Veil of Destiny

Chapter 18 Fallen Angel and Wheel of Space

Ian slowly regained consciousness, his head throbbing with pain. It took a while before his surroundings came into focus. The room was windowless, cold, and damp. The walls were crudely constructed from rough-hewn stones, with patches of moss here and there. Water dripped incessantly from the ceiling. The room was filled with an assortment of torture devices, their surfaces stained with old, blackened blood. The cries of past victims seemed to still echo faintly in the air. Two torches flickered on the opposite wall, their light hurting Ian's eyes. Everything in the room danced menacingly in the firelight. The old mayor, Ian, found himself shackled to the wall, his arms and legs spread wide by iron rings. He tried to mutter a spell but was abruptly silenced by a harsh whip.

Dorian paced the room irritably, glaring at Ian. He dismissed the mercenaries with a wave of his hand and approached Ian. Realizing the futility of resisting, Ian abandoned his attempts at spellcasting. Magic required incantations, precise hand gestures, and the caster's unique mental energy. With his hands bound, Ian could only manage a few low-level spells, none of which would be allowed by his captor.

Dorian's gaze was filled with hatred. The disintegration spell Ian had cast earlier still haunted him. Though a fifth-level spell with a success rate of about fifty percent, it had nearly cost Dorian his life. He had only survived thanks to a pre-cast acceleration spell and his warrior-like agility.

"What is this place?" Ian's tired voice broke the silence.

"This is the dungeon of Fort Cyrus, Mr. Ian."

"Why haven't you killed me?"

"Because I have many questions for you, Mr. Ian."

Ian laughed, though it carried no humor. "Lord Dorian, do you think an old man like me will fulfill your demands?"

Seeing Dorian's confident expression, Ian's laughter faded.

"Mr. Ian, for an adventurer, you're too old. As a mage, you're overly orthodox. As a mayor, you have children. You might not fear death, but sometimes the aftermath of death is not something you can easily accept. You could end it all now, but I won't stop you." Dorian opened a small iron window in the wall, and the screams of Ian's son, Guta, filled the room.

"You devil! You deserve to go to hell! You...you...you won't even let go of my son!" Ian struggled frantically, making the iron chains clatter loudly.

"Mr. Ian, if you truly wanted your son spared, you shouldn't have cast that disintegration spell earlier. The longer you delay, the more Guta suffers. I'm not a heartless man. Let's get started. I want to know the real reason why the Ice Silver Fox Mercenary Group occupied Fort Cyrus."

Guta's screams tore at Ian's heart. His face contorted in agony, he finally began to speak. The plan to let Ian hear but not see his son's suffering was Tristan's idea. "Imagination is the greatest torment to the mind," Tristan had said.

"The Ice Silver Fox Mercenary Group came here to excavate the remains of a necromancer. They're searching for an angel statue."

"I know that!" Dorian snapped impatiently. "What is the statue for?"

"It supposedly hides a secret about a fallen angel and is rumored to be linked to a major scandal within the church. That's all I know. Please, make them stop!"

Dorian pondered for a moment. He had already handed over the statue of the Hell Guardian Angel to Bedivere. Since it was something that the Ice Silver Fox Mercenary Group had gone through so much trouble to obtain, it must be quite valuable. But even if he managed to figure out its significance, he wouldn't be able to keep it. The innocent suffer for the guilty, and Dorian and his friends understood this principle very well. He gave the statue to Bedivere, and left it for the Golden Lion to handle. None of the nobles had any ambitions for changing the current regime or becoming powerful figures in the continent. Although they loved money, being rich in one region was enough. Therefore, this statue was like a hot potato and the sooner it was given away, the better.