“Visalros… we only heard a few words from the guards. You’ve won a tourney of sorts with that benefactor?”
“Aye, I did. Soon… soon we can break free.” Osias said, peppering his words with hopeful endings. He’s been training these remnants of the Red Feathers with his entirety for this moment after all.
What was a little below half a hundred prisoners in the time he left with Mistress Seol to enter the tourney was now reduced to just forty in the few days he was away.
But it was enough for the plan Osias formed together with the aid of Mistress Seol as a reward.
It was entirely reliant on Osias and his fellow ragged prisoners. The House of Silk will not aid him in the act, only afterward when Osias is gone — either by dying foolishly or succeeding and leaving this damned place conjured by the Ordeals.
Thankfully, outside of the House of Silk’s influence and power, other factors came into play to Osias’s advantage.
Primarily… the war.
The war effort was something Osias didn’t know entirely, even with the help of Mistress Seol. Still, the fighting on the outskirts of the territory of the Golden Hawk was said to have become increasingly more violent and numerous. Although not on the scale of entire armies meeting in an open plain, it was slowly becoming as such again.
Perhaps the probing of the Red Feathers will reach Qussai in a few years. But a few years was too long. For too long he has stayed here… and besides, the fact that bloody skirmishes were being fought has already helped him enough.
It was a boon… slowly more and more First Ordeals were moving out of the prison and the Black Warden was less present at his prison keep. The military needed all the power they could obtain.
As time passed and their worries shifted towards the outside of the war, the tales of Visalros The Immortal were only left among the prisoners. Everyone who he had faced and survived was outside fighting their own battles…
They’ve forgotten how many First Ordeals he slaughtered on the rolling plains outside and atop the walls.
They’ve forgotten how monstrous his followers would fight in his name.
‘Did these guards believe Surtil wasn’t someone who could beat them? Or perhaps they didn’t know how strong he truly was from just word of mouth…’ Osias wondered, curious where the confidence in the guards derived from. Did they think that even the strongest of the Ordinaries would be just that — an Ordinary who couldn’t fight across Ordeal levels?
…Darkly smiling to himself, Osias’s demeanor wasn’t befitting a prisoner covered in filth, grime, and waste.
Looking outside, he found a handful of First Ordeals handing out the rotted rations he had become so used to over the years. With a sigh, he walked up and resumed his usual place by receiving the food from behind the bars and handing it to the others.
The guards treated him better now, especially with the rumors of the House of Silk vowing to free him. No longer did they degrade, spit, and beat him as they did so blatantly before. Even the other prisoners weren’t subjected to such treatment ever since his return from the tourney.
Sighing to himself, Osias passed along the last of the trays of food to the other prisoners and the guards shuffled their way out of the metal gate that served as the barrier between the cells and the chamber.
Osias ate silently as the others prattled eagerly with newfound fervor. Ever since Osias came bearing the news of his victory and the implications of it… smiles returned to their faces.
“Hehe,” Osias laughed giddily to himself between bites, looking over the crowd and ragged men.
‘Fourty… fourty!’ He thought excitedly.
Forty of the most stubborn and broken of them who’ve been tortured and sharpened beneath the filth of the Black Keep were ready to fight, even if they died doing so. It was already a better fate than the rest of the hundred who’d died so pitifully before them, their rotted corpses still lingering on the other end of their cell.
Osias knew that the essence that flows through their bodies thus far along with their stronger dispositions have all allowed them, along with himself, to survive all this time. Sickness, hunger, torture, labor… too many things have they overcome to simply fall back to.
Their sunken skin and flesh, beady watchful eyes with trickles of madness, ghastly hands with fingers that warped around their spoons like the hilts of swords… they wanted to fight more than anything.
But in the next moment, his musing was cut short as someone addressed him:
“Visalros, I’m sorry, but I told that fool Sarzal to wait. To imagine that he thought the guards wouldn’t notice him undergoing an Ordeal in the cells… how many times have we tried such a trick?”
‘Ah, then there's that… a shame.’ Osias thought with a frown, he was already expecting such a thing to occur the moment Sarzal returned from being picked alongside his friend. But to try and undergo an Ordeal for newfound strength — enough to break free, slaughter, and kill… Sarzal was a fool to think such a thing could work in his favor.
“It’s not your fault, his mind broke at last when his blade took the life of Erin. You know how long they’ve been together — they were from the same village if I recall?” Osias solemnly, recalling each of their stories.
“Aye.” Another of his followers nodded slowly.
Even from behind this follower of his, many more agreed silently as they continued to scarf down their putrid meals.
…After spending more than three years together, eventually, they all came to know each other more than simply names and such. Afterall, what else would they talk about when trying to teach Osias their language?
Their homes. Their loved ones. How the Red Feathered militants peeled the very tools they held to farm with and replaced them with spears and swords. It was such a common tale between each of them. Very few ever wished to be a soldier, a warrior.
So many of them lived humble lives, devoid of violence and strife. And for Osias to hear how much they’ve seemed to have changed from their past was something that reminded Osias of what Kiran said long ago.
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Looking at the crowd of prisoners before him, Osias somberly recalled Kiran’s voice:
‘It is said that there is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a spear and send him forth to battle, the beast stirs. The taste of blood is all it takes to wake it — either their own or their enemies.’
Then with a ever so faint smile, he whispered to himself:
“But for us who were born from blood, the beast is born awake.”
‘Kiran… Myra, and Clan Grimm as well. I wonder how much time has passed ever since I’ve undergone my Ordeal.’ His thoughts shifted to… home. It's been too long. So much so that Osias has gone to think that this Ordeal is far from usual. From its time to his experiences, it bewildered him.
But regardless he was to survive and return, just like these fellow prisoners.
It struck a deep calling within Osias when he realized many of them fought for the same reason he did — to survive and return. To return to a life with people they didn’t know of their fates. Did the ones they loved so dearly forget them after so long? Did they perish while separated? Will they be remembered upon their return?
Such thoughts were bound to arise after so long, but Osias was sure that home was somewhere that lit up the minds and hearts of these forsaken prisoners — him as well.
‘Lucky bastards… even after I leave, Mistress Seol will house them all until the war is over. At least those who didn’t die.’ Osias recalled another part of his reward. It was the guarantee that as long as their end was completed, then she’d handle the rest.
…Osias didn’t mention Mistress Seol’s plan because he didn’t know exactly what it was either. It was just that the daughter of the Black Warden was to come before him from within the palace. Bloodshed was bound to occur and lives would be lost — both of the guards and the prisoners. Such was the nature of fighting for freedom.
But although the plan of their escape was something he wasn’t certain about… he was certain that the Black Warden was to die. There was no other way — both Osias’s completion of the Ordeal and the survival of the other prisoners.
Mistress Seol couldn’t protect the remaining prisoners unless the Black Warden was dead — the one person in power who couldn’t allow their change in status to free men under the care of the courtesans. Although her House was quite lofty and powerful, they couldn’t kill a person from the inner palace themselves without reason.
And as long as the forces under the House of Silk enter the vicinity soon enough before either the military or the palace guards come… they’ll suceed and live. However, Osias felt as though the House of Silk also wished to play both sides in order to preserve their own House in case the Red Feathered armies ended up decimating those of the Golden Hawk. Protecting the few survivors of the Red Feathers could end up saving themselves…
“Visalros, how will we fight with—” One follower said, before lifting a shackled hand, “These?”
“Ah, our chains? I can handle them when the time comes, but my benefactor must’ve known about them in advance. I wouldn’t care for such things… we just need to be ready when the time comes.”
“I see… then tell me, how do we fare against those in the tourney you fought in? It was all Ordinaries, correct?”
“Mm.” Osias brought a hand to his head in thought, recalling all the competition he came to face before he responded, “You all would’ve done well. You are not the absolute best, but you are all a match for most families of renown. In some ways, better. Besides, I’d prefer no other than you all to fight alongside.”
“Ha! Even those military families? Then if the Red Feathers come to save us, we’ll leave Qussai with great fortune! Do you think I could become a Jentys?
“I’m sure the First Ordeal would not pose any trouble.”
“You hear that, Uron?” A follower said, slapping the back of another beside them before saying, “A Jentys, Visalros said! We can bring back wealth for our village after scouring Qussai. Officers of the army as well if we complete an Ordeal on the return… do you think Pia would marry me then?”
Osias squinted at the shabby looking prisoner, Yoren. He had a crooked nose that moved too easily from the many beatings he suffered from, even playing a joke at times by pressing it flat against his face. But most notable of his appearance was the round and oddly lighthearted eyes that spoke of his brightness despite the dreary cell they made home in.
“Is this Pia so pretty you remember her so, Yoren?” Osias asked, cutting through Uron and Yoren's laughter.
“Aye, Visalros. I vowed to return to her when the militants brought me behind their wagons that day, a pretty little thing she was!” Yoren said, bringing a thin hand behind his ear to scratch before adding in a less joyous tone:
“Though… she may have been wedded to the village chief’s son.”
In the next moment, many chuckles and muted laughs sounded all around Yoren.
“You all don’t think she has forgotten of me and has…” Yoren’s words trailed off as the muted laughs slowly raised in volume.
“Y-Yoren… maybe she thinks of you while she’s—”
“Uron, don’t say it. I don’t want to think of it — I’ll gut the village chief’s son when we return because of you.”
“Bahaha!”
Osias laughed alongside them all, but then a stray thought arose from within and he suddenly stopped.
Yoren noticed Osias’s reaction and called out:
“Hey, Visalros… don’t tell me you have such a woman waiting for you? Was there any other bastard who would move to her in your absence? Please, tell me you’re the same.”
“I—I don’t think so. Perhaps some baker or cook would but… no, maybe a warrior?”
Nodding his head and humming in agreeance, Yoren responded pensively:
“Mm, mm. Warriors indeed, they’re the ones who I’d never trust. Alas, my dear Pia is not one to welcome such another man in her heart!”
Uron perked his head up from his side and pointed at Yoren:
“Jentys or not, she wouldn’t take a beggar over a chief’s son you fool.”
“Beggar? Bah, you’re lucky the guards have yet to choose the both of us to fight it out!”
Osias had a faint smile as he watched the duo play and mock each other… such times were rare below the keep, but were welcome. However, a quiet jangle of metal — not the same as shaking chains and shackles sounded.
He wasn’t alone in hearing this, and the laughs quieted as they all caught on to the familiar noise behind the gate to their dark chamber… but they also realized something else.
‘At this time?’ They all suddenly thought together unknowingly.
The metal gate creaked and jittered, cutting through the many voices behind the gate. And like any other time it has opened and closed, the guards came pouring inside. Ordinaries upon Ordinaries and First Ordeals speckled the lot.
‘Twenty First Ordeals and more than twice of that in Ordinaries.’ Osias noted with a lowered gaze, his hands slowly brought some rotted food to his mouth.
Although there used to be many more… as the prisoners died, the number of Path Finders used as guards dwindled as the manpower was consolidated into the military. Even now, twenty First Ordeals were something unfounded in Osias’s opinion. Each of them could lead quite the company of troops on their own, or be of greater help to their armies.
The guards knew this as well — it was something Osias had mocked them over and over again, earning him quite a number of beatings. To guard just forty Ordinaries who’ve been starved and weakened… their pride as First Ordeals was being admonished for partaking in such a lowly duty. But it seems the hate of the Black Warden has kept them in line all this time.
It seems the Black Warden has even used his position under the Golden Duskveil General to keep Osias and the others suffering below his keep until they’ve all died according to Mistress Seol.
However, one of Osias’s questions was also answered upon his success in the tourney — how does the Black Warden enter the palace despite being so… low in status, even after following the general?
But upon Mistress Seol’s bedchambers, Osias was informed that his deed of killing Surtil was something he shouldn’t have done if he was to remain in Qussai.
That was because the Golden Duskveil General is currently ascending into their Fourth Ordeal.
So if Osias doesn’t kill the Black Warden before the general awakens… he is going to die.