Chapter 343: An Early Exit

Horace finally stood up. The pain was excruciating, but he knew he couldn’t stay here any longer. Despite that, he had one thing to do in the dungeon. Checking the cells, he saw his men who had been captured. Walking over there was a noticeable difference in how he usually moved, his arm sagging silently.

"Boss." One said in a quiet voice, his breathing laboured from the eating he had received previously.

"You will die here. I can’t get...." Horace paused and scrunched his face. "I can’t get you out." Despite what he said, Horace cut the restraints around their limbs. "It’s your choice to leave." Horace left the cell and moved to the next, doing the same for the other who had been captured. The men slowly walked out of the cell and grabbed any small weapon they could use. Retaking their seats, they made it look like they were still captured.

Horace looked down at the little clothing he had left. Frowning, he knew that it would be impossible to leave like this. Looking at Konrad’s body, he clicked his tongue.’I should have prepared a spare.’Horace groaned at his shortsightedness but shook his head. Checking the other cells, everyone was either naked or their clothing was too ruined to get away with.

’I need to take a risk.’Horace opened the first door of the dungeon and went up the steps. Going to the next door, he knocked loudly and hid himself. The guard tried to open it fully but was stopped by Horace. "We need two changes of clothing," Horace said carefully, trying to hide any hint of pain he had.

The guards whispered to each other and closed the door again. Grabbing his shoulder, Hroace waited. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but all he wanted to do was leave and rest. He needed proper treatment soon.

A guard returned quickly with a fresh outfit for both him and Konrad. Taking them, he put Konrad’s shirt on first. Parts of it started to go red from the small wound on his body. Putting the second on, it hid some of the blood stains. Finally, with the blazer, it was enough to hide any signs of a fight.

Heading back down, he hid Konrad’s body in one of the cells and threw his clothes in there. Knocking on the door, the guards opened it, confused about where Konrad was. "He isn’t finished. His Highness orders." The guards didn’t say anything more and let him out. Leaving the dungeon, the light blinded him for a second.

Walking past, he looked at the servants around, heading for the main doors. Hiding the pain, he sped up and walked through the garden, taking a deep breath. The guards at the gate quickly opened them for him, and stepping out, he looked around and walked to the safe house.

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The door opened, and Halfdan pulled his knife. Seeing Horace enter, he dropped it and lowered his head. Horace stared at him with confused eyes and frowned. "Why are you here?"

Stepping closer, he forgot about the pain for a second. Halfdan gulped and nodded, "I didn’t go in. It was a death sentence." Halfdan pulled his sleeve showing his mutilated hand, " A royal palace won’t hire a cripple."

"You disobeyed..." Horace stumbled but kept moving forward, clutching onto a nearby table, "You disobeyed my orders." Halfdan sighed and went over to one of the drawers. Pulling out a small sewing kit. Horace stripped out of his clothes and sat down on the sofa, showing his wounds.

"I didn’t sit here not doing anything." With one hand, Halfdan struggled to prepare the needle. Horace snatched it off him and did it himself before handing it back. "I paid Aleksander another visit. I didn’t kill him, but I did bring him back." Grabbing a nearby bottle of alcohol, Halfdan poured it over Horace’s wounds.

The needle pierced over the first cut, making Horace flinch. "He’s here." Halfdan nodded before pointing at the thread. Horace quickly cut it, and Halfdan moved on to the next.

"Why give up such a good hostage?" The needle pierced his body again. "You fought."

"Konrad. Dead. All operatives. Missing or dead." Halfdan nodded again, focusing on the wounds over Horace’s body. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and once he was done, Halfdan finally leaned back and looked at him.

"What’s next?" Halfdan asked with a toneless voice, and Horace sighed, finally letting himself relax.

"I need to rest for a while. Think. Keep watch. Don’t disobey this order." Horace closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep. Halfdan watched him and smirked. The thought of killing him and being free came and went. It would be easy when Horace was this defenceless, but it made him wonder what he could do next. If he had both hands, he could flee to another kingdom and work his way up as a soldier. But he was a cripple now. The only reason he had a purpose now was because the Underwells kept him.

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"Fuck." A soldier threw the water he was drinking to the ground. "Why does it still taste like shit." Another looked at him and sighed, forcing the water down his throat. It looked like he was about to throw up, but forcing himself not to, he shook his head.

"You have to drink it. Have you seen what’s happened to those guys who don’t?" The man said with an annoyed tone. Looking around, however, he wondered if it was even a good idea. People were getting sick left and right.

"I can’t. It’s awful." The man wanted to cry. He never realised how lucky he was for good water. Now that it was gone, he wanted to cry. "It was fine before. What happened?"

"The Empire probably." The second soldier grabbed his stomach in pain. Pausing, he gagged a few times, but kept it down. "Some idiot must have left the well open."

"You’re telling me there’s a body in there." The man looked at his comrade in disgust, wondering how he could still drink from the well with that thought in the back of his mind. The man shrugged but gagged again. Walking over to a nearby wall, he rested his hand on it and hunched over.

"I feel awful." Tears fell from his eyes as he gagged again. Throwing up, he wiped his mouth, feeling lightheaded. "Sol. Please." The man turned to the one thing he felt could help and looked to the sky. The other soldiers sighed and went over to him. Grabbing his shoulder, he gently patted it. "What is the king doing?"

"He probably doesn’t even realise." The man grabbed his head, the pain he had been feeling for the day finally coming back, "He has his own water source, remember."

"Fuck him." The man shook his head, "I can’t do this anymore."

"Don’t say that." Saying sharply to his comrade, the man threw his hand off his shoulder.

"Fuck him. I’m dying here, defending a castle that will fall anyway." The man crouched down and grabbed his stomach in pain, "Ahhhhh. It hurts so bad." Slamming his fist into the dirt, the man didn’t know what to do and just sighed.

Snowid watched everything from the walls and frowned. "It’s here, Your Grace." A man came over and handed Snowid a cup of water. Giving it a smell, Snoiwd quickly moved it away, disgusted by the stench.

"When did it become like this?" Snowid didn’t even dare take a sip, seeing how his men were reacting to the water.

"After the false siege. This must have been the plan." The advisor sighed and looked at Snowid. "The men can’t carry on like this, Your Grace. Eventually, they will open the gates or come for you."

"The spawn of Khors." Snowid looked over at the Empire’s camp. "That boy is pure evil. To do this to my men."

"We toyed with the idea of something similar, Your Grace."

"I NEVER ACCEPTED! LOOK AROUND AND YOU WILL SEE WHY!" Snowid screamed, making the neck sink into his shoulders. "This is cruel."

"What do we do?" Snowid sighed and looked around Malbork. A lot of his men were still healthy, but it was only a matter of time.

"We have to leave."

"The men will keep getting ill if they drink from the well. We don’t have another that can supply this many either."

Snowid sighed and clutched the wall. Looking at the Empire’s camp, he ground his teeth and slammed his fist into the stone wall." "Everyone who is healthy should be ready to move. Those who are ill must cover our retreat."

"That’s a death sentence."

"We have no choice. Make sure no one unhealthy slips through. We can’t risk infecting the capital." The advisor nodded and walked off. Looking at the distant camp, Snowid’s face went cold. He had held himself back time and time again for the strategic advantage, but it was getting harder. He wanted to charge in and slaughter Alfred. It was all he wanted, even if it cost the war.