helmet. Two swords hung at his waist.

His cold, calculating gaze sent a shiver down Rafael's spine. This was no ordinary soldier; this was a warrior honed by countless battles. The two priests exchanged uneasy glances but ultimately relented.

"You, go ahead and keep some distance from us. Prisoner, start walking." The man called Eagle commanded with a deep, authoritative voice. Rafael followed the orders, stepping out of the room with them. Okay, okay, stay calm. One is about three meters ahead, and the other two are right behind me. Damn it! If only that guy was closer, I could kick him and have only two left...

He glanced back at the two guards behind him. This bastard thought of everything. He let the other soldier walk just slightly ahead so that if I try anything, he'll have time to draw his weapon.

"Look forward, you piece of shit!" The guard behind him snarled, his voice dripping with anger. "You think you can run, huh? Hahaha, by your clothes, you must be some rich brat, but your luck has run out." The soldier, filled with envy, couldn't resist belittling Rafael—a young man who, in his eyes, had everything handed to him on a silver platter.

They descended several flights of stairs and passed through a series of dimly lit corridors leading to a more rustic part of the castle. Guards were stationed at almost every corner, securing the area. Rafael noticed the absence of any servants in this section, a stark contrast to the bustling areas they had passed through earlier.

Finally, they reached a large metal door guarded by a solitary soldier. "Lord Edwin sent this man to spend a joyful night here. Tomorrow, he'll be placed in the cage in the town square," the lead soldier explained.

The guard eyed Rafael with a smirk before opening the door. Beyond it lay a room with a long table where four soldiers sat, drinking, eating, and laughing at each other's jokes. They barely glanced at the group entering the room before returning to their revelry.

It's over... I'm dead, Rafael thought, feeling a wave of despair wash over him. The opportunity he had been waiting for never came.

After crossing the room and descending another set of ladders, they reached another metal door. The lead soldier knocked twice and stated their business before the door was opened, revealing a dark corridor. Small cells lined the right side, and the only light came from a lone candle atop a small table near the entrance.

They all stepped inside, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.

"Look at this guy! He's so scared he can't even talk! Hahaha!" One of the guards jeered as they walked deeper into the corridor, away from the flickering light. The guard by the door remained in his position.

"Hehehe, I heard he beat two of our brothers, but I guess that was just a lie. Doesn't seem so—"

A sound of flesh meeting flesh and bones cracking cut the man short. His head twisted nearly 180 degrees, and his jaw hung grotesquely out of place. The other three soldiers watched in stunned silence, as if in slow motion, as their comrade was sent crashing into the cell bars.

Before the man's body even hit the ground, they saw a white blur dart swiftly toward the burly man beside them. Rafael aimed a kick at his head, but the man ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow by a hair's breadth. He stepped back, readying himself for another attack—but it never came.

"You piece of shit!" The third soldier, sword in hand, raised his weapon high to strike Rafael. In the dim light, all he could see was the flash of white robes as Rafael charged toward him. Instinct and training compelled the soldier to bring his sword down with all his strength.

What... was all the soldier could think as Rafael dodged his blade and slammed a fist into his face. Using the momentum, Rafael grabbed the man's arm and yanked him forward, sending the soldier stumbling deeper into the corridor while Rafael propelled himself in the opposite direction—toward the exit.

"Guards! The prisoner has escaped!" The soldier guarding the door shouted, drawing his sword.

"You're fast, I'll give you that, but speed alone won't save you," the burly man said, taking a defensive stance. His movements were measured and confident, revealing a level of experience that set him apart from the others.

Rafael ran close to the wall, leaping off it and then launching himself at the soldier with a powerful kick. The soldier saw Rafael in the air and prepared to block the incoming foot, intending to grab it and slam Rafael to the ground.

But things didn't go as planned. The force of the kick was so strong that it drove the soldier's own hands against his face, forcing him to step aside to avoid being knocked over. Bloody hell! How in God's name is he so strong? the soldier thought, struggling to maintain his balance.

Rafael ignored him and leaped toward the door, where one more soldier now blocked his escape. "Fucking die!" the guard who had been stationed at the door yelled, his sword already in motion as he attacked.

In the flickering torchlight, the soldiers could see the wild, desperate look in Rafael's eyes—a cornered beast fighting for survival.

"What's happening?" asked the first guard as he opened the door. He barely had time to react as the man in front of him missed his strike and was sent crashing into the wall by a vicious left kick.

Now, Rafael was less than three meters from the exit, with only five soldiers standing between him and freedom.

Rafael attempted to slip between them. He saw two soldiers readying their weapons to strike, but he didn't care; he knew his clothes would offer some protection. He raised his arms to shield his head and braced himself for the blows... but they never came.

A hand grabbed him from behind and yanked him backward, causing the swords to cut through empty air. Before Rafael could comprehend what had happened, a punch landed squarely on his face, making the world spin for a moment.

He struggled to stay on his feet, but it was impossible—he was thrown against the metal bars with a bone-jarring thud.

"Kill this motherfucker!" The five soldiers prepared to finish Rafael off, but a commanding hand stopped them.

"Stop. He's mine! I'll make him regret everything he's done," the burly man declared, his voice cold and authoritative.

"But sir, look what he—" One soldier started to protest but was cut off by a swift kick from Rafael, sending him sprawling into a nearby cell.

Seizing the moment of distraction, Rafael scrambled back to his feet and sprinted toward the exit. The man lunged to grab him again, but this time he missed.

With the soldiers now crowded together, they had no time to ready themselves. Rafael charged headlong into the first man, tackling him and driving him backward—only to be stopped by a brutal kick that sent him crashing to the ground once more.

He rolled across the floor and looked up just in time to see the gleam of a sword descending in an arc toward his head.

"No!" a voice shouted from somewhere behind, but the soldier ignored it, confident in his strike. He had trained for years for this moment, and he knew his blade was sharp enough to do the job.

He saw Rafael raise his left arm in a futile attempt to block the blow. A victorious grin spread across the soldier's face.

But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. His blade was deflected by Rafael's arm. "What the—" was all he managed to say before an uppercut silenced him, sending him crashing to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth. Later, they would find the tip of his tongue lying beside him.

"Fucking hell!" Another soldier screamed before Rafael's kick sent him slamming into the bars of a cell. Before the soldier could recover, two hands appeared from inside the cell, behind him, and clamped down on him in a sleeper hold.

A crazy laugh could be heard coming from the criminal holding the soldier.

Meanwhile, Rafael quickly dispatched another soldier after deftly dodging his weapon.

"You freak!"

"Fucking monster!" The two remaining soldiers stepped back in fear. A single man had just beaten six of their comrades. Men with the same training as them, and they were terrified.

Rafael was ready to spring at them, but the sound of footsteps behind him set off alarm bells in his mind. The real threat was still there. He jumped to the side just as a fist came flying toward him, followed by a flurry of punches and kicks aimed at taking him down.

He dodged with all his might, trying to fend off the relentless assault. At one point, he managed to throw a jab, but it was caught in midair. The distinctive soldier pulled Rafael's hand and delivered a devastating knee strike to his gut, forcing the air out of his lungs.

Rafael crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach and fighting the urge to vomit. His entire body ached with pain.

"You piece of shit!" One of the soldiers kicked him.

"I'll make you beg for death!" The other joined in, raining blows down on him.

"Who do you think you—Aaaahhh!" One soldier's taunt was cut short as Rafael grabbed his foot and delivered a brutal strike to his groin.

"Enough of this!" The Eagle, renowned for his skill and strength, pinned Rafael's left arm to the ground with his foot, while blocking a punch aimed at his groin.

"Hehehe..." He laughed, amused by Rafael's desperate tactics, before delivering a series of punishing blows to Rafael's face until the world went black, and Rafael was knocked out cold.