[Silver Star Tower — Upper Executive Floor]
Alden's boots touched the window ledge. He stepped through—one foot, then the other.
The room exploded.
Fire erupted from the floor, walls, and ceiling as the trap sprung. Flames converged toward the window, a roaring inferno meant to turn flesh to ash.
Essence shimmered over Alden's skin. The fire broke against the barrier like waves crashing on stone, heat washing past him, harmless. The smoke and chemicals that entered his lungs were immediately absorbed by his essence. He adjusted his gloves, bent one knee, and launched forward.
The nearest guard stood frozen, mouth open, hands half-raised in a failed ward.
Alden's palm caught his collar. He twisted, hurling the man backward.
The man sailed through the window, arms flailing. A few heartbeats later, a wet crunch echoed from the courtyard below.
'Ah... it splattered.'
Alden strode forward. Slow. Unhurried.
"Mo... monster. Kill him!"
The executive, exhausted from the failed explosion, screamed the order, his voice shattering like glass.
Twenty guards rushed forward, blades raised. Outside the doorway, younger disciples pressed themselves flat, knuckles bone-white around their staves. One squeezed his eyes shut. Another's lips moved in a soundless prayer.
Alden halted in the center of the room. To his left—eight men. To his right—twelve. Their chests rose and fell in shallow, rapid gasps.
Standing tall, Alden asked, "Do you know who you are fighting against?"
A guard on the right spat. "Does it matter? You're here to kill us. We won't go down without a fight."
The guard beside him hissed, his weapon trembling, “He is a fraud. We have numbers.”
Alden unsheathed his sword, becoming a blur of motion as he wrenched his body around.
The right side collapsed first. The first guard's throat opened, blood spraying in a high arc. The second fell, blade through his ribs. The third collapsed before his sword finished its motion. The fourth raised both hands—Alden's sword took them off at the wrists, the stumps fountaining red. The fifth turned to run; the steel caught his spine.
Alden pivoted left.
The guards on that side tried to rush him as one. Too slow. Bodies dropped—one, two, three—their formations breaking apart like wet paper. A guard screamed, "He's too fast! Shield formation! Shield—"
Alden's blade found his mouth mid-word.
He moved back to the right near the remaining guards. Another step. One more cut. Blood spread across the floorboards in expanding dark pools.
The remaining guards spread out, encircling him from all sides. Alden spun in a blur, his blade carving through the circle—two guards, three, five more—bodies falling as he rotated.
The heavy thuds of corpses hitting the floor reverberated throughout the room.
Twenty-one down.
Alden straightened and flicked blood from his weapon. Not a drop stained his tunic.
He raised his gaze. The seven older executives stood farther back near the wall, still holding their drawing brushes. Their attention was fixed on the intricate silver embroidery adorning his chest—the seal with two crossed swords.
An executive with a gray beard stumbled backward. His heel caught, and he hit the floor hard, landing near the bodies on the side.
"Crown... Crown Prince. He really is..." Another's voice shook. "Th... that means outside... it's Flame Feather—"
"Geralt... Where is he?" A third executive spun around, scanning the door, the windows. "Where is Geralt? He said these are frauds. He said—"
"He ran." The gray-bearded one spoke from the floor. "He ran and left us."
"No. No, he wouldn't—"
"Look around!" Gray-beard's voice rose to a shriek as he struggled to get up. "He's not here! We're dead! We're all—"
"Shut up!" The youngest executive—maybe forty—lurched forward from the group and drew a knife. Not an orb. A knife. "We bind him. Use the Velram Circle. If we can't kill him, we trap him until—"
"Until what?" Another executive laughed, high and thin. "Until what? The entire Flame Feather is outside! Even if we trap him, we're—"
"Then we die fighting!" The young one turned to the others. "Render, Gosef, Tym—get on the floor. Draw the circle. The rest of us buy time."
Three executives exchanged glances, then walked forward and dropped to their knees in the center of the room.
Alden watched. Their breathing steadied slightly as they focused on the task.
The three on the floor dipped their fingers in red liquid and began painting symbols across the floorboards. Lines spread outward, intricate and deliberate, forming a magic circle beneath Alden's feet. But Alden didn't stay still. Before the circle could trap him, he was gone.
The young executive crushed a small orb. A shimmer spread around him and the other standing executives near the back wall—barrier spells, weak but present.
A red glow ignited along the painted lines, faint at first, then brightening.
Alden drew his sword again and started walking toward the executives.
The standing men backed away along the wall, step by step, maintaining distance.
"Keep him talking," one hissed. "Just a few more seconds."
"Your Highness." Directly ahead, the young executive bowed low, the gesture mocking. "Surely we can discuss—"
Alden blurred.
His sword traced a line across the young executive's throat. The barrier flickered and shattered, blood spraying across the dying shimmer.
The executive beside him raised an orb, ready to hurl at Alden. Alden's blade slipped between his ribs, angled up to find the heart. The man crumpled. Alden turned to look at the painters, then blurred back to the circle's center.
"Ignite it! Ignite it now!"
The three on the floor slammed their palms down. The circle flared, red light surging toward the center.
Alden raised his left foot and slammed it down on the floor. The floor at the center of the circle cracked.
The red light sputtered and died.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
One of the painters looked up, face draining of color. "No... we needed—"
Alden's boot pivoted and caught him in the temple. The crack of the man's neck echoed in the sudden quiet.
The other two scrambled backward, still on their knees, crawling toward the left side of the room.
An executive near the back wall lunged forward, wild-eyed, gripping a vial of Bavarium. The explosive liquid sloshed inside the glass. If it broke here, the entire room would explode.
Alden sidestepped. His sword carved through the man's neck in one clean stroke. The vial fell. Alden caught it mid-air with his free hand and set it gently on the floor.
He paused, head tilting slightly.
The two painters had stopped crawling. Their hands were up, babbling.
"Please—please we didn't—"
Gray-beard had risen to his feet near the corpses at the back. His trembling hand grasped an orb, pointed at Alden. His other hand was drawing another rune with blood from the corpses nearby as he kept adding reagents to complete the trap.
From the left, one of the two painters moved. He had been backing toward the doorway, but his body suddenly changed direction. He charged forward at Alden.
"My body..." He stumbled. "No...it's moving on its own—"
Alden observed them lurching at him. He had clearly demonstrated the distinction between them, yet they persisted in their attacks. Their heartbeats were frantic, but it didn’t matter. These people were not worthy of mercy.
Sweeping his blade low, Alden pivoted, slicing open the first attacker’s stomach. The man looked down at his own intestines spilling out, screamed, and collapsed.
Gray-beard activated the rune, and a red light shot toward Alden from just a few paces away.
Alden raised his hand, essence shimmering. The bolt scattered into harmless sparks. Before gray-beard could retreat, Alden's blade pierced his spine.
The last executive—one of the painters near the center—turned toward the window on the front wall. To throw himself out. Better gravity than the blade. But his body refused to comply. Instead, his hands raised the brush as a weapon.
Alden's sword struck him in the back, between the shoulder blades. The man slumped and went still. Lowering his weapon, Alden muttered, "What a shame. They were being controlled."
Blood dripped from the steel, pooling on the floor.
His gaze shifted to the doorway. "Oh… Not all of them."
The disciples—a dozen of them—were pressed against the hallway wall outside. Their staves scattered at their feet like dropped kindling. Some had clasped hands, lips moving soundlessly in prayers to gods who weren't listening. Others just stared, mouths slack, unblinking.
One young disciple—barely sixteen—tried to press himself into the wall itself as Alden approached. His robes darkened at the crotch, the sharp smell of urine cutting through the copper scent of blood.
Another sobbed, face buried in his hands.
An older disciple found his voice. "Your... Your Highness, we didn't..." The words broke apart. "We didn't know—please, we were only—"
The disciple trailed off.
"He left us." Someone else spoke. "He fucking left us to die."
Sauntering past them, Alden went straight into Geralt’s laboratory next door. He reached the heavy desk and shattered it with his palm, causing the rune-plate underneath to hum dully before scattering.
One disciple watching from outside the door flinched and threw his arms over his head, cowering. "Why... Why are you doing this? What... what did we do wrong?"
Turning back, Alden emerged from the laboratory and stood before the disciples.
"Silver Star is convicted of illegal Bavarium trade, the Rosewick Explosion, and treason," He announced the verdict, then casually turned away.
A gasp. "It... can't be." One disciple fell to his knees. "We didn't..."
"I have unlocked the doors. Surrender, or be treated as rebels." Glancing over his shoulder, Alden stated, "You may collect your belongings. You will be given the chance to prove your innocence."
Silence.
Then one disciple moved, stumbling toward the door. Then another. Then all of them, scrambling, tripping over each other to escape the slaughterhouse.
Alden stepped into the stairwell.
His boots echoed in the narrow stone shaft. Floor by floor, he descended—past the fifth, the third, the first—moving through chaos and smoke. Down into the basement. Then deeper still.
The sub-basement.
The air grew colder here, heavy with moisture. The smell changed—wet stone, mold, and old blood.
The underground vault door stood unlocked. The iron bands and three locks lay slack to the side, their shackles swung wide.
Feroz stood in the dim hallway, head bowed low. His gray robes were stained with dust.
"Have you finished, Master?" His voice was measured, lacking the tremors of the others.
He extended his hands. A ring of keys rested on his palms. "Here... These are the keys. I have unlocked the prison doors. The victims are inside, but too fearful to walk out."
Alden took the keys. "Good job."
Feroz stepped aside, pressing his back to the wall.
Alden walked past him into the corridor, blood cooling on his blade as he sheathed it.
[Silver Star Tower — Underground Vault]
The air here was saturated with unwashed bodies, waste, and infection. Rot. The corridor stretched ahead, narrow and with a low ceiling. Torches flickered in iron sconces, throwing long, dancing shadows on the walls.
The corridor opened into a wider chamber.
Figures huddled along the walls.
A woman sat in the corner—maybe thirty, maybe fifty, hard to tell. Her face was a skull with skin stretched tight, cheeks sunken, eyes vacant. Her dress hung in strips. Bruises covered her arms like continents on a map—old ones yellowed, fresh ones purple-black. She rocked back and forth, humming a broken melody.
Beside her, a younger woman clutched her stomach with both hands, fingernails digging into her own skin hard enough to draw blood. Her lips moved constantly. "One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three."
An older woman with matted gray hair pressed her forehead against the stone. She muttered continuously, low and constant. "Not real not real not real not real—"
The rocking didn't stop. The counting didn't pause.
A teenage boy looked up, met Alden's gaze for a heartbeat, then looked back at his hands.
A man in the corner laughed—bitter and sharp. "Free. Free. Free." His voice climbed. "I am free again, yesterday I was free too, tomorrow I'll be free again—"
He cut off and slammed his forehead against the stone.
"Is this another experiment of yours?"
A young female voice came from the back, sharp with anger.
Alden looked toward the sound.
A girl stood near the rear wall, maybe fifteen. Her face was gaunt from hunger, but her eyes burned. She was flanked by five other children, ranging from twelve to seventeen. They stood. They did not cower. They glared at him with hollow eyes that still held fire.
Alden moved forward. The captives between him and the children shrank back against the walls. One whimpered.
A sound came from the left—a cell door rattling.
"My Lily... did you come back?"
A woman's voice, high and cracked. She pressed against the bars of her cell, hands reaching through. "Ohhh my baby, mommy missed you."
Alden stopped.
The woman stretched her arms through the bars as far as they would go, fingers grasping at air. Her cheek pressed against the iron, distorting her flesh. "Come here, come to mommy. Let me see you. Let me—"
Her hand found Alden's arm.
She groped at his sleeve, his fingers, touching them like a blind person reading a face. Her trembling fingers traced his palm, his knuckles.
Then she screamed.
"No.... you're not my Lily! Where did you take her?" She yanked at his hand, trying to pull him closer. "Lily... mom's here! Return my Lily!"
Her voice climbed to a shriek. She let go of his hand and began striking him through the bars. Fists thudded against his chest, his shoulder, anywhere she could reach.
"Where is she? What did you do? Give her back! Give her back!"
Alden stood still. He let her hit him. The blows were weak—malnourished arms with no strength.
"Lily! Lily! LILY!"
The woman's screams turned wordless. She kept hitting, kept reaching, hands clawing at his tunic.
The other captives didn't react. The rocking woman kept rocking. The counting woman kept counting. This was normal.
The woman's strength gave out. Her arms dropped. She slid down the bars until she sat on the floor, forehead pressed against the iron, sobbing. "Lily... my Lily... mommy's here... mommy's waiting..."
Alden stepped back and continued walking.
He stopped before the standing children and knelt, bringing himself to eye level.
"I see. So you don't want to be freed?"
The children blinked. The fifteen-year-old's glare faltered. Her mouth opened, then closed.
An older girl—seventeen, perhaps—stood beside her. She raised her head slowly, studying him. Her gaze traveled from his face to the silver seal, the crossed swords. Then back to his face.
"You... you look about our age."
A younger boy beside her—maybe thirteen—whispered, "Are you a disciple? But disciples are not allowed here. Only executives and guards." His eyes darted to the door, to Alden, back to the door. "Run back, before they catch you."
The fifteen-year-old staggered forward, positioning herself between Alden and the seventeen-year-old. Protective. "Who are you?"
Alden kept his tone gentle. "I am not a disciple. I have come here to free you. The tower has fallen, and I will take over. You can choose to return to your family. If you have nowhere to go, I can take you in."
The fifteen-year-old's hands clenched into fists. "Again? Testing how we would react if freed, only to capture us? You monsters..." Her voice cracked, but she didn't look away.
Alden tilted his head slightly. "I have no such hobby. But if you still don't believe me, then wait here."
He stood.
The fifteen-year-old stumbled back, bumping into the seventeen-year-old.
Alden strolled toward the back wall. His hand reached for a specific book on a narrow shelf—old leather, dust-covered. He pulled it.
A section of the wall clicked.
Gasps rippled through the room.
The wall swung inward, revealing a dark passage.
"See?" The fifteen-year-old's voice cracked, shrill. She pointed with a shaking hand. "I told you! He's one of them! It's a trick! Of course!"
The woman in the corner resumed her muttering. "Not real not real not real—"
The counting woman stopped counting, looked at the passage, then started counting faster. "One-two-three-one-two-three—"
The rocking woman stopped humming and stared at the passage. Then, louder, resumed humming.
The seventeen-year-old lowered her gaze, then looked back up. Her lips parted. No words came, but her eyes followed Alden as he strode toward the passage.
Alden stopped at the threshold and looked back at the children.
"I will bring Geralt to you."
The fifteen-year-old's eyes widened. "What... what did you—"
But Alden had already stepped into the darkness.
The passage swallowed him.
Only the seventeen-year-old stared at the passage. Waiting.
