To Saigo's surprise, the second prisoner wasn't kept in the gloomy dungeons, but on the very top floor, almost directly under the roof. In response to his silent, quizzical look—a raised eyebrow—the guard escorting them merely shrugged:
"This idiot screamed like a stuck pig, non-stop for a full day. So we locked him in the most soundproof cell we could find. Farther from our own ears."
"Why not in solitary, underground?" Saigo asked, remembering the special little rooms downstairs meant for such cases.
"The other prisoners complain. And it's no picnic for the guards either—the noise echoes through all the corridors. The upper wing is empty right now, nobody there."
"Did you try beating him?" Cold curiosity tinged Saigo's voice.
"Ha! Of course!" the guard chuckled.
"And?"
"No effect. You hit him, and he just keeps screaming about thieves stealing his victory and injustice, mixed with curses aimed at us. Punch him in the jaw, he just screams louder, makes your teeth ache." The guard spat on the dirty floor. "Tough bastard. Or just plain crazy."
Saigo nodded, satisfied with the answer, and quickened his pace. But the higher they climbed the narrow, dusty stairs towards the roof, the more distinctly he felt... a threat.
No, not from Akno—he was just a loud fly. No, this was something else: cold and alien.
He stopped for a second, closing his eyes, listening to his inner senses—to that instinct that had saved his life more than once. A faint, chilling coldness prickled the skin on the back of his neck. 'Ghosts? Or something worse?' he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling.
Resuming his movement, he asked the guard, trying to sound casual, "Is there anything else up here? Besides the cells."
The man scratched his head, puzzled, and thought for a moment. "There's a storage room... an old one. All sorts of junk from who-knows-when is lying around. We haven't used it in ages."
"Understood."
"This is the door," the guard pointed to a heavy, iron-bound door at the end of the corridor. Letting Saigo pass, he shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other and blurted after him, "Be careful in there, he's a real psycho... Might even rush you."
Saigo smirked inwardly at such "concern." With one sharp movement, he swung the door open in unison with the jangle of the key in the lock.
Darkness. Stench. And Madness—there was nothing more to add. The conditions here were incomparably filthier than Linsy's.
Complete absence of light, save for two pathetic rays from holes in the roof where the sun couldn't properly penetrate, but Saigo could see everything.
Dull, damp concrete walls covered in mold and something dark and sticky; a narrow bench serving as a bed; an overturned bucket with stagnant, stinking water; and a hole in the floor for well-known necessities.
The stench was indescribable—a mixture of excrement, rotting straw, sweat, and madness that hit the head no worse than a solid punch to the face. Even Saigo, who had seen many things, barely suppressed a grimace of disgust.
"Who are you?" a trembling, cracking voice came from the darkest corner. "Have you come to steal my victory?! To steal it!"
The cell's occupant emerged from the shadows, pressing his back against the wall, and here Saigo hesitated. Even with his experience, it was difficult to describe the color of Akno's skin.
It was a red-blue-green medley of fresh and healing bruises, blood clots, abrasions, and dirt. One eye was swollen shut, his lip was split, his nose was clearly broken and had healed crookedly. His clothes were rags. But in his one visible eye burned that same fanatical, insane fire.
'Ugh, and to let him go...' the thought passed through him with disgust. 'I really don't want to.' The temptation to kill him right here, writing it off as self-defense, was strong. But, looking at this broken yet still ferocious creature, Saigo changed his mind. 'Perhaps a fate like this—a penniless, beaten, mad outcast—will be far worse than death?' And his hands would be clean, while others would see a clear lesson: this is what happens if you cross Cotto. Even if it's by the hands of imperial executioners, the main thing is to spread the right rumor.
Without a word, Saigo stepped forward almost lightning-fast. Akno didn't even have time to blink before Saigo's fist connected with his already shattered jaw with full force.
CRUNCH!
A sharp, bony sound echoed through the stone box. Saigo smiled and delivered another satisfying blow to the torso, then to the arm trying to shield itself from danger.
To the leg, sweeping him to the floor, to the stomach, to the liver... Akno didn't resist—he simply couldn't. All that was left for him was to writhe, howling and cursing his tormentor through gurgles and blood, accepting the blows like fate's decree.
He was prepared to endure everything his battered flesh could withstand.
Satisfying his thirst for vengeance for the botched job, for the clan's disgrace, Saigo bent down. He grabbed Akno by his matted, filthy hair and lifted his bloodied face to his own level. Saigo's whisper was cold as steel, drilling directly into his ear:
"Rejoice, jackal. You're being released today." A slight pause let the words sink in. "And I recommend... you leave the capital, or better yet—the Empire, and as soon as possible." He peered into Akno's single eye, shining with pain and hatred. "Of course... if you have the brains for that, which is doubtful."
Saigo released him. Akno's head thudded dully against the stone. He lay there, barely conscious, wheezing and twitching.
The young man turned and headed for the exit. Already on the threshold, from the darkness, came a hoarse, blood-gurgling whisper, full of infinite malice:
"You... will all... still... pay... All of you... and your wives... your children... you will all perish in fire..."
Saigo didn't look back. He exited, slamming the heavy door shut behind him, shutting out the stench and the madness. Akno's whisper remained in the stone box.
An empty threat from a madman, but anger washed over him again like a tide on the shore. Everything had gone wrong, and he, and only he, was to blame for it.