Chapter Thirty-Three: Battle in the Prison (Part One)

In a warm and opulent room, a man lay sprawled on his back, attended by at least three naked women. One was kneading his shoulders, another was selecting fruit from a crystal basket and feeding it to his mouth, while the last knelt between his parted legs, her head moving rhythmically.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded from outside the door, startling the kneeling woman so much that her movements became rougher. The man immediately sensed the change, grabbed her hair, and yanked her up to his chest, scolding, “Can’t you even serve me properly? Looks like you need to be sent back to prison.”

“No, please, my lord, I promise I’ll do better, don’t send me back there! I swear I’m not Hegel’s daughter!” The woman cried out in fright and shame, too distraught by the pain in her scalp to care.

Fortunately, just then, the knock of a guard at the door drew the man’s attention. He let go of her hair, allowing her to return to her task, working diligently in hope of pleasing him.

“What is it? Don’t you know I’m resting?” the man’s voice was sharp and forbidding.

“My lord, but the situation is urgent.”

“What now? Haven’t I already sent the guards to the prison? Can’t Kruby even handle this?” The man’s anger flared. Kruby was his captain of the guard, responsible for the security of the estate, including the underground prison.

“No, my lord, Captain Kruby has personally led his men there, and the five special guests have also volunteered to help,” explained the guard outside, swallowing nervously. “But the prison riot still hasn’t been quelled...”

“Kruby, that useless fool, can’t even handle this!” The man grew anxious, shoving the woman’s head away and wiping his still-wet member across her face, cursing. “Have you found out who broke into the prison? Revolutionaries? If it’s them, they must be here for this fake slut. That means the real woman hasn’t returned to the revolutionaries yet. Hey, what are you all standing around for? Get my clothes ready! I’m going to see for myself who dares attempt a jailbreak.”

At that moment, the guard outside, breathless, blurted out, “My lord, among the two who broke in... one is Grant.”

As the man stretched out his arms for the women to help him dress, he froze as if struck by a freezing spell. The thing the women had been trying to rouse shrank back like a frightened rabbit, suddenly pitiful after its previous vigor.

He shoved the women aside, stormed to the door, and flung it open, seizing the guard by the collar. “What? Say that again!”

“Grant. It’s Grant, Lord Hendry,” the guard stammered.

“Grant?” The Governor of Gaul City repeated the name, his expression flickering between terror and excitement, fear and greed. Below his belly, the beast stirred again, rising with renewed intent, like a viper seeking its prey.

“He—how could he come in person? Just to rescue a woman who looks like this slut?” Hendry rushed back into the room, dragging over the woman who’d been at his feet, lifting her face for a close inspection.

“But you’re useless now—they’ve already broken into the prison, they’ll soon know I never captured Hegel’s daughter, that you’re only an impostor.” Hendry pushed her aside; she stumbled onto the bed.

Ordinarily, the sight of her sprawled, disheveled and enticing, would have drawn Hendry down to indulge himself. But now, he had no such desire.

“Go, gather every last guard in the estate! And prepare the bronze cannon facing the prison entrance. This time, I’ll keep him here. Grant—dead or alive, you won’t escape me!”

With Hendry’s command, the estate’s guards surged toward the underground prison. Hendry quickly dressed and appeared in the open space before the prison entrance, now surrounded by soldiers.

“Not enough—a single company? Last time, even the entire Second Regiment of the First Battalion couldn’t catch him. We need more men! Pass my order—have the wall guards assembled as well…” Hendry was about to summon even the soldiers stationed on the city walls. Grant’s reputation filled him with dread, but he knew, too, that the Prime Minister in distant Valencia longed to hear of Grant’s death. If he could accomplish that, perhaps the twilight of Gaul’s nobility could last a few more years, or Hendry himself might be considered among the Prime Minister’s trusted men.

But Hendry’s hopes were swiftly dashed. As another force arrived, the guards surrounding the entrance were replaced. A large contingent of men armed with modified rifles, matchlocks, and spears took over.

Hendry’s opportunity was snatched away. Furious, he could only seethe, for the one who had disrupted his plans was the only man in the city he dared not cross: Major General Antonio, commander of the Second Battalion, Second Army of the Landia Forces.

“General Antonio, what is the meaning of this?” Hendry shouted, unwilling to watch his prey slip away. Though wary of the major general, he could not stand by and do nothing.

“Lord Hendry, calm yourself. I am not competing for the credit. I’m simply replacing your men with mine, as I believe it gives us a better chance. You know as well as I do—one of the two inside is someone the Prime Minister most wishes to see disappear. And now he’s walked into our trap.”

Antonio’s words did little to comfort Hendry. He protested, “General Antonio, you can’t do this. Though you have ultimate military authority here, I am still the Governor of Gaul City! We haven’t confirmed their identities yet. I demand my men be included, so we don’t make the same mistake as last time and arrest another impostor.”

Antonio’s face darkened. “Address me by my rank, if you please. The information is beyond doubt—the Prime Minister’s Special Directorate Five are inside. It was they who confirmed it. Colonel Euclid himself has twice been sent to help destroy the revolutionaries and has hunted Grant with his comrades.”

“That makes it all the more necessary for my men to participate!” Hendry persisted.

“No. I prefer to command my own troops,” Antonio refused. Yet after a pause, he added, “I understand your concerns. Don’t worry—I promise that if Grant is captured or killed, your name will be included in the report to the Valencia War Office and the Prime Minister.”

Hendry’s expression softened at once. “Major General Antonio, if you truly mean that, I am deeply grateful. In that case, I won’t insist. But if there’s anything else I can do, just say the word.”

“There is, of course. We must not let Grant escape us this time—this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. He’s fallen right into our laps, and since he has, we’ll make sure he never leaves.” Antonio’s tone was vicious. “So I’ll need as many men as possible to surround your manor. I’ll need your cooperation.”

As Major General Antonio gave his orders, the city’s guard regiments surged like a tide toward the underground prison, and Hendry, having changed into formal attire, took his place at the prison entrance, where the soldiers had already formed a tight encirclement.

But his hopes of glory had already been dashed.