I didn't want to return to the inn and watch brothers sleep peacefully. I needed to do something. The night sky, strewn with diamonds of stars, beckoned to itself as if promising answers to the questions tormenting my mind. I didn't hesitate and rushed upward.

At first, I simply enjoyed the flight. The freedom that the sky gave me seemed endless. I argued with the wind, cutting through its streams, touched the cool clouds with my hand, and felt how cold drops collected on my palm. I flew, not thinking about anything, just enjoying the movement in the boundless heights. But soon my thoughts returned to my search. If the dragon servants took the children away every six months, then somewhere on the earth there should be traces. The caravans taking the teenagers into captivity could not move along invisible paths. They went in large groups, perhaps with provisions, because the children gathered needed to be fed. It was obvious that even small caravans like these left traces. And when there were many of them, they were like rivers, merging into one stream. I just needed to find that stream.

I soared above Orkvalia, peering at the ground like an eagle stalking its prey. The night gradually gave way to dawn. The horizon turned a soft pink, and the world was waking up, but I still could not find what I was looking for. I noticed several roads crossing Orqualia from east to west and from north to south - the usual caravan routes used by traders.

But I found no trace of those who were taken away by the dragon servants. Angry and disappointed, I returned to the inn, feeling how the opportunity to find traces was slipping away from me.

The brothers, lulled by the intoxicating drink, continued to snore peacefully. I had two options: wake up Lyon and Yurik and try to explain the details of my plan to them, or go and meet Nordan myself. There was no point in tossing a coin — the decision had matured on its own.

"I'll just scout out," I muttered quietly, persuading myself and wrapping myself in my cloak. The Righteous One took the form of a shepherd's staff — an ordinary, unremarkable thing. At first, I limped, pretending to be an old traveler, but soon the pain in my leg became so real that I limped quite naturally.

Nordan was waiting at the castle gate, shifting from foot to foot. Seeing me, he sullenly pursed his lips:

"You're late."

"You can see, I can barely walk," I justified myself, not understanding why he was in such a hurry. Something was missing — something important.

"We won't be able to get into the castle unhindered anymore," he said irritably, casting a displeased glance at me. "Another shift has come on duty. Bringing strangers into the castle is strictly prohibited now. So, your excursion is postponed indefinitely."

"Listen, it's my fault, I agree. But I want to visit the castle. I want it so much that I'm ready to double the original amount," I said, hoping that the extra money would tempt him.

But the longer I spoke, the clearer it became: Nordan's refusal was dictated not by his stubbornness, but by circumstances. Even if I had increased the amount tenfold, he still would not have been able to fulfill my request.

You can't bring strangers into the castle, under any pretext.

Then a crazy thought flashed through my head:

"People are not allowed. And Servuses?"

"I have a mask made by a skilled craftsman. If I put it on and pretend to be your relative, will we be able to make this excursion?" I looked at him expectantly.

"Do you have the money?" he asked, and it seemed to me that he was barely holding back his joy. Easy money always attracted him. I realized that I had almost convinced him.

"Of course," I hastened to assure him. "After the excursion, I will immediately leave the city, going to buy combustible stone."

Nordan nodded, no longer hiding his satisfaction:

"Okay. Change your clothes and follow me," he said, turning his back to me with an important look.

I said:

"Animal larva! - Animal mask!"

Extending my hand, I made a gesture as if I was sucking in the air, imagining the mask merging with my face. I felt my skin changing, my face taking on animal features. Looking at myself in a puddle of water, I was slightly taken aback - I must have looked terrible.

Nordan turned around, looked at me, and giggled lightly, barely holding back.

I asked: "What's funny? That I'm limping?"

"No, your disgusting mug makes me laugh."

"You should have seen yours - you'd die laughing."

Nordan, still giggling, led me to inspect the castle. What can I say - from a distance it didn't seem so solid. It seemed like it was built not for a dragon, but for a family of giants. It was wider than a football field and about as tall as a ten-story building. I thought that dragons usually lived in dark, damp caves, among dusty rocks, where even spiders don't dare settle. But I was amazed to see this monumental structure.

The castle walls were made of large hewn stone blocks, reminiscent of fortress bastions, connected by massive buttresses for stability. High-arched windows, similar to those found in Gothic cathedrals, with stained glass depicting scenes from the lives of dragons, added to its grandeur. Above the main entrance rose a tower with crenelated walls, like those of ancient fortresses. The courtyard was paved with stone slabs, smooth and polished by time. The entrance for guests turned out to be ordinary, and Nordan explained that only guards and servants used it. A special landing pad had been prepared for the dragon. I examined it: the pad could have accommodated the largest military transport helicopter. From the pad, huge, carved double doors led into the castle, amazing in their detailing. I was particularly surprised by the drawings: they were carved with the image of two dragons, face to face, with their tails intertwined, as if symbolizing an endless connection and balance.

The walls of the castle's living room, where Cryonax dined, were covered with some kind of expensive material. Either silk or satin. Perhaps it was something in between, created by magic or alchemy, giving the room a sense of fabulous wealth. The ceiling was painted with golden patterns that were mesmerizing to look at, shimmering in the light of the fireplace. In my opinion, there was too much gold here. It decorated the furniture, the windows, the walls - there were gold items everywhere, arranged in such a way that the room looked more like a treasury than a place for meals.

Finding myself in this room, I suddenly felt an inexplicable weakness in my whole body, as if the gold itself was taking away my strength. At that moment, the image of Bump, chained in golden shackles, as if he were a prisoner not only physically but also spiritually, came to mind.

I remembered how I, chained in golden chains, was taken to the lair of Vulgaris. Then I was unable to cast a single spell. Gold. This metal, always considered a symbol of wealth and power, turned out to be much more insidious. It shines and attracts, takes over the minds, and gives rise to greed and avarice. Since ancient times, people have strived for it, believing that it can make them powerful. But at the same time, gold not only gives strength - it also takes it away. It is the metal of illusions. Captivated by its shine, we forget that it can become our chains, our shackles. Whether it is shackles or simply the power of gold over our thoughts and actions - it always holds us captive. And here, in this room, decorated to the limit, I felt not just weakness, but the realization of how much a person can be a slave to this shimmering metal.

Nordan experienced the same unpleasant symptoms as I did. His steps became heavier, he frowned and hurried to lead me into another room. The new room was filled with the same luxury, the same golden details shimmering in the light of numerous candelabra. The ceiling was painted with complex patterns, the walls were decorated with carvings and gilded frames. But all this splendor no longer made any impression on me. After the first room, reminiscent of a treasury, the luxury of the castle seemed pretentious and even dead.

There was not the slightest hint of life here - no flowers, no plants, no fresh air. Every detail was carefully thought out, but it seemed that no living creature had set foot in these rooms. The floor was laid with black marble, reflecting the gold of the ceiling and walls, but this shine only increased the feeling of emptiness. It seemed to me that I was not in a living space, but in a museum, where every object under glass was inaccessible and cut off from life.

"Dionela did not live here," I thought. This was not her place. She could not be hidden in this treasure room. Although she was a real treasure, her life and energy completely contradicted the gloomy, oppressive atmosphere of this castle.

Nordan, meanwhile, looked as if this excursion was exhausting him no less than me. He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumped a little. I saw how he glanced around another luxurious room, but there was not a drop of admiration or pride in his eyes - rather, indifference. Probably, he had seen all these hundreds of times and long ago stopped paying attention to the glitter of gold and wealth.

"Well, are you satisfied?" he asked, clearly tired of the demonstrations.

"You promised to show me the underground prison," I reminded him, distracting him from his routine thoughts. After all, I was more interested in the shadows of the castle than its shining surface.

Nordan turned to me and asked in a tense voice:

"Do you have to go underground? Believe me, there is nothing attractive there. The prison is empty, one or two crazy prisoners?"

I grinned, suspecting a catch in the soldier's words. - "Why doesn't he want to take me underground? Perhaps there is something there that is not intended for prying eyes." Instead of asking Nordan a question, I put on a goofy smile and said in a slightly offended voice:

"I'm paying a lot of money for the tour, and I want to see everything there is in the castle. And without visiting the dungeon, the tour would not be complete."

"Well, then," Nordan sighed with relief. - "You asked for it yourself!"

He sighed with relief, but his face remained tense. His eyes flashed for a moment, and I realized that he was hiding something important. But now was not the time to show my wariness. Instead, I tried to look relaxed and pleased, as if I just wanted to enjoy the tour.

"Follow me," he said with a grin, turning and heading for the massive door at the far corner of the corridor. I followed him, mentally preparing myself for what might await me behind those doors. Each step down the narrow stairs was more and more alarming - the air grew colder, and the smell of dampness grew stronger. The torchlight gradually weakened, and the shadows dancing on the walls made everything around even more ominous.

Finally, we came to the entrance to the dungeon - a heavy iron door, covered in rust, but still inspiring respect with its appearance. Nordan took the key from his belt and turned it in the lock with a heavy metallic grinding sound. The door slowly opened, and I felt something cold run down my spine. It was even darker inside than I expected.

"Here it is," Nordan said, barely hiding the mockery in his voice. "Welcome to the most ancient part of this castle. Perhaps your wish will be fully satisfied."

I was not deceived, the underground prison looked disgusting. This place was more like an abandoned burial vault, with one difference: the vaults held the dead, who would never come back to life, while here the living were kept, slowly killing them not only physically, but also spiritually.

The dim light of the torches barely penetrated the depths of the stone corridors, making the shadows grow longer and writhe frighteningly along the walls. The humidity in the air intensified the feeling of decay. The smooth stone floors were covered in dirt and slime, and in some places, there were dark puddles that gave off a foul smell. Water dripped from the ceiling, creating an ominous rhythm, as if counting down the last moments of life for those who had stayed here too long.

The cells - narrow and cramped, with thick iron bars overgrown with mold - looked like traps for souls condemned to an eternal existence in this hell. The silence here was deafening, but from somewhere deep within, muffled groans could be heard - some of the prisoners were still clinging to life or perhaps had long since died, but their bodies had not decomposed.

Unlike ordinary dungeons, where people are simply left to rot, here there was a terrible purpose - to slowly destroy a person from the inside. Every stone of this place, every crack in the wall, seemed to be saturated with the despair and pain of those who had once tried to escape or simply begged for mercy. The underground prison was not just a prison - it was a place where life itself lost its meaning, turning into eternal torment.

The prison looked abandoned. The stone corridors were deserted, the walls were covered in mold, and the air was saturated with mustiness and dampness. I did not see the exhausted, emaciated hands reaching out to me through the door bars. No one screamed, did not call for justice. It looked as if the prison had long been abandoned to its fate.

And yet, despite this seeming desolation, I knew that someone had been here. The sense of danger was growing, and Chiquita was the first to let me know. The staff in my hand stirred as if it had come to life. A barely visible spark flew from its handle, heading for the first closed door. The moment the spark touched the door, a sight appeared before me that took my breath away.

A magical field, invisible to the naked eye, gradually began to manifest. It enveloped the cells like an invisible curtain, hiding the prisoners and sounds, creating an optical illusion. Now I saw how the magic erased reality - the cells were not empty at all. The field created an illusion to deceive uninvited guests, hiding everything that was happening there.

The silence now seemed frightening. Where before I had seen only empty cells, figures began to appear. Prisoners, covered in the shadow of despair, sat in the corners of the cells. Their faces were exhausted, their eyes were deep-set, and their bodies, distorted with pain, seemed broken. They did not make a sound - the magic created an insurmountable sound barrier, the cries of the prisoners were heard only in the cells.

"Chiquita, somewhere in these dungeons the dragon Cryonax is holding my friend, the forest nymph Dionela, locked up. Help me find her, but so that this creature called Nordan does not suspect anything ahead of time."

A weak vibration passed through the hilt of the sword served as my answer. I knew that Chiquita understood me, her magical essence responded to my call. Now the prison appeared before me in a different form. The magic that hid the truth slowly dissipated, and the horror hidden behind the illusion began to surface.

The cells that I had previously seen empty were filled with people - those who opposed the dragon's policies, brave souls who dared to raise their voices in a world where fear reigned. Some rebels decided to challenge the ruling family, people who tried to change the fate of their people, but their voices were muffled by the walls of this prison.

I saw creatures, disgusting and frightening, bestial creatures mutilated by long imprisonment. Their bodies were weakened, and their spirits were almost broken, but in their eyes, there was still a spark - a faint glimmer of strength and hope. Each of them was a victim of the cruel regime of the dragon Cryonax. Their existence here is the result of desperate attempts at resistance that led them to these terrible conditions.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

And finally, what I had been waiting for from the very beginning of the tour stood before me. Just down the hall, around the bend, Nordran's ten friends were lurking. They were waiting for me like hunters waiting for their prey. Their bronze swords gleamed in the bright torchlight, their blades naked and pointed in my direction. Their faces were cold, but their eyes were full of anticipation. It had been an ambush, carefully planned and now finally exposed.

With a frightened face, I called out to my guide: "Nordran, what are you up to?"

"Where is your money?" the "guide" grumbled, his eyes glittering with greed. - "Give it to me, everything you have."

"Listen, I'll make you rich if you answer one question. There is a young woman in one of your cells. Tell me - which one? I'll give you as much money as you want."

To make it convincing, I shook the leather bag containing many golden round plates. I was running out of copper coins, but to be on the safe side, I chopped up some gold circles with the Righteous One.

The Servuses chuckled and laughed loudly, shaking their heads in disbelief. Nordran looked thoughtfully at his friends. "It seems that in the last chamber, behind your backs, there is someone who looks like a woman. I haven't looked in that chamber for a long time. Perhaps there is no one alive there anymore..."

He didn't have time to finish speaking, because the Righteous One flashed in my hand and the next moment Nordran was cut in two. The sword took on the appearance I knew it in, and the rage released inside me engulfed the space.

The soldiers, stunned by the swift attack, did not have time to resist.

The soldiers, stunned by the swift attack, did not have time to resist. They just watched as their friend, who had promised free drinks and food for an easy job, fell apart.

I took a step forward, approaching the nearest soldier, and swung my sword. In a desperate attempt, he instinctively raised his sword to block the blow, but the Righteous One easily cut through his weapon and the soldier himself. The second opponent, standing on the left, tried to strike, but his sword shattered like brittle clay upon impact with the Righteous One. Time was on my side, and now it was my turn. The fight was over in just a minute, which was too short for the soldiers. Within moments, those who had mocked the weak and defenseless lay in a pool of their blood, never realizing when they had made a mistake.

It took me a little work to drag the pieces of lifeless bodies aside and reach the door Nordran had indicated. It did exist and was locked, just like the other doors of the prison. Chiquita helped me identify the magical barrier blocking the entrance to the cell. Putting out my hand, I said: "Torberio!"

The barrier instantly evaporated, but the door did not open. I had to resort to the help of the Righteous. The wooden, oak door, reinforced with gold plates and stitched with gold rivets, fell apart after the first blow.

Taking a step into the cell, I felt that a living creature had flown into me - soft and fragile, like a spring plant. The thought flashed through my head that I was not entirely welcome here, but I remembered that I was still in the form of a servus.

Dionela had never seen me like this.

"Dionela!" I called out to the girl. "It's me, Oris!"

The blows weakened, and I heard a sob. "Let's get out of here," I invited the nymph and was the first to leave the cell. The musty smell and the smell of blood had an unpleasant effect on my consciousness; I wanted to get out into the fresh air as soon as possible.

The girl followed me carefully, and I noticed how she looked with disgust at what had recently been called soldiers, the dragon's servants. "They didn't feed me, they gave me rotten water to drink," she said bitterly.

"No one will ever hurt you again," I made another promise. "All your forests are covered with foliage, all sorts of herbs and flowers grow in them. Soon you will see everything for yourself."

Dionela stopped for a moment, looked into my eyes, and, to my surprise, thanked me. She leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek, then again, pressing herself against my shoulder. In those seconds, I was embarrassed and forgot for a moment why I was there until the jealous vibration of the Righteous reminded me of its restless nature.

Dionela and I headed for the exit, breaking down doors and releasing prisoners, everyone we met on our way. Stopping near the cell with the creatures, I wondered if it was worth releasing those whose essence was incomprehensible and unknown to me.

Dionela, gently taking me by the elbow, said convincingly: "Do not be afraid. These creatures are scary, but not for people. If you let them go, you will acquire new friends ready to come to the rescue at the first call."

Her soft speech dispelled all my doubts. I broke the doors in the same way as several previous ones. A powerful roar resounded through the prison, from which the prisoners sat down, and I was covered in "goose bumps".

A snake-like creature with the body and head of a man, topped with a wreath of small snakes that moved as if alive, crawled into the prison corridor. I did not know its name and was not sure how to address it. The creature looked at me, and a hissing question sounded in the air:

"What is your name, liberator?"

"I am Oris," I answered.

"Dragon slayer?" the creature clarified.

I nodded my head, then added:

"I should go first, there are guards ahead."

"My name is Nag. I am a prince of the Naga people. Cryonax tricked me into a trap and imprisoned me in this prison. From this day on, I am in your debt."

"I do not like debtors and debts," I admitted honestly. "Let's just be friends, no strings attached."

Nag thought for a moment, then extended his snake-scaled hand. A forked tongue stuck out of his mouth for a moment.

"Oris wants to be Nag's friend, and Nag also wants to be Oris's friend."

We continued on our way. Dionela and I walked ahead, Nag crawled proudly behind us, and the exhausted people timidly followed him.

For all the prisoners to be freed, they had to overcome the path from the prison doors to the castle gates. If they had weapons, then it would not be difficult to pass this short road. The dragon's servants had spears, swords, bows, and arrows. The prisoners had only one desire: to be free.

In our group, I was the only one with a weapon, and despite all my desires, the Righteous One could not create copies of himself. But in addition to the sword, I had another factor in reserve - surprise, as well as some magical abilities.

Swinging open the prison door and raising my left hand, I delivered the first kinetic blow:

"Torberio!"

The group of soldiers closest to me was scattered across the cobblestones. The noise immediately attracted the attention of the other guards. I wasted no time and cast the spell again:

"Animal larva! Animal mask!"

My face and appearance began to change, and soon I looked like one of the soldiers. It is always easiest to get lost on your own. While the servuses tried to understand what had happened to their comrades, I began to instantly crush everyone who was nearby, turning them into a bloody mess. As in the dungeon, resistance was minimal.

The prisoners running out of the prison picked up weapons from the ground. My squad was rapidly growing. A hail of arrows rained down on us from the castle walls. Nag, spreading his hood like a cobra, raised his clawed hands and whispered something in an ancient language. The arrows, as if obeying his will, slightly changed direction and did not hit any of the targets. The guards had lost time - most of the fugitives had broken out of the castle. I pulled Dionela to me and whispered:

"Run to the city, meet me at Tomtom's tavern."

Then I pushed her away sharply and spun the Righteous furiously. But to be honest, it was not my merit - Chiquita sensed the danger and began to spin around its axis, turning the sword into an impenetrable shield. The arrows it deflected flew in all directions. Several hit my leg but were unable to penetrate the dragon's armor.

Bronze is an excellent conductor of electricity, but gold is even better. The archers on the castle wall, although relatively safe, posed a serious threat to the escaping prisoners. They aimed accurately and without hesitation, intending to leave no one alive.

"Chiquita, do you remember how lightning flashes?" — I said, feeling the sword vibrate slightly, letting me know that it was ready.

I threw off my cloak, letting my wings unfold, and quickly soared into the air, like a bird of prey ready to strike. Having flown over the wall, I directed the Righteous downwards and, like the ancient Greek god Zeus, began to shower the archers with lightning. Electric discharges, blue and bright, crackled through the air, intersecting and flying in different directions. They jumped from one soldier to another, like predatory animals that knew no mercy.

Panic seized the archers. Many caught fire from the touch of sparks, and some fell lifelessly to the ground, their bodies mutilated by the power of lightning. I saw how some of them tried to escape, but in vain - they fell into the traps of my power. Screaming faces, the smell of burnt flesh, and the sounds of cracking metal filled the space. But then the lightning bolts stopped. I could feel Chiquita exhausted, her magical powers gone. But the Righteous One still had his deadly cutting power. I didn't stop. Like a predator, I continued to rush over the wall, rushing between the surviving soldiers. Their fear was palpable, but I had no time for pity. Each swing of the sword brought new death, and soon the castle courtyard was empty, filled only with bloody footprints and bodies. At such moments, I felt like I was not just in a game, but in a real battle, where every decision has its price. In video games, I could save the game in a safe place and, when faced with difficulties, go back to correct my mistakes. Here in Orkvalia, there was no pause button or ability to load the previous level.

Every moment was crucial. My mistakes would be unforgivable, and I could not afford to relax. I could not simply restart the fight if something went wrong. Just one mistake and it would be over. This gave me strength, but at the same time, it increased my anxiety. I was not a hero controlled by the player - I was Oris, and my life was hanging by a thread.

My sword met the blows of enemies as if protecting me from imminent death. I forced myself to remember that every movement, every attack was a step into the unknown. Only I was responsible for the results of my actions. There were no second chances in this world, and I was ready to pay any price to survive and free those who were captured.

When silence finally came, I climbed down the wall and surveyed the battlefield. Adrenaline was still boiling in my blood, and the tension did not subside. I felt my wings growing heavy, and my pulse pounding in my ears. The battle was far from easy fun, despite the obvious superiority - every moment reminded me that here in Orkvalia, I was only a step away from my death.

I also couldn't install a magic cheat code on myself, on my abilities, allowing me to emerge from any fight alive and unharmed. My sword, my dragon blood, and my magical abilities did not make me a man with superhuman abilities. I was vulnerable and very afraid that among the dragon's servants, there would be one who would put up a worthy resistance to me.

I had to catch up and stop a group of prisoners and ask them for help:

"I want to kill Cryonax and rid your country of this monster forever. The dragon is still not in the castle, he will return. And if he sees dead soldiers, he will be wary. Help me clear the courtyard, and prepare to meet an unexpected guest."

I am not an expert in persuasion, but it seems that my short speech was heard. At first, the prisoners fidgeted in one place. I perfectly understood the state of people who had broken out of dark cells to freedom. But these people knew that a living dragon was still dangerous and that I had risked my life for the freedom they had gained.

At first, one man with a cap of gray hair turned back. I saw silent gratitude in his eyes. Several of the gray-haired man's cellmates stopped behind him. After some time, a group of twenty people carried what had recently been called the castle guards to the underground prison. The people were helped by two ogres, who had somehow become prisoners of the dragon.

These ogres were surprisingly kind. Their powerful bodies stood out against the frail prisoners, but instead of threatening, they radiated warmth and a willingness to help. One of them, with broad shoulders and a good-natured smile, carefully lifted the dead guards, as if they were not heavy armor, but simple pillows. The other ogre, although looking menacing, with neatly braided pigtails, smiled and joked with the prisoners, calming them down. "Don't be afraid, we're here to help!" he said in a soft voice, and it was so unusual that the prisoners laughed softly, their fear subsiding a little. They looked at the ogres with bewilderment and gratitude, realizing that even among enemies there can be true allies.

The rain that poured down from the sky turned out to be very opportune. It washed away the blood stains from the pavement, refreshed the air, and washed the dirty faces of the prisoners as if giving them new hope. The people joyfully raised their heads, collected the rainwater in their hands, and drank it, as if it were something sacred. Each drop falling from the sky brought a feeling of renewal, allowing them to forget about the suffering they had endured in the dark cells of the castle.

The ogres, like little children, started playing tag. Their powerful bodies stomped cheerfully through the puddles, splashing water in different directions, creating bright splashes that sparkled in the light of the rain. Their joyful cries and laughter reminded us of carefree times when there were no dragons or tyranny. The clatter of huge feet drowned out the joyful laughter of people and the noise of falling drops, and the murmur of water added lightness to the atmosphere as if the whole world was at that moment being cleansed of evil.

But soon another sound was added to these sounds: the sound of the wings of the approaching dragon Cryonax. It was a sound that caused fear and anxiety in the hearts of the prisoners. They froze, stopping their games and joy, their faces once again becoming serious and tense. The ogres, although radiating kindness, also felt the threat and fell silent, watching the sky with caution.

I felt my heart stop with anxiety when I looked up and saw a dark silhouette emerging against the clouds. Cryonax, like a majestic but terrible god of war, hovered above us, his wings creating powerful gusts of wind that blew the rain away. I knew we had no time to hesitate. The river of hope the rain had created could dry up in an instant under the pressure of the dragon's wrath.

Prince Nag. [https://i.imgur.com/lbavGjX.jpeg]