Jorik was still watching me with suspicious eyes when a commotion erupted at the end of the corridor. Heavy chains jangled, followed by the harsh shouts of guards and the sound of shuffling on the stone floor.
"Move, bitch!" One of the guards boomed. "Your gods will not help you here!"
The captain of the guards turned his attention away from my cage, eyes narrowing at the commotion.
"New prisoner," he muttered, but his suspicious gaze still darted my way every now and then.
A group of guards dragged a figure wrapped in tattered robes into the cage area. Even from a distance, I could sense something different about this prisoner. There was an aura that was… clean.
Holy. Something that stood in stark contrast to the rotten, hopeless atmosphere of this place.
As they approached, the figure stumbled over the chains around her feet. The hood of her robe fell, revealing a face that made me pause for a moment.
A female elf with long silver hair that even in its dirty state still shone like silk. Pale skin that almost glowed, though now there was a bruise on her left cheek. Crystal blue eyes still burning with determination, even as her body shook with exhaustion.
Priestess.
I could feel it in the way she moved, the way she maintained her upright posture despite the chains. There was dignity in her every step, a spiritual strength that physical chains could not crush.
"Elira Moonveil," one of the guards jeered her name. "High Priestess of the Temple of Serenity. Captured for aiding a slave to escape."
Jorik smiled cruelly. "Priestess? Here?" He laughed, the harsh sound echoing through the corridor. "Your gods must have been asleep when they let you be captured."
Elira lifted her head, her blue eyes staring at Jorik with surprising calm. "My god does not sleep. He only tests his servants in ways that corrupt souls cannot comprehend."
A hard slap landed on her cheek, leaving a red mark. But she did not scream, did not cry. Only stared straight ahead with an unwavering gaze.
"A big mouth for someone who will be a plaything for monsters," Jorik hissed. He turned to the other guards. "Throw her into the monster cage. Let them 'get acquainted' with this holy priestess."
The monster cage. Where the worst prisoners were kept—crazed orcs, cannibalistic goblins, beast-folk who had lost their humanity. A place where hope went to die.
The guards dragged Elira past rows of cages. The other prisoners stared with a mixture of sympathy and gratitude that they had not suffered that fate. Several orcs roared with lust as they watched her pass.
"Fresh meat!" one of the mad orcs shouted. "We haven't had an elf in a long time!"
Elira didn't react to the threats. Her face remained calm, as if she were walking through a temple garden, not toward a death cage.
They stopped in front of a large cage at the end of the corridor—a place where the most dangerous creatures were kept together. Inside, I could see various monsters in terrible but still dangerous conditions. A berserker orc with eyes that had lost their senses. Two goblins larger than Grax, their skin covered in cannibalistic ritual scars. A wolf-man who kept growling and clawing at the air.
"Have fun," Jorik said as he opened the cage.
"Hopefully you can keep her alive until tomorrow's auction."
They pushed Elira into the cage. She stumbled but managed to keep her balance, standing tall amidst the monsters that immediately moved around her like predators scenting prey.
"Elf…" the berserker orc growled, saliva dripping from his fangs. "Elf meat… sweet…"
The cannibal goblin laughed maniacally.
"Priestess! Her blood must taste holy!"
The wolf-man sniffed the air, his eyes alight with primal instinct. "Fear… I can smell her fear…"
But Elira did not back down. Even as the monsters began to close in, she remained standing, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer.
Jorik watched the scene with sadistic satisfaction. "Interesting," he muttered. "How long will she maintain her arrogance?"
From my cage, I observed the situation with cold calculation. That priestess… she could be useful.
Someone with such spiritual power must have abilities that could be exploited. But on the other hand, getting involved could draw more attention from Jorik.
Strategic calculation versus… what is this? Mercy?
In my past memories, I remembered the priestesses who had healed my soldiers. They were valuable assets, not to be thrown away so easily.
Yes. This was pure strategic calculation. Not emotion.
The monsters in the cage drew closer. The orc berserker raised his massive arms, ready to strike. The cannibal goblin licked his lips in anticipation. The wolf-man prepared to pounce.
Elira opened her eyes, her blue gaze sweeping over each monster around her. There was something in her gaze—not fear, but… sadness? Mercy?
"I am not afraid of you," she said in a soft but firm voice. "I pity you. You all once had souls, before despair turned you into beasts."
The orc berserker fell silent for a moment, confusion flashing in his crazed eyes. But then the primitive rage took over again.
"SILENCE!" he roared, his hand raised to strike.
In that split second, a decision had to be made. Let the priestess die, or intervene and risk drawing more attention.
Jorik was still watching from outside the cage, eyes narrowed with sadistic pleasure. "Holiness in the monster's cage," he said mockingly. "How quickly did you break?"