Chapter 279: The Killer of The Lightning Spirit (1) The Interrogation
The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the encampment. The preparations for the victory march towards Astellia’s capital were well underway, with soldiers and servants bustling about, ensuring everything was in place for the grand event the next day. Fires crackled, casting a warm light that mingled with the moon’s ethereal glow, creating an atmosphere of anticipation and triumph.
Lyan, however, had other plans. Slipping through the shadows, he moved with practiced stealth, his steps silent against the cobblestones of the Duke’s castle courtyard. His destination was the prison deep within the castle’s bowels, where he hoped to find answers. The night was his ally, its darkness providing the perfect cover as he navigated through the maze of soldiers and sentries.
He encountered a few close calls along the way. A group of soldiers, laughing and sharing stories of their victory, almost stumbled upon him as he pressed himself against a wall, blending into the shadows. He held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, until they moved on, oblivious to his presence. Another time, a lone guard patrolled a narrow corridor he needed to pass through. Lyan waited patiently for the guard to turn the corner, then darted forward, his movements swift and silent.
Lyan moved with the fluid grace of a shadow, slipping through narrow alleys and across open courtyards with equal ease. His black cloak billowed slightly behind him, the fabric blending seamlessly with the darkness. The soft rustle of his clothing was masked by the ambient noise of the encampment, the clinking of armor, and the distant chatter of soldiers.
At one point, he nearly walked into a pair of sentries deep in conversation about the upcoming parade. Lyan froze, his body pressed flat against the cold stone wall, every muscle tensed. The soldiers paused a mere arm’s length away, their faces lit by the flickering light of a nearby torch. Lyan could hear every word, the excitement in their voices, the clinking of their armor. He remained motionless until they resumed their patrol, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Slipping past a storeroom, he noticed a servant girl struggling with a heavy crate. She stumbled, nearly dropping it, and Lyan reached out instinctively to help, catching the edge of the crate and steadying it. She looked up, startled, her eyes widening in surprise. Before she could react, Lyan put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. The girl nodded, understanding, and hurried off, leaving Lyan to continue his journey.
As he neared the entrance to the prison, he encountered his final obstacle: a seasoned guard, one who clearly took his duty seriously. The guard’s sharp eyes scanned the area methodically, and Lyan knew he couldn’t rely on luck this time. Waiting in the shadows, he watched the guard’s pattern, timing his movements perfectly. When the guard glanced away, Lyan slipped past, a silent specter in the night.
Finally, he reached the prison. The heavy wooden door creaked open just enough for him to slip inside. The air was damp and cold, carrying the faint smell of mold and despair. Torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting eerie shadows that danced in the corners. He moved deeper into the prison, his ears straining for any sound that might betray the presence of guards.
Navigating the labyrinthine halls of the prison, Lyan’s mind was focused and alert. The damp air clung to his skin, and the faint, echoing drips of water added to the oppressive atmosphere. He passed rows of empty cells, each one a silent testament to the countless souls who had suffered within these walls. He could almost hear the echoes of their despair, but he pushed the thoughts aside, concentrating on his mission.