At the foot of the stairs leading to the cursed attic, a life of its own was boiling over.
Dozens, if not hundreds, of men with nervous, haggard faces stood in tense readiness.
Their fingers unconsciously clenched and unclenched around the hilts of swords, halberds, and crossbows, constantly casting nervous glances at each other. And there was plenty to take in.
The crowd was a motley assembly: the blue uniforms of the prison guards, the scarlet cloaks of the Imperial Guards, the worn jackets of the city watch pretty much everyone who couldn't come up with a strong enough excuse was here.
And among them, like vultures, stood out figures in wide, weathered hats undead hunters.
Their gazes were sharper, their postures more relaxed, but their eyes held the same wariness. A pair of mages in severe dark robes stood slightly apart, eyes closed, listening intently to the sounds from above the crashes, wails, and hissing energy discharges. Their faces were pale and concentrated, with occasional flashes of lightning in their eyes…
At a distance, in one of the empty cells, their superiors were grumbling. A Centurion of the City Watch nervously tugged his mustache; his colleague, also a Centurion but of the Guard, stared palely at the floor he, for one, knew exactly who was up there and what Katarina would do to him if… He had wanted to charge upstairs immediately, but the prison warden had simply blocked the passage with his own men. The fat, sweaty warden stood opposite him now, silent, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
At the center of this entire mess, Gindo, the leader of the hunters, paced nervously, dragging on a hand-rolled cigarette.
He had been summoned here in the most old-fashioned way he could imagine: a breathless, frantic prison clerk had burst into their office, screaming at the top of his lungs, "All is lost! All is lost!" before collapsing in a faint right in the hallway.
And he, as the efficient and responsible head of a… quasi-government agency, had rushed here with all his available personnel.
And what good did it do him! Now, none of these "big shots" could clearly explain what was actually happening up there.
The City Watch Centurion was just serving his shift and clearly didn't give a damn. The Guard Centurion, on the other hand, kept looking up, doing so more frequently with each passing minute. The prison warden, watching this scene, looked ready to sink through the floor. Judging by his face, he was in the know but was steadfastly playing dumb…
Gindo could already smell the prey. "Strong, very strong ghosts. And a lot of them. And something... greater. Possibly even a Banshee." His nerves tingled both from fear and the anticipation of a major payoff.
Unable to bear this idiotic uncertainty any longer, he sharply threw the cigarette butt on the floor and ground it under his heel.
"Gentlemen, since we're all here, let's go upstairs."
"You have no right..." the prison warden began, but was immediately cut off not by words, but by a precise punch to the jaw from Gindo. The vile obstructionist wheezed, spitting a small waterfall of blood, and crawled into a far corner of the cell. The Guard Centurion merely nodded he knew who was upstairs and was mentally all for it, though such methods weren't quite in their repertoire. Hunters, however, were a different matter.
Thirty seconds later, it was impossible to breathe near the hatch. Guards and hunters crowded together in nervous anticipation… The senior hunter held his sword outstretched; as soon as he lowered it, the rope would be cut and the hatch opened… and then… "Heh-heh," Gindo chuckled softly. They'd fight as best they could. Anyway, in such a short time, even an approximate, extremely vague plan was pure fantasy.
Thud…
To everyone's surprise, the hatch in the ceiling creaked open. And Gindo had nothing to do with it; his sword was still pointed at the ceiling, but he hadn't given the signal. Before the men could process what had happened, something appeared from the opening... an ass.
Clad in polished steel, followed by the rest. The first guard-dummy was descending the ladder, carrying the unconscious Mona over his powerful shoulder. Her dress was torn to shreds, especially around the shoulder, which bloomed with crimson hues like an expensive rose. Her head lolled helplessly, her face pale as moonlight.
Behind him, limping on one leg (where the armor was dented as if struck by a sledgehammer), came the second.
They silently, without looking at anyone, quickly descended and moved through the crowd of stunned men, clearing a path towards the nearest wall.
The first hunters surged towards the ladder, but...
A shadow tumbled out of the hatch. It didn't fall—it spilled out, with the grace of a falling sack. But, the moment its feet touched the floor, it recoiled, found its balance, and slowly, very slowly, straightened to its full height.
It was Saigo.
His clothes were torn and soaked with blood on one side. His face a mask of dust, sweat, and dried blood under his nose and mouth.
But his eyes... His eyes weren't glowing with the poisonous green light Gindo had heard rumors of; they were practically nonexistent, just white orbs that incessantly scanned the people surrounding him.
He slowly, breathing heavily, began walking towards the exit, ignoring everyone.
Gindo recognized him immediately. Rumors had reached him, but he hadn't believed them. And the few attempts to find out more from Katarina's secretaries had ended very... painfully.
And here he was. In the flesh. And trying to leave without even introducing himself.
"Stop!" Gindo stepped forward sharply, blocking Saigo's path with his arm. Saigo stopped. The two guards by the wall immediately turned and shifted restlessly, their empty stares fixed on the hunter.
"What do you want?" Saigo's voice was hoarse, tired, holding neither fear nor uncertainty, only a desire to just pass out.
"What was up there? And more importantly, how many and what exactly?" Gindo demanded a report.
"None of your business."
"I think it is!" The hunter blocked his path with his whole body, feeling the heavy, pain-promising weight of Saigo's gaze.
The young man slowly turned his head towards him. The corner of his bloodied mouth twitched in a semblance of a smirk. "Well, if it's your business... go see for yourself. There's no one left up there anyway. Now get off my back."
He took another step, trying to bypass Gindo. And in that moment, his strength finally left him. His legs buckled. His body, held together only by pure will and adrenaline, gave up. 'That 'guest's' hit was really something after all...' flashed his last, almost ironic thought.
THUD.
Saigo collapsed right into Gindo's arms. The hunter carefully laid the young man on the floor, then turned to the stunned crowd. "What are you standing there for, you donkeys?! Get a healer here!"