Chapter 29: An Unpleasant Capital

  The light in the cell didn’t come from a torch or a spotlight.

  It came from the ceiling. A strange crystal, reddish-orange in color. It made the shadows harsher and left everything feeling sluggish. Faint ripples of the concept of despair flowed from that crystal.

  The cold was a permanent detail: on the skin, in the smell, in the food, in the air. The Prison—Hell Maw—was only barely better than the outside of the Capital; the cold was almost unbearable for an ordinary person. Not welcoming at all.

  “My luck is goddamn cursed.”

  I thought it without drama, because I didn’t have the energy left to act surprised.

  What I did have left was patience and an extremely low tolerance threshold.

  To my left, two meters away, one of my “cellmates” stopped being a “cellmate.”

  A skinny guy, grayish skin, one eye slightly larger than the other, was bleeding out in silence, one hand clamped to his throat.

  It wasn’t a clean wound.

  The blade had gone in and out several times, desperate. Like whoever was stabbing didn’t know how to kill, but had a lot of practice trying.

  The attacker—a chunk of meat with black nails and filed-down teeth—ripped a cloth bag off the man’s chest. Opened it. Checked inside. Smiled in relief.

  Food.

  A brown, wet portion that smelled like iron and something fermented. A mash that looked like cooked vomit, served with the dignity of a kick. Proof that those damn mushrooms could always look worse.

  It wasn’t even worth stealing.

  And yet, here we were.

  The übermensch who kept the loot was a “woman.”

  Or what was left of one.

  Her hair was matted into clumps, her face sunken, her nose almost nonexistent, and a birth mutation had twisted her jaw to one side like it had grown wrong from day one. Her fingers ended in a kind of soft claws—not from an ability, but from a physical defect. The cumbersome clothes didn’t do much to improve her look, or hide it.

  She curled up in a corner with her miserable treasure and growled at the rest of the cell. A real, animal growl.

  Nobody approached.

  Not because they were afraid of her.

  Because everyone knew getting close meant starting a fight, and fighting over that food was pathetic even for them. Well, that—and hunger and cold probably had them one step away from being the next meal.

  I watched the scene without moving.

  In my arms, the baby shifted uncomfortably.

  The sound of punctured flesh and blood splashing into a puddle had reached her, even if everyone tried to ignore it.

  I adjusted the blanket around her body. Rocked her carefully, as if the world wasn’t a landfill full of people trying to eat each other.

  “Don’t worry, it’s all fine,” I murmured. “I’m here.”

  The baby let out a soft sound, almost a sigh.

  And calmed down.

  That annoyed me.

  It annoyed me that my voice worked.

  It annoyed me that her calm depended on me.

  And it annoyed me that, in the middle of this shithole of a capital, the only thing I truly cared about was that small, warm weight against my chest.

  Worst part? I didn’t know why I was so annoyed.

  I stared at the ceiling for a while.

  I wanted to clear my doubts and confusion by doing the thing I’d come to hate the most in the last few days.

  Thinking.

  “Should I destroy this prison and escape?”

  Tempting.

  One breath of my power and this flimsy prison—clearly not built for someone like me—would be reduced to rubble. With any luck, the capital would come with it.

  But it wasn’t practical.

  If I forced my way out, alarms would flare across the capital. And if alarms flared, the capital became a board with pieces moving toward me.

  Five Rank 8s.

  Five of the strongest existences you can find in this world. And another one not far from them. And who knows how many more.

  I wasn’t afraid of them. I didn’t believe for a second I could win—especially with a baby in my arms. Maybe if I faced them one by one I’d have a chance, but I trusted absolutely that if they all came at once—if the entire capital joined in—I could run.

  But if I ran, I couldn’t stay the two days.

  And if I didn’t stay two days, the deal with Hakotane would follow me like laughter at the back of my neck.

  “Why not just leave the capital already?”

  Because the deal said I had to visit the twelve capitals.

  It didn’t say how long.

  That detail was my only legal loophole.

  I’d already been in Azup for more than fourteen hours.

  Was that enough?

  I didn’t know.

  And of course that bastard Hakotane wouldn’t tell me. He’d make me play this stupid game until he got bored and went to bother someone else.

  Worst of all, in the dark I only had two options: follow my instinct or think—and the second one didn’t particularly appeal to me.

  I could feel his gaze around me, like reality itself was watching with a smirk.

  Or maybe I was going insane.

  Also possible. You never know what might be going on inside that bastard’s head.

  I had promised—like an idiot—that I’d stay two days per capital.

  I said it out loud, just like that.

  No one forced me.

  It just occurred to me as a random thought. Because apparently I love giving myself rules when there’s no need.

  “I could’ve entered, stayed an hour, and left.”

  Yes.

  And I could ignore the promise. Play dumb. Leave now.

  But I knew how that ended: Hakotane smiling, with that “how funny” face, and who knows what punishment as retaliation for breaking my word. Worst of all, I refused to break my word, and I didn’t know why.

  “Tsk…”

  What a pain.

  The crossroads was simple:

  A) Stay in this cell until I completed the two days.

  B) Level the prison and leave.

  C) Leave without leveling it, trying not to trigger alarms—which was almost impossible.

  And in the middle of all that, one variable that ruined the math:

  The baby.

  I didn’t care about being locked up.

  I cared that she was locked up with me.

  That she had to breathe this air.

  That she had to hear screams.

  That she had to endure this rotten filth.

  “Why do I even care about visiting this shithole capital?”

  I don’t.

  What I care about is that the deal is done, and I don’t feel like dealing with the retaliation for breaking it.

  “Since when am I such a coward?”

  I was on the edge, not knowing whether to explode or hold out a little longer. Did it even make sense to hesitate this much?

  But the sound of unsteady footsteps, a foul smell, and the murky concepts of “Being at rock bottom” and “Perversion” yanked me back to reality.

  “Hey!” a pasty voice said. “What’ve you got there?”

  A drunk guard shuffled up to the bars.

  He smelled like vomit, cheap alcohol, and rancid grease. His body looked like a hairy humanoid worm: hunched back, long arms, big hands, a face deformed by too much confidence and too little hygiene.

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  Rank 6. A joke among his peers, from what I could tell.

  But with enough authority to hurt anyone who couldn’t defend themselves.

  His eyes nailed themselves to my arms.

  “A kid?” Heh…” His smile was a mistake. “Lucky you! Give her to me. I’ll give her back when I’m done.”

  The bastard said it like he was borrowing a tool. Like he didn’t understand he was talking about a person.

  My blood started to boil. I was ready to snap the bars in half along with his miserable existence.

  Part of me prepared to kill him without thinking.

  The other part—the one that was always alert—reminded me what would happen: alarms, Rank 8s, the capital switching into hunt mode.

  And still, I couldn’t hold back.

  It wasn’t the first time these disgusting guards spat words like that. Not just about the baby. About me too. About what they thought I was. What they thought they could do. All those corrupt, depraved stares were unbearable.

  I was done.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Silence.

  The guard blinked once.

  Then he turned red. Well—more like a sick green.

  “What did you say, you bastard?”

  He extended his aura.

  An aura as disgusting and useless as its owner. Miserably weak, and from what I could tell his concept had something to do with something sticky. His aura did too.

  He raised a strange spear: the tip had claws, like a fork designed by someone with a disemboweling fetish.

  I got ready. Not like I needed to in the first place. With trash like this, he’d be lucky if I even had to try.

  “At this point, I guess I’ll take the hard route.”

  I moved just a little. Adjusted my stance—I didn’t want the little one getting touched by any of that drool.

  And then—

  A new aura spread.

  Not from the hallway. From the only cell with a single occupant. One of the few Rank 7s I’d felt in the whole prison.

  The air changed.

  The cold that ate bones—present in every nearby cell—vanished. A searing heat swallowed everything.

  Someone with an exceptionally good connection to their concept had ordered the environment itself to burn.

  The prisoners around froze in terror. Even the violent ones. Even the crazy ones.

  The guard in front of me went still.

  I looked toward the solitary cell.

  I couldn’t see the prisoner clearly. The light didn’t reach in there like it did in the others. Like he was using some method to stay hidden.

  I only saw a silhouette sitting, back against the wall. Calm. Traces of a familiar concept around him.

  “Doesn’t feel like a threat.”

  I thought it—and surprised myself.

  Why was I thinking he wasn’t a threat? Couldn’t I feel how strong he was? He had to be a lot stronger than that centipede I fought.

  Why wasn’t I on guard?

  Before the pressure became dangerous for more than one person, he spoke.

  “Leave.”

  Just one word—but it was enough.

  The guard turned as if his soul had been yanked out. He ran down the hall, tripping, dragging the spear, without dignity.

  The pressure disappeared.

  The heat dropped too, as if it had done its job.

  No one spoke.

  No one moved.

  I stared at the solitary cell one second longer.

  “Strong.”

  Probably near Rank 8.

  Or close. Though not on the level of the other Rank 8s in the city—or the Bishop.

  And that triggered the obvious question:

  “What’s a guy like that doing here?”

  Why would someone so powerful allow himself to be locked up?

  I thought about it, and the thought came back like a slap.

  “Guess I’m not one to talk.”

  I was locked up too.

  By choice. Sure. But I was still locked up.

  I adjusted the baby in my arms and sat back against the wall. If I was going to be here for thirty more hours, I might as well do it “comfortably.”

  I kept my eyes on the ceiling again, listening to the constant dripping while the baby breathed calmly.

  With the silence of the cell—no screams nearby for the first time in hours—I couldn’t help but remember what had led me to this. My arrival at this unpleasant capital.

  It wasn’t a trip.

  It was a long walk, through a white emptiness that wears you down even when you’re strong.

  An unbearably frozen tundra.

  And even though for most people it was a hostile place no one wanted to be, for me it was beautiful. A white wasteland, without any of those damn mushrooms in sight. Could there be a better place than this?

  The capital stood out like a fire in the middle of the ice desert. Not because of flames, but because of contrast: a dome of heat pinned into nothingness, an artificial bubble defending itself from the outside.

  The barrier was visible, even without seeing it.

  You felt it on your skin like an invisible line. An edge. A limit where the world stopped being natural and became administered.

  I stopped at a prudent distance, the baby hidden against my chest inside my coat, wrapped so the cold wouldn’t bite her face. She breathed calmly, unaware of everything.

  I didn’t.

  “Should I sneak in?”

  I didn’t know what exactly counted as “visiting.” The deal with Hakotane was one of those things that looked simple… until you realized nothing was written. A blank sheet.

  I could slip in undetected, stay two days, and leave.

  Or maybe I had to enter through the gate, like a tourist. Just imagining the mockery that bastard would throw at me for whatever decision I made almost made me reconsider.

  After a moment of juggling paranoia about getting caught, coming up with a contingency plan or two, and accepting that I’d give that bastard the show he was waiting for—

  I chose the simplest option.

  And walked to the gate.

  Strangely enough, there were more people than you’d expect in a tundra. They weren’t desperate civilians. That would’ve been even more absurd, in my opinion.

  They were ten übermensch, all Rank 3 and 4.

  That alone didn’t make sense. To survive outside, in that cold, you needed to be at least a competent Rank 5. A Rank 4 died slowly. A Rank 3 died fast.

  But they were there—still, orderly. As if the unbearable cold of that frozen wasteland didn’t affect them.

  “Dinamo followers?”

  I thought it because of their clothing: white tunics with golden embroidery, too clean for a place like this. But when I saw their backs, the math corrected itself.

  A D. And in the middle, a closed eye.

  A symbol of devotion and servitude.

  “Servants” would be the polite term.

  Slaves was the correct one.

  “But if there are servants… that means…”

  It hit like a premonition.

  If there were servants, a high-ranking member of the Church was inside.

  “Tsk…”

  Just what I needed.

  A high command showing up in this kingdom forgotten by Dinamo wasn’t a good sign. A place like this doesn’t attract important visits by accident.

  “Should I leave and come back later?”

  I thought it flat, without emotion.

  And answered myself: it was already too late for that. If I backed off now, I’d be obeying a fear I didn’t feel like justifying.

  “Just hope it’s a bishop and not a cardinal.”

  A Rank 8 from the Church in Azup would be a huge annoyance. Too much for my taste.

  Worst part: because of the barrier, I couldn’t sense how many Rank 8s were waiting on the other side. The dome didn’t just block the cold. It blocked any kind of concept inside it.

  That irritated me.

  I reached the entrance.

  There was an improvised counter—metal framework with use marks—and a couple of warm lamps that felt like a joke in the middle of the tundra. In front of me, the servants waited patiently. Too patiently, like they’d forgotten what it felt like to hurry.

  A guard didn’t want to let them through just like that. He kept them there, stalling them. Who knows why.

  I skipped the line.

  Why would I wait my turn?

  I went straight to the counter guard.

  He looked me over.

  He was half hellhound—warg. Short snout, visible fangs, tough skin in patches, eyes that didn’t blink when you stared back.

  He was Rank 7.

  Way too imposing for a gate guard.

  And he wasn’t alone: the other two at his sides were Rank 7 as well.

  “Guess it’s a show for the guests.”

  A way of saying: don’t come in with funny ideas.

  Perfect.

  “Got ID?” he growled, without courtesy.

  I wore a porcelain mask—simple, smooth, no details. Not my gas mask. A thick, puffed coat—like a reinforced trench for the cold. I didn’t need it, but I needed to blend in a little. I needed to look like another traveler, not The Child of Perdition.

  Even so, my presence didn’t quite fit.

  “I don’t,” I said.

  He didn’t look surprised. He just kept the process moving, with the efficiency of someone who doesn’t need to respect you to handle you.

  “Name?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Weapons?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Anyone else with you?”

  For a moment I hesitated. Not out of fear of him—because of what it meant to say it.

  “A baby.”

  I didn’t show her. I kept her hidden from the cold, pressed to my chest.

  The guard nodded, not very interested. Like in this world, seeing a baby in a stranger’s arms was just another detail, not an alarm.

  Then the real part arrived.

  “One hundred blue mushrooms for entry, or something of equal value. Of course: from this side.”

  “Ah. A bribe.”

  That’s how it worked.

  And “from this side” meant the worst: the price had to match local value. In an isolated capital in the middle of a tundra, blue mushrooms weren’t common. They couldn’t grow at all. They couldn’t be transported easily. They were expensive.

  Obviously I didn’t have blue mushrooms.

  Why would I carry something that could kill me with a touch?

  But I did have something equivalent.

  I pulled out a coin.

  A gold coin from the Church.

  Its value had to be, at minimum, double what he was asking.

  I saw surprise on his face the second he spotted it. Greed flashed in his eyes for a moment, like an involuntary reflex.

  Then he hid it.

  He grabbed it fast, concealed it from his companions with a short, professional motion.

  Like he was used to stealing without being seen.

  “Here’s your pass,” he said, and handed me a visitor’s plaque. “Make sure you don’t cause trouble.”

  The plaque was “clean.”

  Too clean.

  I could see traces of a concept I recognized.

  A basic tracking formation, well-hidden. Nothing fancy. Nothing sophisticated. But enough to tag you, follow you, and alert them if you went where you shouldn’t.

  I didn’t care.

  If they wanted trouble, I’d kill them later.

  I crossed the threshold.

  The cold cut off instantly.

  Not gradually—instantly.

  Like the outside world stopped existing.

  And inside… I felt them.

  The barrier wasn’t hiding them anymore.

  “Five Rank 8s… and a bishop.”

  Not as bad as I’d feared.

  But not comforting either.

  Five Rank 8s were still five Rank 8s.

  Enough to turn any mistake into a problem that lasted days.

  Something else hit me too, harder than I expected:

  How… clean.

  Not just “orderly.”

  Clean.

  Azup was extremely symmetrical. Warm streetlamps in perfect lines, no flicker. Neat houses, well maintained, no soot stains, no cracks. Streets without mud, without puddles, without trash.

  A delight to look at.

  And what bothered me most: the übermensch were… happy?

  Not acting.

  Happy.

  They walked without tension. Talked to each other without looking over their shoulders. There was real laughter—short, honest.

  The artificial atmosphere was picturesque, almost pleasant.

  And to my surprise…

  That disgusting blue haze—the byproduct of using mushrooms—was nowhere to be seen. No dirty veil floating in the air. No bitter taste in the throat. No sense that everyone was slowly poisoning themselves.

  The concepts around were, for the most part, positive.

  Order.

  Safety.

  Routine.

  Even pride.

  It all felt so strange it made my skin crawl.

  I felt uncomfortable the way you do when you walk into a house that’s too perfect and you know something is being hidden.

  Because a place like this doesn’t exist without a price. And I knew firsthand that nothing was free in this shitty world.

  With those feelings, I went deeper into the capital.

  A place where I’d spend two days.

  “What surprises will this place bring me?”

  I didn’t think it with excitement. I lost the ability to feel that a long time ago.

  I stopped a moment, away from the gate—where the warmth was stable, where the baby wasn’t at risk.

  I opened my coat.

  I took her out carefully, still wrapped, and adjusted her so she could see.

  Her eyes opened a little wider. She looked at the lights. Looked at the colors. Looked at a world that, for the first time since I’d met her, wasn’t storm, mud, blood, or ruins.

  And for an instant, her face had that stupid calm babies get when they don’t understand anything.

  That tightened my chest.

  Not from tenderness.

  From responsibility.

  “Look,” I murmured. “This is Azup.”

  I had no idea what I was trying to transmit with that information.

  The baby looked at me for a moment. Confused. Then she smiled and touched my face.

  And for some strange reason, I felt calm.