CHAPTER 821: RESCUE

Ortun Dungeon was a vast underground prison located deep within the heart of the Asbila Continent. It was a heavily fortified facility, armored to withstand full-scale magical and physical assaults, and infamous for the horrors that unfolded within its walls. While the Zanis Family typically executed most criminals, believing it a waste of resources to keep them alive, there were exceptions.

Some prisoners were used as tools to prepare their soldiers, such as in Katu Prison. However, there were also certain prisoners who held knowledge or secrets too valuable to lose. Those unfortunate enough to fall into that category were brought here, to Ortun, where their information would be extracted—by any means necessary.

At one of the lowest levels of this dreadful place, a heavy iron door creaked open with a groan of rusted metal. A woman was hurled inside like a broken sack of flesh, landing hard against the cold stone floor. Her body was covered in bruises, her face smeared with blood, her limbs trembling from the latest round of torture.

"Hmph," sneered the guard who threw her in. "What’s the point of keeping your mouth shut for people who let you rot in this hellhole?"

He laughed bitterly as he slammed the cell door shut and walked away, the echo of his boots disappearing down the corridor.

The woman’s name was Mario. She was a member of the Rebellion, and that alone had made her a high-value target. Unfortunately for her, that also meant endless torment. The interrogators of the Zanis military had tried everything—whips, chemicals, psychic prodding—but no matter what they did, Marion never spoke a single word. She never screamed. The only thing they received in return was a cold, defiant glare—colder than any winter demon.

Gritting her teeth, Marion forced herself upright, using the wall for support as she spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto the floor. She barely had the strength to sit, but she would not give the satisfaction of collapse. Once she was certain she was alone, she let out a quiet sigh and looked around the dimly lit cell, barely large enough to fit a person.

"So this wretched hole will be my final resting place," she thought, not aloud but deep within her own mind. A flicker of sorrow crossed her eyes. No matter how strong one’s spirit or will might be, the idea of dying like a dog in a forgotten cell, buried beneath the earth, was deeply disheartening.

Still, acceptance soon followed. She had never once considered revealing the Rebellion’s secrets. Her loyalty ran too deep—rooted in a belief that one day, children could live as children again, not be bred as killing machines to serve tyrants from beyond the stars. The only reason she had held on for this long wasn’t hope of rescue; it was strategic defiance. Every moment they spent trying to break her was time they weren’t using to interrogate her comrades. If she could delay them, she could protect others. That was her silent victory.

But just as her swollen eyes began to close and fatigue set in, she heard it.

"BOOM."

An explosion. Sharp, precise, and controlled—clearly not a mishap, but a calculated act of destruction. Before she could process what it meant, more detonations rang out across the dungeon. The earth beneath her trembled as screams of panic echoed from the distance. Alarm bells sounded, frantic and confused. It was chaos—beautiful, liberating chaos.

Using what little strength she had left, Marion pressed her ear to the metal door, straining to understand the situation. But the bombardment was relentless, the noise too overwhelming. The explosions were getting closer—louder. Then came a sound unlike the rest: metal being warped, bent by sheer force.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as her cell door began to groan and twist, folding inward. A massive hand, radiating with fiery power, gripped the door like paper and tore it from the frame. Before her stood a man—no, a living volcano in human form. His skin shimmered with heat, and a pressure hung around him like the edge of an eruption.

Marion stumbled back instinctively, eyes wide with disbelief. She didn’t recognize him. He was certainly not a member of the Rebellion—or at least not one she knew. The man paused, his fiery gaze locking onto her as if cross-referencing something in his mind. Then he spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.

"Marion Romiro. Codename: Golden Goose. My name is Frank. I’ve come on behalf of your leader, Cezar, to rescue you."

Before she could respond, he tossed her a pink capsule. Reflexively, she caught it. As questions swirled in her mind, Frank vanished in a blur, moving to the next cell. All around her, prisoners were screaming in confusion and disbelief while guards shouted in panic.

Marion stood frozen, the capsule in her hand. Her mind reeled. Cezar had ordered this? Cezar, whom she revered as a strategic genius, would never risk the entire rebellion for less than a hundred captives. It made no sense. He wouldn’t endanger years of hidden work for sentiment.

But now was not the time to question. Action was needed.

She looked at the pill in her hand. For a moment, she hesitated—then swallowed it whole. If the man had wanted her dead, he could have incinerated her with a thought. As soon as the capsule dissolved on her tongue, a wave of warmth surged through her body. Energy, strength, vitality—it spread like a flame, healing her wounds and flooding her muscles with stamina. She could feel it—she could run for hours if needed, fight for her life, and maybe even save someone else’s.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. For the first time in months, hope stirred within her chest.

With fire in her veins and steel in her resolve, Marion stepped out of the cell. Screams and gunfire echoed in the distance. Smoke coiled through the corridors, and prisoners were beginning to surge toward freedom.

Marion had expected to see thousands of warriors, heavily armed and fully armored. After all, Ortun Dungeon was one of the most secure prisons in the world, guarded by hundreds of elite soldiers—each one a trained Guardian. A full-scale assault would have required a battalion, maybe more. Yet, what she saw left her stunned.

There was no battalion. Not even a squad.

Only five people.

Just five individuals were carrying out this impossible mission.

One of them flew through the air with wings seemingly woven from shadow. Each beat of those wings distorted the light around him, letting him glide silently and swiftly through the chaos. Another—a woman—conjured massive spears of metal and lightning with a mere wave of her hand. The weapons surged through the air, twisting at sharp angles and splitting into smaller projectiles before reassembling and launching again like an endless storm of destruction.

Then there was the man who wielded a weapon that seemed to carry the very weight of the world. Each strike from his arm generated a shockwave so powerful that entire structures collapsed in its wake. Marion could feel the vibration in her bones even from a distance. He swung with purpose, cleaving through multiple guards at once, his presence like that of a living earthquake.

And then there was the woman in the shadows.

Marion could barely see her. Just a flicker of movement here, a streak of darkness there. Wherever she appeared, blood spilled. Death followed her like a loyal companion. It was as though the shadows themselves obeyed her will, dancing to her every move.

And, of course, there was the man who had rescued Marion—Frank. While the others battled the guards, Frank focused on breaking open the cells and freeing prisoners. But from time to time, when a guard dared to approach, Frank would raise his weapon and unleash a cannon of energy. The beams were devastating, disintegrating enemies into ash in an instant.

Marion could hardly believe her eyes. Just five people were enough to butcher hundreds of trained Guardians, all while systematically rescuing dozens of high-value prisoners. The sheer scale of their power was staggering, but even more impressive than their strength was their teamwork. They moved in perfect coordination, like the fingers of a single hand—separate, yet unified in purpose.

Though she was filled with questions, awe, and a sense of disbelief, Marion was no fool. She was a trained rebel, a seasoned fighter, and she understood the dangers they still faced. The situation was far from safe. Her emotions would have to wait. She refused to become a liability to the ones risking everything for her and the others.

Without hesitation, she joined the rest of the prisoners as they began the climb toward the surface. Her steps, once weak and staggering, were now firm—bolstered by the restorative pill Frank had given her.

Meanwhile, the members of the Xaos Kingdom’s Royal Guard continued their descent into the dungeon, slaughtering every enemy in their path with ruthless precision. They were methodical, focused, and unstoppable. Their presence left a wake of fallen guards and shattered walls, a trail that marked freedom for those they had come to save.