Chapter 362 Captives
Theodore Luca sat in the corner of the iron cell, his back straight and motionless. The rotten grass on the ground was wet and slippery, and his military uniform was sticky and wrinkled, emitting an extremely unpleasant stench, which made the usually clean-conscious him feel uncomfortable.
Many people had been imprisoned here, including farmers who could not pay taxes, women caught having affairs, peddlers smuggling salt and tobacco, hunters who poached in the forests owned by the nobles, unlucky merchants who refused to pay their debts, street children who stole and robbed, and ghostly bards... The air was filled with the smell of despair accumulated over the years: damp mold, old blood and rust, the stench of excrement, and a sour and rancid smell called fear - the People's Party didn't even imprison them in the aristocratic prison where only criminals of noble blood could stay. The vaguely uncontrollable fear and uneasiness made Theodore Luca increasingly upset.
The faint, neurotic sobbing sound came from next door again. Luca knew it was Marquis Ravel. There was no need to pretend now. A hint of disgust and disdain flashed in his eyes.
The seemingly arrogant and tough marquis who commanded several legions had been frightened by the past few days of imprisonment and was a little mentally unstable. Apart from cursing him, the People's Party, and the dragons, he kept mumbling to himself or crying like a little girl, screaming at the slightest movement outside the iron cage.
If his family was not so weak that he needed to borrow the influence of Marquis Ravel to accumulate political capital, he, Theodore Luca, a smart man who relied on his own talents and ruthless means to climb up from the bottom step by step to his current position, really didn't want to work under such a self-willed, ostentatious idiot who relied entirely on family power and the hard work of his subordinates.
But the situation was different now. Even if he could escape alive with Ravel, due to the fact that he had "betrayed" by accepting bribes from the "Protector" company, neither Marquis Ravel nor his family and supporters would let him go. His political career, and even his life, would be destroyed.
Surrender. A thought flashed through Theodore Luca's mind like lightning—rather than waiting to die, it would be better to find a new backer.
Although the people's party was of low status, Luca, who came from a minor noble family, was not like those fools in the royal city who judged ability by bloodline, so he was not intolerant.
Furthermore, the revolutionary army was truly formidable, especially its leader, "Ghost." Luca had meticulously studied every single one of their battle records, and the more he read, the more astonished he became—a true art of warfare. His tactics were cunning and ever-changing, his use of troops like a god, and he was incredibly daring. He excelled at finding unexpected opportunities in seemingly impossible and treacherous situations, forcing the enemy to fight in vain and exploit them for his own ends. Furthermore, he possessed an almost precognitive insight, making him the undisputed soul and core of the entire People's Party.
Theodore Luca felt a strange, twisted sense of "admission" at being defeated by such a figure. Joining forces with such a leader of incredible talent and immense power was both risky and rewarding, and it was definitely better than being killed by a fool like Ravel.
He began to quickly calculate in his mind what he could offer as a bargaining chip for surrender: intelligence, connections, familiarity and understanding of the imperial army...
As for loyalty to the empire? Loyalty to the king and queen? What does that mean?
To what extent had Theodore Luca reached his current position, had the Empire and the royal family helped him? The Queen promoted the new nobility simply to counter the traditional nobility, observing the struggle from afar and using them as cannon fodder. Ultimately, it was all thanks to him, enduring the oppression, contempt, and cold stares of the great nobles and warlords, and desperately robbing, deceiving, and scheming. After so many years of service to the Empire, he had finally repaid the debts he had received.
In fact, the Ghost's early life experiences were somewhat similar to his own. Luca carefully recalled the life experience of this well-deserved legend. They both came from small noble families, had suffered persecution, and relied entirely on their own intelligence to climb up step by step. At that time, the Ghost was even just a weak university professor, an ordinary person with no power.
Perhaps he should consider how to inspire the ghost's sympathy and admiration for him, Luca mused secretly—as long as he could eliminate this lord, the people's army would naturally open the door for him. If this group of slaves truly overthrew the current Silver Iris royal family, then he, Theodore Luca, as a founding hero with unique vision and the merit of following the dragon, would surely be able to join the ranks of the new nobility, and even the title of Duke would not be impossible.
Theodore Luca, who had made up his mind, finally had the most peaceful sleep since he was imprisoned. He took the muttering and cursing of Edward Ravel next door as a lullaby.
But no one came.
At first, Luca could wait patiently, knowing it was a show of force. But as time passed, his confidence waned, like a popped balloon, leaving only a shriveled, flimsy shell.
He began to lose his hair, suffer from insomnia, and lose his appetite, his weight plummeting. Aside from the unpalatable black bread and water delivered from the narrow feeding hole in the door, the narrow cell was pitch black and silent. No one came to interrogate him, and even no one spoke to him, except for the already somewhat mad Marquis Ravel. The only sound was the rustling of rats and insects.
The suppressed fear gnawed at Theodore Luca's heart, trying to break through his rational defenses. He began to lose his military pride, his back gradually hunched, his nails bitten and bleeding, like a gradually withering plant.
In the darkness of the cell, time was impossible to measure, and the shattered notion of time left Luca drowsy. In his frequent, fleeting dreams, blood-stained faces tormented him. Ghosts, ghosts, those ghosts who betrayed the ghosts, pale faces, some familiar, some unfamiliar, stained with blood and tears, wailed and roared, bitterly accusing him of vileness and cruelty, until he woke, sweat dripping, and screaming...
Perhaps the ghost simply disdained his value and intelligence? He began to think neurotically, perhaps these lunatics had already planned to execute all the imperial prisoners in exchange for the hearts and minds of the people, and were now just waiting for a more "appropriate" time to publicly execute them?
Luca forced himself to remain calm, trying to find evidence from all the information circulating in the market that the Ghost appreciated talent. But soon, his memories began to blur and distort. He began to uncontrollably imagine his own fate, the details of the torture, and imagined himself becoming a madman, rotting in the depths of an unknown prison, his body eaten by rats, even his name forgotten by the world...
Until one moment, when the Marquis Ravel next door began to chuckle nervously, like a hen with its neck stepped on, the string in Luca's mind finally broke.
The prisoner, like a giant beast that had completely lost its mind, dragged the heavy shackles on his feet, staggered to the iron door of the prison, and began to beat it frantically. Even though his nails were worn and broken by the raised rust, and his knuckles were bleeding from the frantic hammering, he still did not stop, as if he had lost the sense of pain.
“——Someone come! Someone come!” His voice was hoarse and shrill until blood foamed out of his mouth: “I want to see Mr. Ghost! I have something important to tell him! Let me out! I know there are people outside! Please give me a chance to speak——!!”
Ravel, who was sitting next door, seemed startled by his sudden outburst, even his strange mumblings stopped. He didn't know how much time had passed, perhaps minutes, perhaps centuries, when Luca, exhausted, slumped against the door, his forehead pressed against the cold iron plate, gasping violently and desperately.
Just then, the cell door moved.
Under the prisoner's extremely surprised and even grateful gaze, a man stood lazily outside the door and kicked him lightly, making him move away from the door, as if kicking a wild dog blocking the way.
Luca rolled on the ground and raised his head with great effort. In his cloudy eyes filled with red bloodshot, a tall figure against the light was reflected.
"Only ten days." The other party said concisely, with a hint of contempt: "You are even more useless than I thought."
Luca's slow brain worked slowly, and he recognized the man—"Blood Shadow" Ole, Ghost's dark blade. Besides being responsible for intelligence, he also performed shady tasks such as torture, tracking, and assassination. Had Ghost sent him here to interrogate him, or to...deal with him?
It's rumored that this person might be a Dark Saint, but many believe this is just a rumor spread by the People's Party, a deliberate exaggeration. Otherwise, why would a Saint personally lead troops and risk their lives on the battlefield?
"...I want to see Mr. Ghost," Luca repeated hoarsely. "Regarding the Third and Fifth Legions guarding the Rime Valley Corridor, and the situation of the other Imperial garrisons in the northern provinces... I have information that could cost the entire People's Party its life, but I'll only speak to Mr. Ghost."
"Oh, you mean those two legions we crushed beneath the walls of Osiris?" Ignoring the prisoner's instantly distorted expression of disbelief, Orel lazily leaned against the doorframe and sneered disdainfully, "The northern garrison of the empire? Those worthless bastards are locked in a fierce battle with the Yankees. How could they have the time to bother with you?"
"Besides, can you just see Mr. Ghost whenever you want?" He said with a hint of gloating, gleefully mocking this Imperial lackey who could barely be considered a "comrade" in his previous life. "Who do you think you are? You're actually negotiating terms with me."
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