"Paul. Robert." Gustavus stared at them sharply, though a thin smile still lingered on his lips. "What are you doing here?"
Paul slowly stood up, trying to hide the crowbar behind his back. "W-we... heard a voice inside. I thought someone was trapped, so I had to help immediately."
Gustavus didn’t answer right away. He stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the steel door—his gaze long and heavy, as if recognizing something deeply personal.
"This used to be a storage space for weapons. But, since it's far from the main deck, I decided to move all the reserves to the lower deck," Gustavus explained flatly.
"There's nothing inside. Maybe it was just echoes, or the reverberation of old engines below," he continued, throwing a brief glance at the door before quickly looking away again.
Robert stepped forward.
"We heard breathing. And knocking. That... wasn’t an echo," he blurted out quickly, trying to convince Gustavus.
Gustavus stared at them both, his eyes sharp.
"Alright. In that case, let’s see... if there really is someone inside."
Gustavus approached the door—pushing it open completely. The lantern in his hand illuminated the room inside.
The room was empty. Only an old wooden table stood there, draped in thick cobwebs hanging from the ceiling down to the floor.
"See? There’s nothing here," Gustavus said coldly.
"B-but we—" Robert tried to speak, but Gustavus immediately cut him off.
"Enough. No more excuses."
He turned and began to walk away.
"Return to your camps. In a month, we will deploy all forces to storm Frankfurt an der Oder," he ordered.
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Greifswald, 7 a.m. — April 1631
"Go to Stralsund, find Robert, and tell him to bring all troops to Stettin," George commanded one of the cavalrymen.
Without a word, the cavalryman immediately rode off toward Stralsund.
----------------------------------------------------------
Stralsund, 7:30 a.m. — same day
Robert sat on a wooden beam, biting into a piece of dry bread in his left hand, while his right hand held a bottle of weak beer with low alcohol content. Nearby, other soldiers slurped hurriedly cooked barley porridge over a small fire.
Soon, a cavalryman arrived. He dismounted and walked straight to Robert. Without saying much, he delivered George's message—then turned and quickly rode away again.
"Damn… couldn’t it wait? Ruining my breakfast," Robert grumbled, biting the rest of his bread.
He took a swig of his beer, then stood up and walked to the center of camp.
"Everyone, grab your weapons and get ready! We’re leaving for Stettin right now!"
Without a single complaint, the soldiers immediately sprang into action. They grabbed their weapons, prepared the horses, and formed ranks behind Robert, who now led them.
---
When Robert and his troops arrived in Stettin, he saw George arriving with his forces from the west. They walked toward each other.
George stopped his horse right in front of Robert.
"Good work, my friend," George praised.
Robert didn’t reply to the praise; he was still a little annoyed about his interrupted breakfast.
George turned to the soldiers.
"Listen up! Tonight, we’ll stay here to prepare everything. You can either stay in the temporary camp we've set up, or find shelter with the locals—or… at Duke Bogislaw’s church," George shouted.
The troops began dispersing, including George. Only Robert and Paul remained there.
"Where do you want to stay?" Paul asked.
"Maybe... we can stay at one of the locals’ houses?" Robert answered.
"Alright, I’ll go with you."
Robert and Paul wandered around and found an old house—not great, but decent enough to stay in. Robert knocked a few times, but no one responded from inside. He knocked again, louder, still no answer.
"Should we just open it?" he muttered.
Slowly, Robert turned the doorknob. The hinge creaked softly as the door opened.
Dark, silent, and slightly musty.
"Hello..." Robert called, but no response.
"Seems like no one lives here," Paul whispered.
Paul felt along the wall near the door, searching for where locals usually hung lanterns. His hand touched cold metal—a hanging lantern. He lit it using the lighter from his pocket. Within seconds, the room gradually lit up, revealing a straw mattress, a wooden table, and an old chair. Everything was neatly arranged—too neat for an "empty" house. As if... someone had just left. Or perhaps, never truly left at all.
Robert set his rifle on the table and flopped down on the mattress to rest. "Wow, damn... this mattress is so comfy, like a brand new one," he said, moving his hands up and down across the surface.
"Have you never slept on a bed like this before?" Paul asked, teasingly.
Robert stopped moving his hands.
"You think I’m some homeless guy who’s never slept on a mattress?" he replied sarcastically.
"What about you? Sleeping like a cat on a sack of grain," he added with a sly grin.
"Whatever," Paul muttered, not in the mood to argue.
Paul looked around the room and suddenly his eyes stopped at one corner—a wall that looked different from the rest. The wall had a slight protrusion. Paul approached and carefully ran his fingers over it. His fingers brushed a thin layer of dust, then stopped when he found a gap—it was a door.
"Hey, Robert," Paul called softly.
After calling Robert several times while inspecting the wall, but getting no response, Paul exhaled heavily, annoyed, and quickly turned toward Robert.
"He—"
He saw Robert already fast asleep, snoring loudly, as if completely indifferent to the world.
"Ugh, unbelievable," he muttered.
Paul decided to push the door open. Slowly, what was hidden behind it began to reveal itself—dark and empty. Until finally, the door opened fully.
He grabbed the hanging lantern from the wall and slowly lit it. The dim light began to spread, revealing the room. It was just an ordinary kitchen. But there was one object that immediately caught Paul’s eye—a strange symbol, clearly drawn on the blackened wall.
The symbol was circular, enclosed by two concentric rings. Between the outer ring, strange letters formed the word "ALLOCES," though some letters looked like rough scratches.
Inside, straight lines intersected each other, creating a pattern resembling a mechanical diagram. There were shapes like bars, vertical pillars, small crosses, and round dots that looked like ritual nodes or binding points. It felt rigid and extremely geometric—like a ritual diagram or an ancient seal designed to imprison something.
He approached the symbol.
"W-what is this...," he whispered softly.
Paul tried to touch the symbol with his finger, but hesitated.
"Alloces...," he murmured, trying to sound out the letters.
"Paul..."
The voice suddenly echoed—soft, deep, like a hiss that slithered directly into his ear.
Paul froze, his body slightly trembling. The symbol began whispering his name over and over again. Paul slowly stepped back, his mind in turmoil.
And suddenly—
"Hey Paul!"
Paul jumped and fell to the floor. He looked up at the doorway, eyes wide in terror—it was Robert, standing there with a confused expression.
Paul gasped for breath, his hand instinctively covering his face, trying to calm himself.
Robert frowned and slowly stepped closer.
"H-hey, what’s wrong? I called you several times but you didn’t respond. Are you okay?"
Paul stared at Robert for a long moment, his eyes still filled with fear. It took several seconds before he finally took a deep breath, trying to stand up while wiping cold sweat from his forehead.