CHAPTER 305: 305

Kael flinched, his eyes narrowing, while Rhys instinctively stepped back. Baldur stood firm, but even he looked disturbed. The man let out a long, broken scream, not of pain—but pure ecstasy, as if he was enjoying the torment.

His flesh started to split in thin lines, small cuts at first, but then they tore open wider. Blood sprayed out like a fountain, hitting the ground and nearby guards. His teeth cracked, falling one by one, yet he kept laughing with a voice that no longer sounded human.

Kael muttered under his breath, "What the hell..."

Then his body began to shrivel, like something was being sucked out of him. His limbs bent and twisted like branches in fire. His eyes popped out, dangling by the veins, before falling off and splashing into the blood pool.

For one final second, he stared at them, still smiling with no lips. Then, with a wet crack, his head snapped backward and dropped. His body collapsed into a pulpy heap, steam rising from the gore like something still boiled inside.

Silence followed, thick and heavy.

Even Baldur didn’t speak for a few seconds.

"That...what happened," Rhys finally said, voice low.

The air in the tunnel grew still, heavy with something unseen. Even the flickering torches seemed to dim.

"It’s a curse..." a guard muttered, stepping back as the restrained man’s skin bubbled and pulsed like boiling tar. Veins crawled over his body like black vines, twitching and wrapping tighter.

Baldur’s voice was low and sharp. "Seal it before it takes root."

A priest moved without hesitation. He knelt behind the man, his fingers glowing as he drew a trembling holy symbol over the man’s spine.

A wave of pale light surged across the man’s back, burning away the creeping veins. The body jerked, limbs flailing like a drowning animal, but the curse was sealed—for now.

The priest stepped back, eyes dark.

"Begin," Baldur ordered.

Two clerics grabbed the man’s arms and forced him down. His face pressed to the damp stone. His eyes darted, mouth wide with silent screams.

The executioner approached, his face calm as if walking to a daily task. In his hand, he held a small iron hammer—its head rusted, stained with something old and black. He knelt by the man’s hand and held up the little finger.

"Please... no..." the man wheezed. "You don’t know what they’ll do to me..."

Crack.

The sound echoed like breaking glass. His little finger dangled, shattered. The man convulsed violently, trying to pull away, but the other priests held him firm.

Crack.

The ring finger next. A scream tore from his throat, high and raw. Blood pooled under his hand, soaking the stone.

Then the middle finger. The torturer paused this time—then rotated the finger before breaking it sideways.

The man screamed again, but now it was shriller, more beast than human.

"You think death will come to you," the executioner said, calm. "But we have prayers to keep you awake. Even your nerves will listen."

Each finger was taken and snapped, twisted, crushed. One priest whispered a quiet chant to keep him conscious, and it worked. The man’s eyes remained open, trembling, begging. His tongue trembled, trying to form words, but only gurgles came.

They moved on to the hand. The torturer placed the hammer at the wrist and struck—once, twice. The crunch of shattering bone echoed again. Blood poured from his palm like water through broken glass.

Still, he lived.

Still, the seal kept him breathing.

The torturer didn’t rush. He reached the elbow, then the shoulder. Bones popped with each movement, dislocated and smashed like cracking eggshells.

The man cried. "They’re... they’re in the inner mage tunnels... near the heartline of the sewer in the past the old red drains...!"

His body twitched. Tears, blood, and spit mixed on his face.

"They live there... they build their shrines from bones...!" he shouted, throat raw.

Baldur gave a small nod.

"Thank you."

He stepped forward, placed his palm to the man’s chest. "May you be born in a kinder world."

A soft light grew in Baldur’s hand. The man let out one final gasp—then all light left his eyes. His body slumped, finally free.

Everyone was silent.

The smell of blood, filth, and holy oil mixed in the air. A torch hissed as it touched a wet wall.

"Burn him," Baldur said. "He earned that mercy."

Then he turned.

"To the heart of the maze."

Kael raised his hand, signaling the group to halt as they reached a decaying iron archway veiled with thick sewer mist. The torches flickered uneasily, casting wavering shadows across the damp stone walls.

He turned to face the others, his tone calm but sharp.

"Are you all confident to deal with them alone?"

His words hung in the air like a sudden chill. Even the bravest among them shifted slightly, casting sidelong glances at one another.

No one answered immediately.

"They live in the deep," Kael continued.

"Hidden within layered spells, possibly twisted by blood rites. We’ve already seen curses strong and songs strong enough to make us lose our mind, and this... shrine... It sounds like something far worse. If there’s more than one priest down there, or worse something guarding them.So we won’t hold for long."

Gareth, the spearman, grit his teeth. "We’re ready for battle, but if it’s like you said, Kael... this is more than a gang or cult. This reeks of forbidden rites."

Kael gave a curt nod. "Exactly. We need to inform the higher-ups."

Baldur turned to his second. "Send a pigeon to Church with a full account—everything, including the curse signs and the man’s last words. Mark it as a crimson tier."

A scout immediately began scribbling on a parchment, attaching it to the leg of a small gray pigeon in his pouch. The bird flapped away moments later, vanishing into the damp ceiling tunnelways.

Kael then looked at the Rhys in the back. "You. Prepare a sealed report to Lord James."

Rhys nodded,"I think it’s time for Lord James to step in.This has gone beyond what we can handle."

She then commanded the messengers,"Tell him we may have a full heretic cult active under the city possibly tied to the disappearances in the eastern district.

The cleric bowed slightly. "Understood."

As the final preparations were made, Kael unsheathed a blade. Its silver edge glinted faintly with runes meant to sever enchantments.

He looked ahead.

"I’ll lead the first probe. No need to showcase.We test the strength and confirm numbers. We hold the ground only until reinforcements arrive."

He paused then added in a softer voice.

"If I don’t make it out, let Rhys know I kept my promise."

Then, without another word, Kael stepped forward into the mist-shrouded darkness.