Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 57: The hate of deceit

Chapter 57: The hate of deceit

One of the guards searching for Tobias stumbles upon the prison tunnel gate. He slows as he notices the two unconscious guards sprawled on the ground. Kneeling beside them, he checks their pulses—both are alive, but completely out. His gaze shifts to the dark tunnel ahead, leading straight into the prison.

"Help! We need help over here!" he shouts.

Two other guards quickly arrive, eyes wide as they take in the scene.

"What happened?" one asks.

"I don’t know," the first guard replies, shaking his head. "I just got here, and they were already on the ground."

"Are they dead?" the second guard asks cautiously.

"No, just knocked out."

His stomach tightens as he turns toward the tunnel’s entrance, drawing his sword before stepping forward. The darkness inside seems to swallow him as he moves down the passage, each step echoing in the confined space. When he finally reaches the cells, his breath catches—both doors are wide open. Empty. No sign of the prisoners.

He spins on his heel, his heart racing as he rushes back outside.

"Who was supposed to be inside those cells?" he demands.

"Two young boys. Foreigners," another guard replies.

The first guard’s expression hardens. "Neither of them are there anymore." He straightens, eyes sharp with suspicion. "You—go tell the others to get their weapons and stay on high alert. And you—come with me. There might be someone dangerous lurking around castle grounds. Stay sharp."

The guards waste no time. One hurries off to spread the warning, while the others enter the tunnel, weapons drawn. The news spreads quickly through the castle, guards scrambling to arm themselves, strapping on their gear, securing their positions.

As tensions rise, some of the guards burst into the king’s chambers.

"What’s happening out there?" the king asks, his voice steady despite the urgency in his eyes.

"Your Majesty, it looks like you were right. Those two boys might’ve been working with the man who caused the massacre," one guard reports.

The king exhales sharply. "No. They told the truth. They aren’t working with him. But they are the reason he’s here in the first place."

Another guard steps forward. "We also have an update on the prince. He fought this man—and he’s badly injured. Our men brought him in, the royal doctors are tending to him now."

A muscle in the king’s jaw twitches before he slams his fist down onto the table, the impact echoing through the chamber.

"It seems you were right about the boys working with him," another guard says hesitantly. "I think they came here to cause chaos. If that’s the case, more men might be coming—maybe for a battle. Should we—"

"No," the king interrupts, his voice cold and resolute. "They aren’t working together. Something else is going on here. I don’t care what it is—find this man and bring him to me. Dead or alive. I won’t let anyone bring this much harm to my people—to my family—and live to tell the tale. Now go!"

"Yes, sire!" the guards respond in unison before rushing out.

The search continues outside the castle, where Fjorn and Rurik’s group regroups. Their earlier determination begins to waver, doubt creeping in as the difficulty of finding Tobias sinks in.

"Any luck?" Fjorn asks.

"None. We searched the entire village," one of them replies.

Another searcher arrives, breathless and slightly behind schedule.

"Hey—just heard the news. The perpetrator sneaked into the castle. Everyone’s searching for him inside now."

Fjorn tenses, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. His jaw clenches as he processes the news. "Inside the castle," he mutters. "That means he’s closer to the king than we thought."

Rurik pulls his cloak tighter, eyes flicking toward the towering stronghold ahead. "If he slips away again, we’ll lose him for good. We have to move. Now."

The group shares determined glances before pushing forward, their steps quick, purposeful. Around them, the castle guards rush into position, reinforcing defenses, weapons at the ready.

Meanwhile, deep within the fortress, Tobias guides Amari and Apollo through the hidden passageways, moving with careful precision but never hesitating. He can feel the tension mounting, the pressure closing in around them.

"You boys better keep up," Tobias murmurs, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Things are about to get real messy."

Amari’s sharp gaze darts around their surroundings, his mind racing. "Do you have a plan?" he asks, voice low but firm.

Tobias smirks. "Kid, I always have a plan," he says, tapping the side of his holster. "Question is—how much trouble do we want to stir up before we make a run for it?"

Apollo inhales sharply, tension coiled in his muscles. He hates that they have to rely on Tobias—but right now, he’s their only chance. And deep down, he knows escaping the castle won’t be a quiet affair.

The air grows colder as they near the exit. Voices murmur beyond the stone walls—a clear warning. Their path won’t be easy.

Amari slows, his posture shifting as unease prickles his senses. He turns to Tobias. "They’re waiting for us," he says quietly.

Tobias raises a brow. "You sure about that, kid?"

Amari doesn’t hesitate. "Yes. My senses—they’re different. I can feel them. They’re ready."

Apollo frowns, staring at him. "How do you—"

"There’s no time for that," Amari cuts in. His sharp gaze meets Tobias’s. "You need to be careful."

Tobias exhales, rolling his shoulders as his fingers tighten around the handle of his revolver. "Careful ain’t my style," he murmurs, a smirk pulling at his lips. With a smooth motion, he draws his gun, the steel glinting under the dim torchlight.

"Alright, boys," Tobias mutters, flexing his fingers. "Let’s see if these guards are ready for me."

He steps forward, moving toward the tunnel’s end, where the unknown waits beyond the walls. Whether bullets, blades, or worse—they’re walking straight into it.

The tension thickens as the guards outside catch the faint sounds echoing from within the tunnel. Footsteps. Shuffling. The subtle clink of metal. They exchange wary glances, tightening their grips on their weapons, their muscles coiled, ready.

No one speaks. The air is taut with anticipation, every breath measured. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows across the stone walls, making the waiting all the more suffocating. They know someone—or something—is about to emerge. And when they do, there will be no hesitation.