Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 833

Chapter 833: A way in(2)

All eyes shifted as the limping figure swayed his way into the circle of light, one hand clinging to the far edge of the table to keep himself upright.

The laughter that had moments ago gutted the Azanian lord now turned upon him.

“Get your ass on a chair, you’re drunk!” one of the captains jeered, slamming his horn on the table.

Cain had indeed been drinking, he did so often.

Not to revel, as did not have much to find glee from, but instead to dull the always present ache in his leg and scrape together the courage for what he was to do.

Another captain, recognizing him through the haze of firelight and wine, barked toward Blake

“Oi, Hard-Gut! Get your brother home before he pisses himself. Looks like he’s had enough of all.I believe he had his own little adventure by now.”

Blake’s jaw tightened at the taunt.

He would have agreed to the man if that were not his brother , the sight of him in this company, limping, stumbling, jeered at, was intolerable.

He turned his gaze upon Kroll, a silent, demand for explanation.

Kroll only shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he had not seen it.

Cain meanwhile steadied himself taking no heed of the insults and petulant eyes instead he moved his gaze across the tent.

His voice, when it came, was rough but clear enough to cut through the laughter that had completely ceased when he smashed a plate onto the ground.

“You’ve all had your turns,” he rasped. “So tell me, will any of you stop me from having mine? Considering the questions you lot asked, you were about as useful as a priest on a sinking ship.”

That earned another burst of smiles.

One of the captains raised his mug in mock salute. “Have the stage then, Cain the Mad! Let’s hear what wisdom drips from your cup!”

More laughter.

Cain’s lips curled in something halfway between a sneer and a smile.

Still he denied none of that.

He dragged himself forward, step by uneven step, his cane tapping the ground like a hammer counting the seconds. For an instant his eyes flicked to his brother.

He did not likes what he saw, and immediately looked away at once when he realised the mistake.

Better to face the wolves than his brother’s fury.

As he passed the Azanian , broken and bound, Cain slowed. The man’s face was a ruin of blood and spit, his teeth gone, his dignity stripped. And yet, he lived.

Cain’s mouth tugged upward.

There is always someone worse off than me, he thought happy to have someone whose misery outranked his.

He moved on.

The fire crackled in its brazier at the center, the iron pincers glowing orange-hot. Cain’s eyes fixed on them, and for a heartbeat he seemed almost entranced by the glow.

He reached a hand toward the tool, his fingers trembling from drink or perhapse, just from the simple realization of what he could do to another man.

The torturer, who had been leaning lazily over his bloodied work, straightened and stepped aside with a smirk, he also wanted to see where this was going.

Cain felt awkward with the iron in his hands. It was heavy, unwieldy, and it hissed faintly as the heat bit at the air. He had never been the one to play torturer, never needed to, but in this moment he did the only safe thing: he lowered himself onto the blood-stained stool that the torturer had just vacated. The hot metal crackled as it rested against the rim of the brazier.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and deliberate.”Have you wandered inside the palace often?”

The bound noble whimpered, his lips swollen, his face caked with blood. “I–d-don’t know any secret passage—”

Cain snapped the pincers up, dangling them close enough that the blaze of heat singed the hairs beside the man’s temple. The noble shrieked and turned his face away.

“That’s not what I asked,” Cain said, voice steady, almost bored. “Keep on the road with me, all right? Answer what you’re asked, not where you think I’m going. Do you understand?”

“I–I do!” He sobbed, tears streaking the blood on his cheeks.

The captains weren’t laughing anymore, though their grins remained, crooked and amused. Even Blake, who had been stone-faced, leaned back in his chair, watching in silence.

Cain’s gaze returned to the prisoner. “You’re the garrison head, aren’t you? A noble?”

“Yes?” Khalib stammered, unsure.

Cain lifted the pincers again, their tips glowing orange. His head tilted. “Was that a question or a statement?”

“A–a statement!” The man blurted, panic flashing in his eyes.

Cain slid the pincers back into the fire, feeding the glow. “Got land?”

“My father does…” he answered weakly.

Cain exhaled through his nose, his lip twitching. For once, he did not see pity or derision reflected in another man’s eyes. It was… almost refreshing, just a bit considering what beheld him was now fear…

He could get used to that.

“Have you wandered inside the palace often?” Cain asked again.

“Yes. During feasts, celebrations… sometimes to give reports.”

“What’s your name?”

“Khalib…”

“You got a family, Khalib?”

A sob tore free. “I have a daughter.”

Cain leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “Do you want to go back to her?”

The man nodded frantically, his lips trembling. “My father will pay a ransom—” His eyes went wide as the pincers went closer, the glow inching toward his cheek.

“Khalib, Khalib, Khalib…” Cain said, his voice almost gentle. “What did I say about imagination?”

“I—I want to go back to her!” the man wailed.

Cain drew the iron away, sliding it back into the fire. A sigh of relief shuddered from Khalib’s chest.

“Good,” Cain said softly. Then, with a tilt of his head: “Look around you.”

He obeyed.

The man’s red, swollen eyes flickered across the tent.

Around him, the pirate captains lounged in their seats, wine dripping from their cups and horns , grease smeared across their lips.

They weren’t leaning forward for answers.

They were smirking, sneering, some bored, some half-drunk, some gnawing on bones.

Cain’s voice slithered in close to his ear. “Do you see them? Not a one of these depraved bastards believes you’ll give them anything useful. They don’t care. You’re nothing more than their laughter, their distraction between drinks. Dark, isn’t it?”

Khalib whimpered, a fresh tear sliding down his cheek.

“And when the laughter runs out,” Cain went on, almost conversational, “they’ll kill you. Slowly, quickly, doesn’t matter. But they’ll kill you, once they’re bored of watching you squirm.That is all you are, entertainment..”

The noble’s body shook with terror.

Cain reached out, his hand surprisingly steady, and placed it on Khalib’s bloodied shoulder. His grip was light but firm.

“I can help you,I am the only one that can” Cain said, his tone dropping kindness onto the man “I can see that you walk out of here alive. That you see your daughter again, embrace her and see her grow up. But I can’t do it alone. I’ll need your help to make that happen.”

The man’s eyes flicked up desperately, wide and wet.

Hope was between them.

“Will you help me, Khalib?”

Khalib broke at that, nodding frantically, his sobs spilling into a whisper. “Yes—yes, I will! Please… help me…”

Cain’s voice dropped low, a brittle cord that snapped attention tight. He kept the hot pincers away from the man’s eye.

“I’m going to ask you some things, Khalib,” he said slowly, each word clear in the tent that was now silent.

“And I want you to really think about them. You said you wandered the palace at feasts. When your stomach ached , where did you piss and shit?”

The silence did not last long after that.

A bark of crude laughter rose behind him. “You got a thing for filth, little cripple?” somebody jeered, tankard raised.

Pig.

Cain didn’t even glance back as he moved Khalib head toward his. “Don’t mind the flies, Khalib. Answer the question.”

The bound man swallowed; his jaw worked around missing teeth and half-words.

“Th-there’s a room… up high… in the tower,” he stammered, spit and blood flecking what remained of his lips. “E-eastern side….”

Cain’s eyes narrowed. “Where exactly on the eastern side? Up high how? What did the room look like? Did it open to air? Was there water running by it?”

Khalib’s tongue stumbled. “I… I d-don’ fhhink on numbers, my lord… jus’ tall. Wind comes in… there’s… water. I think… yes…underground”

“You walked the palace, remember the smell, the servants’ paths. Where do the servants take their waste? Do they carry it out? Do they empty it into some chute?”

The captains’ laughter had dimmed to a buzz Even the torturer, who had worked through the night, watched now with lazy interest as Cain prodded for details.

Khalib blinked, tried to form the sounds. “S-servanfhs… fhey somefhimes…I d-don’ see fhem carry, no, I don’ fhink fhey carry id oufh?”

Cain’s hand tightened on the pincers for a heartbeat, then relaxed. He let the heat wash over the metal and fed it back into the fire with a soft clack. His voice was softer now, patient in a way that made the man flinch.

“Is there anyone among the prisoners that worked inside as a servant even a guard?”

”yes…I think there must be”

Cain turned his head and addressed the circle, more command than question now.

“Prepare one of the men who handles our prisoners. Have Khalib find someone who served inside the palace. Bring them before me.”

A burly captain grunted but did not move until Blake gave the nod, he pushed his chair back with a scrape.

Then Cain looked back at Khalib. The cold in his voice thawed almost a degree into something negotiable.

He was close…

“Listen to me,” he said, leaning closer until the Azanian’s breath fogged ahead of him. “If what you’re telling me helps ,if you lead us true and we find a way in because of it , your daughter may yet grow with a father. I’ll make sure there’s ransom . Your family will have coin. You’ll go free. Do you understand?”

Khalib nodded so violently his head jerked like a puppet. His tears fell faster; his voice was no more than a broken whisper. “Yes, yes—please—yes…”

Cain had just stepped back from Khalib when a slurred voice broke across the tent, the same captain who’d mocked him earlier with the “shit-joke.”

“What use is it, eh? Knowin’ where the servants squat? You plannin’ to make a bath out of their piss?” The man’s grin was wide, confident that he had landed another jab. A few chuckles bubbled weakly from his neighbors.

Cain turned his head slowly.

“Perhaps if you bastards weren’t too busy drinking yourselves blind, you might have noticed something” His cane thudded once against the ground for emphasis. “I walked that tower yesterday. I saw no latrines. Smelled no filth. Hundreds of men, women, slaves, soldiers , trapped inside for a week.” He let his eyes rake across the captains, one by one, his lip curling. “Where, then, is the fucking stink?”

The jeers faltered, replaced with confusion brows furrowed in thought.

Cain pressed on,realising he was throwing pearls of wisdoms at fucking pigs.

“It means they have a way of disposing it. Hundreds of bowels don’t vanish into thin air. Which means there’s an outlet. And if there’s an outlet,that’s a sewer…” He let the pause drag ” if there is…then there’s a road directly inside the palace laid out for us….”

And at that It finally dawned.