"I have to say, I didn't expect to be treated quite this roughly. You'd think they would understand their position's weakness, but I gave them too much credit." Sigurd muttered, earning an eye-roll.

Eleanor refrained from retorting, for once sparing him the indignity of being the victim of her increasingly sharp tongue.

Deprived of even that amusement, Sigurd shifted his bound limbs, looking for any weakness he could exploit. Unfortunately, for all their arrogance, the enemies knew how to cast an [Incarceration] spell decently.

They probably had a lot of practice. I'm willing to bet that if I were to look in the other cells around here, I'd find the remains of several guests. It's good that I don't intend to stay here long enough to discover how far their hospitality goes.

Indeed, after being thrown into the villa's dark basement, Sigurd immediately started the second part of the plan. It wouldn't set off until they got a visitor, but he had lived long enough to learn patience, even though he usually didn't act like it.

The Infinity Disruptor is a fantastic piece of bardic magic. Whoever came up with it seriously deserves some credit. It's a pity they died in the siege of Lamprey Port. Oh well, I suppose I'll have to take it upon myself to bring its exceptional qualities to light.

Though his arms and legs were bound, Sigurd was never without resources. At his silent command, his long silvery braid unfurled on its own and split into several long appendages, ignoring the cell’s disruption enchantments.

"That looks disgusting. You're like an octopus." Eleanor sneered, though she obligingly sat up to keep watch.

Sigurd smirked at Eleanor's disgust but said nothing. One of his braids slithered across his shoulder, twisting around to reach his face. It paused near the back of his mouth, and he winced slightly as it coiled around one of his teeth.

With a sharp tug, the tooth came free, making a wet, squelching sound that reverberated in the cell. Eleanor shuddered, her lip curling in revulsion.

"Light, Sigurd. You could've warned me," she muttered, glaring at him.

He wiggled the bloodied tooth in front of her with a grin. "Where's the fun in that?"

Eleanor's glare deepened, but Sigurd was already focused on his prize. He held the tooth in his palm and, with a theatrical flourish, sang a lilting, playful tune under his breath. The words flowed smoothly, though they were nonsense: "Twist and twirl, spin and swirl, oh tooth of mine, reveal your root."

The tooth began to glow softly, its edges shimmering with ethereal light. Then, with a faint crack, it split open and expanded, unfolding into an apple-sized, softly glowing cube. The artifact rotated upon itself in strange, incomprehensible patterns, its sides bending and twisting in ways that hurt the mind to follow. Eleanor winced again.

"Could you not make your magical artifacts so nauseating?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

Sigurd chuckled, admiring the cube's strange beauty. "I'm not the one who came up with it. And I wouldn't dare change it too much. That's half the fun."

Satisfied with its activation, he began to hum softly again, weaving a simple melody. While the original enchanter was a talented man, and Sigurd could appreciate his focus on bardic magic, he had minimal musical talent; all the activation melodies were so basic that they almost annoyed him. He had slowly started adding more complex spells, but it’d take time.

Still, the cube responded, pulsing in time with his song. Each pulse sent a faint ripple through the room, unseen but felt in the way the air shifted. With one last lilting note, Sigurd finished, his voice barely a whisper. "Hide and wait for the time to come. Disrupt when the silence hums."

The cube pulsed once more, brighter this time, then faded from sight, disappearing as though it had never been there.

"Done," Sigurd said, leaning back against the cold stone wall of the cell. "Now, we wait."

Hours passed in tense silence. Eleanor remained vigilant, scanning the darkness, while Sigurd lounged as though he were on vacation.

It wasn't until the faint echo of approaching footsteps reached their ears that Sigurd's easy posture shifted. He glanced at his companion, and a shared moment of understanding passed between them. The second half of the game was about to begin.

The cell door creaked open, and two torches flared up, illuminating the room as the man who had led them into this trap stomped in. His expression was as passive and emotionless as it had been when he led them to their cell, but there was a certain smugness in how he held himself. Behind him stood a figure far more significant. A fat, balding noble with rich, finely tailored clothes that strained against his bulging stomach. His fingers glittered with enchanted rings, and a heavy chain of gold rested around his neck. Despite his opulence, it was the sneer on his face that made him most repugnant.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Well, well, well," the noble said, his voice oozing with condescension. "What do we have here? Two little mice, trapped in my cellar. And to think, that stupid girl thought she could outsmart me!"

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, but she kept her expression impassive. Sigurd, on the other hand, offered the noble a lazy grin.

"You caught us fair and square, Lord..." Sigurd trailed off, feigning ignorance.

"Lord Winder, you idiot!" the noble snapped, his face reddening with irritation. "You think yourselves so clever, running around talking about that brat so carelessly as if we didn’t already know who you are. But in the end, you're just idiots. And now you'll spill everything you know—starting with that insufferable girl you call an Archmage."

Sigurd yawned theatrically and pointedly didn't answer.

Lord Winder's eyes narrowed in contempt. "Just like that stupid little girl to think she's smarter than the rest of us. She has no idea what real power is. But you'll tell me everything she knows. I'll break her hold over Treon before the others even realize I know her weaknesses. That will show the old windbag, Bertier.”

The noble snapped his fingers, and their guide stepped forward, carrying a small chest of tools. Torture instruments, each gleaming wickedly in the torchlight. He began to lay them out methodically on a nearby table, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were preparing for a casual evening of work.

"Let's start with their nails," Lord Winder said with a malicious grin. "I almost hope you'll keep quiet."

The guide, still expressionless, reached for a pair of sharp, gleaming pincers.

Sigurd clicked his tongue, emitting a sound far louder than it had any right to be in the small, cramped cell. It reverberated unnaturally, and then, as if the very air had been sucked out of the room, an eerie silence descended. The noble and his goon both froze, suddenly aware that something had shifted.

The cube flared back into existence, hovering in the middle of the cell, casting an ethereal glow that bathed the walls in an unsettling light. Lord Winder and the guide gaped at it, eyes wide with shock.

The noble's mouth opened to yell, but no sound came. His lips moved, his face turning an ugly shade of red, but it was all for naught. The would-be torturer followed suit, his hands reaching for a knife, his throat working uselessly as he tried to shout for help. Nothing.

Sigurd watched with idle amusement as the noble began to mouth the words of a spell.

Fireball. How droll. Even if I were stupid enough to let him cast it, does he trust his defensive rings so much after their failure when he got arrested? Pathetic.

But the magic, despite the man's frantic efforts, fizzled in the air, dispersing before it could even form a spark. The silence was impenetrable, the Infinity Disruptor's power twisting any attempt at resistance into nothingness. It was truly a useful gadget, and Sigurd would have accepted the mission just to be able to use it once more.

The goon crossed the distance and tried to slash Sigurd's throat, showing a surprising agility.

Unfortunately for him, the silvery braid came to life once more and whipped at his legs, sending him tumbling down, only to pin the man's limbs to the stone floor before he could get up.

The remaining strands of hair hardened, sharpening into thin, steel-like wires. With a quick flick, the bindings around Sigurd's wrists and ankles were cut, falling to the ground without so much as a thud. He stretched casually, enjoying himself.

Ah, if winning could always be this easy.

"Always so dramatic," Eleanor mouthed, watching as he freed her next.

"I aim to please," Sigurd replied silently, grin widening as he helped her out of her restraints.

With the tables turned, Sigurd hummed lowly, a deep, resonant sound, disrupting the silence spell. The cube responded instantly, its glow intensifying. The magic in the room warped once again. The warded enchantments woven into the cell reactivated and shifted, their control fully in Sigurd's hands. With a second command, the cube pulsed.

Thick, glowing ropes appeared out of thin air, snaking toward the two men. They both struggled, but the bindings were relentless, wrapping tightly around their bodies, pinning their arms to their sides. The noble's face twisted in rage, but still, no sound escaped him. The torturer seemed to resign himself to his fate, though his eyes flickered with a hint of fear as he eyed the retreating locks of hair.

Sigurd squatted, his smile all charm and no warmth. "Now, now, Lord Winder, let's not make this more difficult than it has to be."

He reached into his coat, pulling out a small vial, which he uncorked with a casual flick of his thumb. With the same effortless grace, Sigurd used the tip of his braid—still as sharp as a razor—to slice a shallow cut on the noble's wrist. Winder's eyes widened in horror, but he could do nothing as Sigurd collected a few drops of his blood in the vial, sealing it tightly.

"That's for insurance," he said, slipping the vial into his pocket. "I'm sure you understand."

Without another word, Sigurd and Eleanor slipped out of the cell, leaving their captors bound and helpless until someone decided to take a peek. It wasn't like anyone would be bothered by the lack of sounds since the basement was meant to be used as a torture area.

The area they emerged in was dimly lit, shadows clinging to the corners of the narrow corridors. The pair moved swiftly, their footsteps barely making a sound. Sigurd's gaze flicked to Eleanor as they encountered the first of the guards—a burly man leaning lazily against the wall. Eleanor was already moving before he could even offer to take care of him.

With a blur of motion, she instantly crossed the distance. The man had barely registered her presence before her dagger found its mark, a swift, silent strike that left him slumped against the wall.

Sigurd blinked. “Show-off.”

Eleanor flashed him a quick grin before disappearing into the shadows again, her steps impossibly light. They continued on, encountering a few more guards, but each posed little trouble. Eleanor moved like a ghost, her speed and precision unnerving even to Sigurd, who knew she'd been a simple farm girl less than a year ago.

Finally, they reached the stairway that led to the villa's main floor. The moonlight illuminated the gardens as they emerged into the humid night air. Sigurd glanced up at the dark sky. "We'll need to pick up the pace if we want to join in the fun."

"Things won't start without us. Lady Jean was clear that our priority should be to get the communication orb, preferably intact, first."

Sigurd sighed theatrically but nodded in agreement. "Fine, fine. Let's get to it."

They crouched low, moving through the garden unimpeded until they spotted the ornate windows of what could only be the main study. Sigurd could feel the pulse of powerful wards surrounding the room. The communication orb would be in there, no doubt.

"The protections are strong," Sigurd muttered, glancing at Eleanor. "The cube should be enough, but such a signature usually means more layers."

Eleanor nodded, her eyes scanning the distant guards that patrolled the gardens. "A direct assault is out of the question then, and going through the windows is bound to get too much attention. We might have to get there unconventionally."

"After you," Sigurd said with a playful bow, his grin returning.