Following the Haze (2)
The tower built on dreams and delusions had crumbled, and in its place, fear and madness now ruled the streets.
True to its reputation as the south’s premier pleasure district, the laughter of cheering revelers and the chaos of rioting crowds immediately came into view.
"Don't do this. Please..."
"Catch that bastard! Cut off his legs if you have to, just stop him!"
"...Ugh."
"How many did you get? Nine? ...What a crazy bastard."
"Hehehehehehe!"
Someone's desperate pleading leaked from the shadows of a collapsed building.
A dancer fled with something wrapped in cloth clutched to her chest, pursued closely by soldiers.
Nearby, someone retched at the sight of a corpse burned to death beneath the rubble.
Men snickered in corners, quietly boasting of their respective exploits.
There was even a woman who seemed to have lost her mind, crawling and laughing hysterically across the filth-strewn cobblestones.
The grotesque, almost surreal display of human depravity made me frown.
No matter the justification of rooting out rebels, I could not condone treating defenseless civilians in such a manner.
I stepped into the path of the soldiers pursuing the dancer and held up Jared's seal.
"I would like to know what is happening here."
The soldiers ground to a halt, their faces twisting into ugly scowls at my sudden intrusion.
The shortest man among them stepped forward.
"Excuse me, but who might you be?"
He gestured with his chin toward the space behind me. A moment later, a woman's sharp scream pierced the air.
Another soldier had materialized from an alleyway and seized the fleeing dancer.
"...I have come to escort the Prophet."
"Ah, you are from Tyrancia. May I ask why you are blocking our path, then?"
Technically, until the negotiations concluded, I was nothing more than an ordinary citizen of this kingdom. However, I saw no reason to correct his assumption.
Without the authority of the Magic Tower behind me, it would have been difficult to handle men who would otherwise demand to know what right I had to stand in their way.
"I was under the impression that your orders were to suppress the rebellion. Why are you pursuing someone who appears to be an innocent civilian?"
"An innocent civilian? We might be mere mercenary scum, but we aren't stupid enough to mistake our targets for those we are meant to protect."
"Are you claiming that woman is a rebel, then?"
The man scowled and gave a curt nod.
Behind me, the sound of weeping and begging for mercy abruptly cut short.
The soldier holding the dancer grabbed her by the hair as she writhed on the ground, dragging her away without a shred of hesitation.
"She colluded with the rebels and even bore one of their brats. She's a traitor who deserves to have her head mounted on the city walls."
He spat on the ground, turning his head as if the very mention of her was repulsive.
"Then what of the others..."
"You there."
Heavy footsteps approached.
Though the speaker did not raise his voice, his words carried a distinct weight as they cut between the soldiers and me.
"Explain what is happening here."
"S-Sir! Yes, Commander!"
A man stepped into view, the deep creases around his eyes making him look twice his actual age.
The soldier I had been speaking with quickly bowed and began explaining the situation. The commander listened with a weary, vacant gaze.
"Pardon my late introduction. I am Centurion Kalian Barido, commander of the Fifth Defense Unit of the Royal Army."
I gave a quiet nod.
Kalian surveyed the surrounding area as he continued.
"This pleasure district has always been a hotbed of vice. The dregs of society drift here for all sorts of reasons, scraping together a living by unloading merchant vessels only to squander their wages on cheap liquor and debauchery. Third-rate dancers of dubious origins flock here, dreaming of catching a nobleman's eye. In truth, they are merely playthings, discarded and forgotten the moment their novelty fades."
Kalian's gaze drifted toward the headless corpse of the dancer.
I sighed inwardly as I noticed something wriggling within the folds of her blood-soaked garments.
"Once these dancers grow old enough to realize the grim reality of their existence, they become easy prey. There are always those willing to manipulate them into gathering intelligence or performing illicit tasks. This time, those manipulators happened to be the rebels. It is a crime we cannot overlook."
He turned to his hesitant soldiers and issued a curt command.
"Take the child to the church."
"Yes, sir! Right away!"
What the nameless dancer had clutched to her chest even in death was an infant too young to even hold up its own head.
I watched the soldiers walk away, the grim reality of the pleasure district settling heavily over me.
"It doesn't cry."
"That, too, is a survival instinct here," Kalian replied flatly. "Drunkards have little patience for anything that ruins their mood."
A cold shiver ran down my spine as I imagined what that newborn must have already endured to learn such silence.
It was not out of shock or disgust.
It was simply because I had seen this play out countless times in my own past—a past where survival meant holding one's breath and making no sound at all.
"A simple reason."
"Indeed."
Of course, I knew Kalian's explanation was only half the truth.
This was an execution meant to serve as an example.
A brutal demonstration of the fate awaiting those who dared defy the crown.
It was a calculated effort to eliminate any unpredictable variables in this chaotic era, now that the kingdom's golden age had waned and dark clouds were gathering.
"I understand you are here to escort the Prophet."
"Yes."
"I will assign two of my men to accompany you. Please, watch your step."
Kalian bowed deeply before turning and disappearing into the smoke.
"It's all just an excuse. Look at what those bastards are doing."
We had reached the heart of the pleasure district.
One of the soldiers Kalian had assigned to me spat the words in disgust.
"They have no honor, let alone a shred of human decency. The moment they get approval from above, they slaughter and pillage everything in sight. They're no better than a band of brigands."
"Luke, watch your mouth."
"Ah, my bad."
The other soldier, Bran, glared at Luke, whose apologetic expression was entirely insincere, before returning his attention to scanning our surroundings.
"I'm just saying, there isn't a single commander ordering executions whose hands are clean. Half of these situations could be resolved with simple containment or negotiation. Bran here agrees with me. Don't you, buddy?"
"..."
Bran ignored him entirely, refusing to offer even a nod of agreement or a shake of his head.
Denied an audience, Luke grumbled under his breath for a few moments before falling silent, kicking a stray pebble down the street.
The atmosphere here was vastly different from the entrance of the pleasure district, where the fighting had mostly wound down.
Here, the rebels had fortified the alleys, dragging out broken furniture, the wreckage of fishing boats, and even cheap chandeliers, binding them together with heavy netting to form makeshift barricades. Behind the Royal Army's lines, medical tents had been hastily erected to treat the wounded.
The resistance was far fiercer than anticipated.
In the distance, a man who appeared to be the rebel leader stepped forward. Instantly, both the rebels and the royal soldiers raised their bows, aiming at one another in a tense standoff.
"Hear me, those of you who still hold honor in your hearts!"
He possessed a sharp, angular jawline covered in a rough beard, but it was his piercing gaze and resonant, commanding voice that instantly seized the attention of the crowd.
The tension was so thick that a single misstep would have triggered a bloodbath, but the man remained entirely unfazed. He pulled a rolled parchment from his coat and held it aloft as he spoke.
"The world is in chaos, and the heavens have unleashed their beasts to reclaim the lands of men! By now, you all know this to be true. Monsters ravage our borders, burning your hometowns to ash. Yet look at our king! Instead of shutting the gates to protect his subjects, he blinds himself to reality and sends his knights to slaughter. See the choices made by the man who should be preserving our strength for the coming end! Witness his shameless tyranny as he oppresses innocent citizens, trying to bury the seeds of his own anxiety beneath a reign of terror!"
Shouts of agreement echoed from the alleys and the windows of the surviving buildings.
"Open your eyes and choose where to point your spears! Is a ruler bewitched by a witch—one who drove her own husband to his grave and waded through the blood of her brothers to seize the throne—truly the rightful heir?"
The Royal Army's camp remained silent.
Yet the atmosphere had shifted entirely toward the speaker, and the tension in the soldiers' drawn bowstrings began to slacken.
"Taren Mors! You are no longer a duke of this kingdom!"
Unable to watch this display any longer, a royal officer stepped forward and bellowed.
The bronze insignia of a decurion glinted in the sunlight on his shoulder.
"You stand in open treason against the crown! You have done nothing but manipulate the ignorant masses to satisfy your own greed. His Majesty is a ruler of absolute justice. Whosoever brings me the head of this silver-tongued demon who dares insult the royal family shall be handsomely rewarded!"
His voice, initially directed at Taren Mors, had shifted to address the rebel ranks.
A low murmur rippled through the crowd, and more than a few rebels began casting hesitant glances toward the royal lines.
"How foolish."
Taren Mors drew a dagger.
"So long as the sacred blood of the royal house flows through my veins, no man can deny the lineage bestowed upon me by the heavens."
He gripped the bare blade in his palm, slicing it open, and raised his dripping, blood-soaked left hand for all to see.
"Behold! The blood to which you owe your allegiance does not sit upon that false throne—it flows right here!"
Before anyone could react, the dagger left his hand, blurring through the air to bury itself deep in the decurion's throat.
Taren Mors's lips curled into a cruel smirk.
"Five gold coins for every decurion's head! Twenty for a centurion! And to those who distinguish themselves in battle, I shall bestow titles of nobility!"
With a deafening roar from the crowd, a hail of arrows erupted from both sides.
"See? I told you! Not a single sane bastard among them!"
"This way! Fall back!"
Bran shouted, gesturing toward a narrow alleyway behind the royal lines.
I drew my sword, carving a path through the soldiers who tried to block us, and followed close behind Bran.
"Hell yeah! Anyone who gets in our way deserves to get cut down!"
"Shut your mouth and find us a way out of here!"
Luke, entirely unfazed, slammed his buckler into the face of an oncoming soldier before shaking his head.
"Looks like the mercenaries turned coat! Guess the crown's bounty wasn't sweet enough, eh?"
"If you kept your mouth shut, we wouldn't be drawing half this much attention!"
Bran thrust his spear into the shadows of the alley, then stomped hard on the butt of the shaft.
The angled spearhead caught three charging rebels in rapid succession, their momentum driving them onto the steel.
Bran yelled over his shoulder to Luke.
"How are we supposed to tell friend from foe in this mess?!"
"If they're trying to kill you, they're enemies! If they hesitate, they're friendly!"
Luke decapitated another soldier in a single fluid motion, wiping the blood from his face as he pointed toward a side street.
"Down there! I know these back alleys like the back of my hand!"
"Stay close behind me and keep your eyes open!"
"On it! But sir, why are we heading toward the rebel lines?"
I threw my weight against the barricade of debris blocking our path, shattering it.
Bran and Luke stared in astonishment for a fraction of a second before scrambling through the gap behind me.
"If the Prophet were with the Royal Army, they would have found her by now."
"...True enough. There's no shortage of strange magic in this world."
For the first time, Bran nodded in agreement with Luke's words.