Chaos continued to echo from above as Charles peered into the dark sewer. A large iron grate lay across the opening. He tried to lift it with his injured hands, but his fingernails had been pulled out during torture, making it nearly impossible to grip anything.
After considerable effort, he managed to pry up the grate, but as he climbed down the stone stairs, his weakened, nail-less fingers couldn't hold on. He plummeted into the darkness, landing in fetid ankle-deep water.
Pain shot through his body, and his burn wounds stung as they contacted the dirty water. Charles struggled to his feet, staggering to lean against the slimy, algae-covered sewer wall, gasping for breath from exhaustion.
Rats scurried about, their sounds occasionally reaching his ears. Charles stumbled forward along the tunnel, disoriented and without any sense of direction, hoping the water's flow would lead him to an exit. Each step brought fresh pain, and blood continued to seep from his wounds.
Footsteps and voices echoed from ahead. Charles quickly retreated into the shadows.
"Strange, I heard there's smoke coming from the prison," one person said. The smell of food clung to their clothes, suggesting they had just returned from delivering meals.
"Maybe an important prisoner escaped. That's why there's such commotion," another replied. "When I was delivering food, I saw soldiers at the city gate in a frenzy."
"Sigh... we'll have to inspect the tunnels thoroughly tonight. They might try to escape this way."
Charles waited until he was certain the workers had passed, then carefully emerged from hiding. Every movement aggravated his torture wounds. He chose to walk in the opposite direction from where the workers had come, hoping to avoid encountering anyone else.
Throughout his journey, he had to stop frequently, leaning against the damp walls to catch his breath and gather strength. Sometimes he had to sit on old maintenance stairs, his legs trembling with weakness. Hunger and thirst began to plague him, but he dared not drink the filthy sewer water.
The sound of flowing water grew louder, indicating he was approaching a junction. Finally, he reached an underground chamber where several tunnels converged, their waters combining into a large stream. The sound of falling water echoed throughout.
...
Miranda still knelt beside her brother's lifeless form, holding his cold hand, while Edward knelt at her side.
"You must flee!" a voice shouted from the corridor, before an officer rushed into the room. "There's a fire! We need to hurry..."
His words trailed off when he saw the condition of the room—guard corpses lying in pools of blood and Joseph's motionless body.
"This... this is..." the officer froze, his eyes wide with shock. "What happened?"
"They were killed," Edward answered.
"Who...?" the officer asked, his hand trembling.
The officer recalled the name of the dangerous prisoner held in this cell. "Charles Ravencroft."
"That prisoner! But why?"
"I don't know," Edward shook his head. "But the criminal has fled. We need to capture him quickly."
The officer spun around, about to run to the bell tower, but Edward quickly stopped him. "Wait! I'll go myself. You go finish your duties."
The officer acknowledged with a nod before running off.
When the officer had gone, Edward turned to Miranda. "We can't wait any longer," he whispered urgently. "If we leave it too long, he won't become a spirit but will transform into a cursed object instead. It will be too late."
He left the room, leaving Miranda with her brother's body.
Miranda bit her lip hard, a final tear running down her cheek before she gathered herself and immediately began reciting the soul crystallization spell.
...
Edward stood in the bell chamber, gripping the bell rope tightly.
"Three more minutes before ringing the bell," he muttered to himself, his eyes reflecting worry. "I hope it's enough..."
He knew the bell would signal the beginning of the search. Charles would be hunted, but it would also serve as a warning for him. They couldn't delay any longer.
"Get away safely..." Edward thought, before pulling the bell rope...
Not far away, Miranda stood outside the main entrance. She looked at her brother's body, now properly wrapped in white cloth, awaiting transport for religious ceremonies. Two officials in black were preparing a special horse-drawn hearse.
Miranda took two pieces of paper from her pocket. Her quill moved rapidly across the first sheet, though without ink.
After finishing, she burned the first paper with a nearby torch. Gray smoke rose into the air. She then quickly wrote on the second sheet before burning it as well.
She watched the smoke from the final paper disappear before turning to look at her brother's body once more.
The officials began carefully lifting Joseph's body onto the hearse. Two pitch-black horses, specially trained for this task, stood motionless, waiting to depart.
"Escape... for Joseph's sake," she whispered to the wind as the bell began to toll from the tower.
...
Charles looked around, trying to decide which way to go, but in the darkness and his pain-induced dizziness, all directions seemed the same. He decided to follow the strongest current, hoping it would lead to the river.
Suddenly, an alarm bell rang out from above—a warning signal.
The sound forced Charles to quicken his pace, despite his body protesting in pain with every step.
After walking for a considerable time, the sound of flowing water grew increasingly distinct. Fresh air began to flow from ahead until finally, he reached the point where the sewer opened into the river. A large iron grate blocked the way, but it was old and rusted, with a gap at the bottom where water had eroded it.
Squeezing through the opening wasn't easy, especially with his injured body, but he had no choice. Footsteps and shouts began to echo from inside the tunnel. Charles gritted his teeth against the pain, twisting his body through the narrow gap. Rust fragments cut long scratches into his skin, but he could only endure it.
Finally breaking free, he plunged into the frigid river water, which penetrated his exhausted body. His wounds burned fiercely upon contact with the water, but Charles forced himself to swim forward, using the current to help support his body and the night's darkness to conceal him.
He tried to swim close to the shore, hiding beneath the shadow of the city's earthen embankments. Sometimes he had to dive underwater when he heard the footsteps of patrolling guards. His nail-less fingers tried to grip the dirt walls to resist the current, but could only manage light touches, as every time he gripped firmly, pain shot through him, almost causing him to drown.
The current carried him under several wooden bridges in busy areas where he had to be careful not to be spotted. Sometimes he hid behind rocks, waiting until it was safe to continue swimming.
Eventually, he reached the riverside commercial district. The smell of alcohol and raucous sounds drifted from a tavern on the breeze. Orange lamplight from the establishment spilled onto the water's surface. Charles noticed a dark corner that might provide a hiding place.
He swam cautiously toward the shore, using an old dock piling for cover before carefully climbing out of the water. Every movement sent pain shooting through his wounds. His soaked clothes weighed him down, but he managed to move to a dark corner between some old wooden barrels.
From his hiding place, he could see customers entering and leaving the tavern continuously, but he dared not risk going inside. He knew that in his soaking wet, injured state, he would definitely attract attention.
While hiding behind the tavern, the sounds of soldiers searching drew closer. Torchlight swept across the streets. Charles tried to breathe quietly, noticing a narrow alley extending behind the building.
He carefully crawled through the dark area, trying to ensure his wet clothes didn't make too much noise rubbing against the ground. The alley was cluttered with garbage bins and old wooden crates. The stench of rotting food hung in the air, but this actually worked to his advantage, helping to mask his own smell.
The sound of soldiers' footsteps came from the main street. "Split up and search! We must capture him before dawn!"
Charles quickly hid under a stack of wooden crates. The dampness of his clothes made him shiver, but he dared not move, as any movement would cause the old wood to creak.
He heard footsteps pass by the alley entrance, accompanied by a brief flash of torchlight.
"Nothing here," one soldier said. "Let's check over there."
When the footsteps faded away, Charles carefully peeked out. He noticed the alley extended all the way to a back wall that appeared to be part of a warehouse. Old wooden rain gutters were attached to the wall.
Though his entire body ached, he knew he couldn't rest any longer. He had to leave this area before the soldiers returned for another search. Charles slowly crawled out from under the crates, trying to stand by using the wall for support.
Just as he was about to walk down the alley, the tavern's back door suddenly opened, and orange light spilled out. Charles quickly crouched behind a garbage bin, watching a server come out to dump food scraps and empty liquor bottles.
"Smells like hell," the server complained before hurrying back inside.
When the door closed, darkness returned. Charles waited to ensure no one else would come out before slowly moving down the alley, one hand against the wall for support, trying to step as quietly as possible.
Reaching the warehouse wall, he looked up to assess its height—about twice his height. The rain gutter attached to the wall looked old and decayed but might still support his weight. If he could climb up using it, he might be able to cross over the wall.
Charles hesitated for a moment. His nail-less fingers wouldn't grip the wooden gutter well, but he had no other choice. He began climbing slowly, using his elbows and forearms for support rather than his fingers.
Every movement made the old wood creak, his heart racing with fear that it might collapse. But luck was on his side, and he finally reached the top of the wall. He sat there for a moment catching his breath, looking down to the other side where he saw a warehouse yard filled with cargo crates.
As he was about to climb down, footsteps and voices came from inside the warehouse. Lamplight moved across the window openings. Charles quickly lay flat on top of the wall, hoping the darkness would conceal him.
"We need to guard the goods carefully tonight," one watchman said. "I heard a dangerous prisoner escaped from prison."
"Hmm, no wonder there's such a commotion," another replied.
Charles waited until the guards passed before carefully shifting to the other side of the wall. He spotted another rain gutter, but it was some distance from where he lay. He would have to risk crawling along the narrow top of the wall.
He inched forward carefully, trying not to look down. Every movement had to be silent. Finally reaching the gutter, he climbed down as slowly as he had climbed up.
Reaching the ground, Charles found himself in another alley that appeared to be in a residential area, with houses lining both sides. Most were dark—it must have been very late.
He walked cautiously along the alley, noticing it extended to another main street that might lead to the northern city gate. But reaching it wouldn't be easy, especially in his injured and weakened state.
While considering his options, the sound of carriage wheels grinding against the road came directly toward him. The young man felt as if the world around him slowed down as he looked left and right for an escape route.
But it was too late—the carriage had already moved to block his path. As the driver pulled the reins to stop the horses abruptly, the door opened quickly, revealing someone inside.
"Get in, quickly."