Instead of Arya, I prefer her mom (Chapter 49) (Patreon)

At an unknown hour, a group of dark figures silently made their way through Teirm’s underground tunnels. The moldy, damp passageways where barren and empty, aside from the occasional sound of dripping water. Even the scuttling vermin and biting insects calling the place home were mysteriously absent.

It was almost like a crypt, though intended for whom was unknown…

“Look, over here.”

After searching for a while, having split up to cover more ground, one of the explorers stumbled across an old wooden door. Finding it locked, he quietly called his companion, knowing their skill with lockpicking.

“…let me see.”

This time, it was a woman, the faint light of their lantern revealing her lined and weathered face. Crouching near the door, she examined the lock before shaking her head.

“Door’s old, but the lock is new. Easier to just break it down.”

The man considered this for a moment before shrugging uncertainly.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, but it’s better to be safe. Let’s call the others first.”

The woman met his eyes before giving a single nod, getting to her feet. Dusting herself off, she went to call their companions.

--------------------------

A few minutes later, the group of five huddled in the passageway. They looked from the secretive door to their leader, a grim-looking man with a grey-streaked beard.

He’d already checked the other tunnels, finding them cleared of anything valuable or significant. This door was his last hope. However, something seemed suspicious about it. If the mage they were tailing swept everything else, why would this room be different?

After thinking it over, he gestured with his head.

“As far as we know, the witch escaped alone. It’s likely they couldn’t take all their belongings. Break the door down, grab what’s there, and then we can leave.”

His followers didn’t act immediately, exchanging glances between themselves. They’d taken jobs of this sort before. The supernatural wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to them, but they weren’t any less uneasy because of it.

Seeing their hesitation, the leader grumbled, taking a step backward and raising a boot. He kicked the door hard, splintering the planks and sending wood-chips in all directions. When it didn’t break, he took a deep breath, giving it a second try.

Putting his weight behind it, his heel smashed into the door. This time, the rotting old thing gave way, tearing clean off its hinges. Well, technically it didn’t have hinges—the only metal to it was the lock.

The group watched with trepidation as the door’s broken pieces clattered to the ground. Ahead, their lantern cast a circle of light, illuminating the debris inside the dark room.

“It’s… not empty.”

It was unknown who spoke, but fear was evident in that person’s voice.

The leader scoffed, but his eyes didn’t stop frantically scanning the interior. Only when he ensured something wouldn’t leap at them from the darkness did he inch his way forward.

“Stop wasting time. We don’t get paid by the hour.”

He’d taken a few steps before the lantern-bearer shook themselves out of their stupor, following after. If the boss stumbled over something in the dark, the mysterious room filled with strange implements would be the last of their problems.

“It looks like some kind of storeroom.”

Entering the room and coming up behind their boss, they slowly turned in a circle, lighting up every nook and cranny. There were shelves everywhere, stacked with strange glass containers, filled with… things.

At first, it was difficult to make sense of their contents, but-…

“Give me that!”

Getting impatient, the boss snatched the lantern from his subordinate, wanting to take a closer look. In the poor light, he couldn’t quite see what the stuff was.

Squinting, he held the lantern at eye-level, leaning over a desk. A row of cylindrical jars were stacked on top of it, filled with a yellowish, greenish liquid. Things floated inside, they almost looked like-…

“Eyeballs!”

The realization slapped him in the face like a cold, smelly fish. Jerking his head backward, he accidentally bumped against one of the shelves, sending a few glass jars to the ground.

Shattering into glass and vat-juice, an acrid, almost medicinal smell with and undertone of bloody meat immediate assaulted his nostrils. Pupils narrowing, the leader’s gaze was pulled toward the sight of countless severed and neatly-skinned fingers, exposing muscle, ligaments and bone.

“By the Gods-…!”

Outside, the rest of the group were caught between wanting to investigate and fleeing, unsure of what was happening inside. However, afraid of their leader’s retribution if he survived, they remained tense and frozen, staring wide-eyed into the room.

“Damn, what is this place? Forget it, I don’t care.”

There was a brief pause as he collected himself, taking a deep breath before speaking in a threatening voice.

“You bastards better get in here and help find something useful, otherwise it’ll be your fingers and eyeballs all over this floor!”

After exchanging glances, they concluded that, since their boss was acting his usual self, things probably weren’t that bad.

----------------------------------------

It took some time for them to search the room. Aside from the gruesome collection of human body parts, strange dried herbs and mysterious, colorful potions, little could be found. The only item their rummaging turned up that could be carried away was a stack of papers, shoved in the back of a drawer.

The leader paged through them carefully, but couldn’t make heads or tails of the text. It was written in some kind of strange language or cypher.

“Gotta be important, otherwise the warlock wouldn’t have written in these scribbles-…”

Muttering to himself, he carefully stowed the papers in a sack, awkwardly holding the lantern. During his scuffling in the cramped space, not wanting to knock over another abominable container, he accidentally tilted it upward, illuminating the ceiling.

A confused sound came from behind him—his ‘assistant’, the deposed lantern-bearer.

“What’s that on the ceiling? Looks like a real bad case of mold.”

Now finished, the boss tilted his head, seeing a thick growth of what looked like brown moss or fungus.

“Huh? Yeah, so what, just some mold. Let’s leave, I had enough of this place.”

The lantern-bearer nodded slowly. Mold wasn’t strange in such a damp, dark area. However, everything else seemed extremely tidy. The floor had clearly been swept recently, and the wooden surfaces were dust-free-…

As he considered this, the man couldn’t help notice a large amount of grey motes, almost like a cloud, hanging suspended in the light-beam. He opened his mouth, thinking it wasn’t as clean as he thought, obscured on account of the darkness, when he suddenly felt a burning itch in the back of his throat.

He coughed loudly, bending over while clutching a table corner.

“What’s the matter? Something caught in your throat?”

Someone spoke from behind, and he wanted to assure them it was fine, but he could barely catch his breath. The coughing got worse and more violent, spittle flying from his mouth as he tried and failed to collect himself.

There was another voice, but theirs was abruptly cut off, morphing into a choking, gurling noise.

A series of racking coughs simultaneously broke out inside the room.

The lantern-bearer, realizing something was wrong through a haze of tears, turned around in a panic, pushing and shoving his way outside. However, arriving in the narrow stone corridor, his situation didn’t improve.

Unable to catch his breath, he stumbled forward, almost feeling like something was slowly creeping inside his chest, like a viscous fluid spreading.

Trying to expel it, he coughed more violently. There was a sharp, painful tear as he hacked a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto the stone floor.

Through blurry eyes, he could faintly see what looked like tiny white roots, similar to that of a mushroom or fungus, suffusing the expellant.

A feeling of dread sprouted in his chest. Since childhood, he always had difficulty breathing, especially when it was dusty or a lot of pollen was in the air. Already, he could barely get any air into his chest between the coughing fits.

If the witch had put something in that room-…

Shoving thoughts of doom to some corner of his mind, he picked himself up, half-running, half stumbling down the hallway. Behind him, others followed suite, some shouting, others nearly incapacitated like himself.

He knew they all had the same thought, thinking of the man who hired them. If this was indeed something unnatural, as a practitioner himself, he was the only one who could save them.

-----------------------------

When the sun was setting, heralding evening’s arrival in shades of orange and red, a frail-looking man was wheeled into a garden. On account of his infirmity, he was in a strange-looking wooden chair, pushed by a cloaked figure.

Extending a pale hand, Arthur plucked a flower-petal from a nearby rosebush, feeling the soft texture between his fingers.

“My father always ensures the garden is kept year-round. One would think he enjoys it, and if asked, he would probably say so.”

He smiled thinly, his faded eyes revealing a trace of affection.

“…but actually, he hates plants. Cultivating anything, any type of farming—he only does it because he knows I like to come out here sometimes. It’s peaceful.”

The man pushing the wheelchair nodded, looking around. Usually, their meetings happened elsewhere, so it was his first time visiting.

Suddenly, a thirty-something woman emerged from behind a brush, walking along one of the manicured paths. By her side was an unfamiliar man, chatting and laughing with her, circling her waist with one arm.

It was one of the maids with her lover, undoubtedly in the middle of a secret rendezvous. However, even though they nearly came face-to-face with Arthur and his guest, they didn’t acknowledge their presence at all. In fact, they seemed to see right through them, continuing on the path straight for a collision.

The cloaked man didn’t say anything, just looking at them with entirely black eyes. They were truly frightening, having no whites to them at all. Though, with the shifting of the branches, revealing the last shreds of daylight, their color seemed to change, more resembling a deep, bloody crimson.

Inexplicably, the woman and man stopped, becoming slack and foggy-eyed like they’d been drugged. In a sleepwalking manner, they turned and returned the way they came.

“…yes, I can understand why you’d enjoy this type of atmosphere.”

When they were gone, he turned his head to look at Arthur, his expression gentle. Combined with his sinister eyes, it was a truly unsettling sight.

Contrary to expectations, his voice wasn’t harsh or threatening, but cold and smooth like silver. It was the kind of voice that was very recognizable and unique, almost sounding like it would belong to an accomplished actor or musician.

Arthur didn’t seem bothered, almost like he’d long grown used to the man’s unnatural appearance.

“By the way, I apologize for making you come all the way out here. It’s a waste of your time, cleaning up after my mess, but-…”

The man cut him off by casually waving his hand.

“Don’t apologize. Like Master said, this is your first mistake. However, as the older disciple, I’d be amiss not to remind you to be more careful. It’s exactly this kind of matter where one is liable to stumble—carelessly dealing with small matters.”

Arthur lowered his head, appearing properly chastised.

The black-eyed man seemed satisfied, his gaze wandering away to look at the garden.

“Though, this rogue mage seems interesting. The trap he laid wasn’t something I expected. In fact, if I wasn’t aware he’d given you trouble, I might not have taken such a careful approach.”

One corner of his lips quirked upward, expressing his entertainment.

“But there’s no need to rush. He won’t be able to escape. In the meantime, why don’t you show me the garden? I somewhat share your passion for nature…”

-----------------------------------