Chapter 48: Unwanted Sacrifice 1
—Knight Order's Prison—
The magic lamp lining the corridors as the wind crept through the window. It was nearly midnight, and the office was quiet except for the rustle of papers and the low murmur of two knights by the front desk.
"So, you're on duty today… Auren?" a knight with a bored tone asked, stretching his arms behind his head.
The other knight, younger by a few years and more sharply dressed in polished mail, nodded. "Yeah. Don't you have patrol too, Rowen?"
"No," Rowen said with a shrug. "Lucky me."
Auren reached for his helmet resting on the nearby bench. "Should you really be going alone this late? You remember a few days ago—someone attacked you. Captain saved your life. She told you to be careful, didn't she?"
A smirk curled the lips of Rowen as he fastened the straps under his chin. His hair is black that gleamed under the light. His eyes were black, sharp and proud. They looked through people, not at them. "Yeah, yeah. She did say something like that," he said with a dismissive chuckle. "But nothing's happened since. I think that coward learned his lesson. I'll be fine. Don't worry."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway. The sound of his boots echoed with each confident step.
Outside, the streets were nearly empty, bathed in moonlight and shadows. The wind carried the scent of damp stone and burning oil. He made his way through the dark alleys until he stopped in front of a dimly lit shop.
It was a humble tavern—wooden, a bit run-down, and barely holding together. A faded sign hung by a single chain above the door, creaking.
He pushed the door open roughly. The bell above jingled, startling the few tired patrons inside. The knight entered like he owned the place, his armor clinking faintly with each step.
He slumped into a corner booth and called out in a voice that cut through the silence.
"Bring me a drink. After all, a night's work deserves a fine reward."
A few heads turned, but quickly looked away. Everyone knew who he was. A knight. Untouchable.
Moments later, a girl approached his table. She was thin, barely more than a shadow in her frayed dress and apron. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed a dusty glass of wine on the table in front of him.
She didn't speak. She didn't look him in the eyes. She tried to leave quickly, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist. Tight.
"Hey, dear," he said, flashing a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
She froze.
Her hair was tied messily at the back, strands falling over her gaunt face. Her skin was pale from long days without sunlight, and her eyes were sunken with exhaustion and fear.
"Where do you think you're going?" His voice dropped, low and threatening. "Already forgot who I am?"
She looked around quickly. No one moved. No one said a word. They just kept their heads down, drinking. They had families. They didn't want trouble with a knight.
"Please, sir… it's a public place," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You can't do things like this here… It's wrong."
He laughed—a hollow, bitter sound. "You really think I care about that?" He stood up slowly, towering over her. "Can't you see this?" He pointed to the sigil on his chest. "I'm a knight. You think your little rules apply to me?"
Her eyes welled with tears, but she tried to pull her hand away. "Please… my husband's friends are here. Don't… don't do this…"
His grip tightened until her skin turned white under his fingers. She gasped softly, trying not to make a scene.
Then, without warning, he shoved her backward. She stumbled, crashing into the edge of a table, nearly falling.
"You bitch," he snarled, his voice rising loud enough to silence the tavern. "How dare you speak to me like that? You'd better show up at my place tonight… or you know exactly what's coming."
Everyone heard what he said, but no one turned. Silence settled over the tavern—a heavy, suffocating kind. They knew it was wrong, but not one of them had the courage to speak.
The girl didn't respond. She just stood there, trembling, eyes fixed on the floor. Her eyes welled with tears, but none fell.
He downed the entire glass of wine in one swift gulp, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned for the door.
Not a single soul dared to stop him.
He stepped out of the tavern, his boots echoing on the old wooden floor. The girl stood still for a moment, trembling slightly, then turned away. Quietly, she slipped into the kitchen, her hands clenched at her sides. She pushed open the back door, stepped outside into the cold night, and leaned against the tavern's wooden wall.
The moon hung high, watching silently.
Then— Her body shook. Tears spilled from her eyes, heavy and fast. She rubbed them away with trembling hands, trying to stop them, but they kept coming.
The back door creaked open again.
A girl—another waitress in the same uniform—stepped out cautiously. She spotted her and immediately rushed to her side, kneeling beside her and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"...Are you okay, Eska?" she asked softly.
Eska let out a bitter laugh through her sobs. "Okay? Do I look okay to you?" Her voice cracked. "He... he touched me in front of everyone. Like I was nothing. And no one did a damn thing. They all just watched..."
The friend lowered her head. "I saw. I saw what he did. I—I should've said something. I should've—"
"What would you have done?!" Eska snapped, tears streaming down her face. "You think anyone would believe you over him? He's not just some ordinary man—he's one of the Knights."
"You should report it to the Knights. Or file a complaint at headquarters. You still can—"
"Tell the Knights? File a complaint?!" she nearly screamed. "Are you out of your mind? Do you even remember who they serve? He's a Knight too—he is the law here. You really think they'll protect me over him? You think I'll ever get justice?"
Her friend bit her lip. "But they're not all like him. There has to be someone who'll listen—someone who can give you justice."
She shook her head violently. "Listen? You think they'll just listen? Everything comes with a price. Nothing's free in this world—don't you remember? When they dragged my husband away like a dog… do you even know what they did to him in that prison? Do you? They broke his legs. And that wasn't all—they just kept beating him. I begged. I begged for help, and no one listened. Tell me, what did he do to deserve that?"
The friend's eyes widened, trembling. "I—I didn't know it was that bad."
"Of course you didn't. No one does. Because no one cares. We're nothing but dirt to them—commoners, servants, toys." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "He won't survive another week in that place. That's why I have to go tonight..."
"You're going? Again?" her friend asked, voice trembling. "You don't have to. There has to be another way… Everyone in the tavern heard what he said. They know you're going. Do you even know what will happen to you then?"
"Do you think I care what people think? They were all silent when a girl was touched and thrown in front of them. They're cowards—who cares about them?" she said. "Besides, he said if I don't come, he'll make sure my husband's dead by morning. And he'll make me watch. I don't want him to die."
"But… why are you doing this for him? He's a thief. He was caught stealing—yes, you might not have been there, but he was caught with a relic. A valuable one, at that."
Eska looked at her, eyes fierce even through the tears. "He's not a thief. He never was. I don't know how that relic ended up in his hands, but I know—deep down in my heart—he's no thief."
Her friend nodded slowly, shame in her eyes.
"I trust him. Even if the whole world calls him a criminal, I know the truth. He's a better man than any of them."
The friend's voice wavered. "You're... you're really something. You still trust him after all that. You're a great wife. I don't think I could do what you're doing."
A faint, trembling smile touched Eska's lips. "I don't know if I'm strong… or just a fool. But I love him. That's all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less." She wiped her face quickly, pulled her hair back, and forced a smile. "As long as I'm alive, I'll keep fighting. Even if it kills me."
She turned and walked away into the shadows of the night.
Whoosh—
A cold gust of wind swept through the alley, rustling the wooden walls and snatching her scent away into the dark.
---
—A Month Ago—
The building loomed above her like a silent giant, cold and unmoving. Its stone walls were stained with time and sorrow. Above the towering iron doors was the crest of the Knight Order. Below it, carved into blackened stone, the words:
Knight Order's Prison.
It wasn't far from the Knight Order's main office, but it might as well have been a world away. One governed by law and order. The other... by chains and pain.
Eska stood frozen in place, staring at the entrance.
Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides. Her heart pounded like a war drum. She swallowed.
"He's in there."
She stepped forward.
Before she could reach the doors, a knight in silver armor blocked her path. "Here to see someone?" His voice was gruff, but not unfriendly.
"Yes, sir." She tried to steady her voice. It came out shakier than she wanted.
He gave a curt nod, then stepped aside. "Go on in."
The heavy doors creaked open as she pushed. The inside was colder. Dim. She walked into a corridor that reeked of damp stone and rusted metal. The walls were made entirely of old stone bricks, covered in moss and moisture, like a dungeon pretending to be a prison.
She walked. The echo of her footsteps followed her like ghosts.
After several turns, she reached a wider room. A large wooden counter stretched across it, and behind it sat a female knight, flipping through documents.
"Here to see someone?" the woman asked, looking up.
"Yes, ma'am." Eska nodded.
"Please state his name. And your relationship to him?"
Her voice wavered, but she spoke clearly, "Caelum Solmere. I want to meet Caelum Solmere. I'm Eska Solmere… his wife."
The Knight blinked, then nodded. "One moment, please."
She opened a large book, flipping through several worn pages before stopping. "Yes, you can meet him." She pointed to a corridor on the left. "Go down the corridor, turn left. Cell number 18. You'll find him there. But please sign here first."
Eska quickly signed her name with a trembling hand.
The corridor she was told to go through was even darker than before. Narrower. The air was heavy, filled with an invisible weight. As she walked, she passed one prison cell after another. Most were empty. Some held silent figures curled in corners.
The flickering lanterns along the walls barely lit the way.
Then—cell number 18.
She saw it.
And she ran.
"Caelum!" she cried, breath catching in her throat. Her feet slammed against the stone floor, too fast, almost stumbling.
She reached the iron bars—and then her world stopped.
Snap!
Snap!!
SNAP!!
A whip cracked through the cell like lightning. Her eyes widened in horror.
Inside the cell, Caelum—her Caelum—hung by his arms, tied with thick ropes against the stone wall. His shirt was torn off. His skin… wasn't skin anymore. Blood. Bruises. Fresh lash marks. So many of them.
He wasn't even screaming.
His eyes were only half-open, vacant, unfocused. His legs dangled lifelessly beneath him.
A knight stood across from him, mercilessly striking him again and again with the whip. There was no pause. No mercy. Only the relentless sound of leather tearing into flesh.
"STOP!" Eska screamed, slamming her hands against the bars. "What are you doing?! STOP IT! WHY ARE YOU HURTING HIM?!"
The knight didn't flinch. Didn't even look at her.
She felt her throat burn. Tears welled in her eyes as her gaze locked onto her husband's limp form. "Caelum… Caelum, say something! Please! Someone—stop him!"
She gripped the iron bars so hard her knuckles turned white. "Why?! Why are you doing this?! He didn't do anything—he didn't—!!"
Her knees buckled. She collapsed in front of the cell, hands trembling. "Even if he did something… does he deserve this? Does anyone?"
Her sobs echoed down the empty hallway.
A hand suddenly rested gently on her shoulder.
She gasped, flinched, and turned sharply.
It was Rowen.
She slapped his hand away and stood up abruptly. "Don't touch me!"
"Miss Eska," Rowen said, his voice calm and disturbingly gentle, "Why are you crying like this?"
She clenched her fists. "What do you mean why?! Look at him!" Her voice cracked as she pointed toward the cell. "He's being tortured! You—you're the one who brought him in! So why is he like this already? He's only been here for hours!"
Rowen sighed as if burdened. "Yes, I brought him in. But rules are rules. He's being punished based on his actions."
"He didn't do anything to deserve this! Even if he did something wrong, this—this isn't justice!" She stared at Rowen with pleading eyes. "Please… stop them. I beg you. He'll die like this."
Rowen took a step closer, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're very emotional right now, miss."
"Of course I am! That's my husband in there!" she cried out, her voice trembling. "Please, tell them to stop. He'll die if they keep beating him like that. Please!"
"Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do," he said calmly.
"Why not? You're a knight, aren't you? Then why?" Her voice cracked, a mix of sorrow and regret spilling from every word. "He didn't do anything…"
"Hmm…" He paused, then tilted his head. "You really do love him, don't you?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He's all I have."
"Do you want to save him?" he asked, though his voice had changed—no longer calm, but cold and sharp, like a wolf ready to pounce on helpless prey.
"Of course I do," she said without hesitation. "Just tell me—what can I do to save him?"
Rowen gave her a soft, almost sympathetic smile. "Then maybe... maybe there's something I can do."
She looked up at him instantly, hope flickering in her eyes. "Really? You'll help me?"
"There is a way." He leaned closer, voice dropping lower. "But we can't talk about it here. Too many ears. Too many eyes."
"I—what do you mean?"
"I'm saying," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "if you truly want me to stop that man from whipping your husband… you'll need to come with me. Just for a moment. We'll talk somewhere more private."
Eska hesitated, chest heaving.
"I promise," Rowen added smoothly, "I won't lay a finger on you. I just want to… help."
Her legs felt weak. Her heart screamed not to trust him. But in that moment, logic didn't matter. Fear didn't matter. Only Caelum mattered.
"…Fine," she said, voice barely audible. "Just… please. Help me save him."
Rowen extended a hand and turned to lead the way. "Then come."
And she followed—her footsteps slow, heavy, desperate.
Because in that moment, she would've sold her soul if it meant Caelum would live.
The sky had dimmed, casting long shadows behind the prison walls as Rowen led Eska around the building. The silence between them was thick. The occasional clang from inside the prison still echoed faintly in her mind — the whip, her husband's groans, the blood.
Her legs trembled with each step, but she kept following. She had to.
After several minutes of walking, Eska glanced around. The area behind the prison was desolate — old fences, broken crates, and vines swallowing what once might've been storage houses. One particular building stood out, decayed and leaning slightly, its roof patched with mismatched tiles.
"Where... are we going, Sir?" she finally asked, her voice weak but wary. "Isn't this a bit far? I mean… isn't there any place closer we could've—?"
Rowen didn't look back. "You want to talk about something illegal, right?" he said calmly. "You want to stop your husband's punishment — which, by the way, is an order from the Captain herself. So unless you want someone to overhear and report us, we keep walking."
"I-I understand…" she mumbled, clenching her skirt in her fists.
Soon they arrived in front of a medium-sized, worn-down house. Not completely abandoned, but barely standing. Rowen pushed the door open — it creaked loudly, as if it hadn't been touched in years — and stepped aside.
"After you," he said, gesturing with a cold smile.
Eska hesitated. Something felt... wrong. But the memory of Caelum's bloody back, his half-conscious eyes, the sound of that whip—
She stepped in.
Rowen followed and locked the door behind them with a solid clunk. The room was dim. Dust danced in the shafts of evening light, filtering in through cracked windows. A broken chair lay in the corner, and an old desk sat by the wall, its drawers half open.
"Now," Rowen said, stepping closer, "you said you wanted a way to save him."
"Yes. Please…" Eska clasped her hands. "Anything you can do. I just want him to be safe. I can't bear seeing him like that again…"
Rowen tilted his head, pretending to think. "There is a way. But it's not easy. Not legal either. I'd have to reassign his case. Change names. Hide the truth."
Eska's eyes widened. "You can do that? Really? Is it... even possible?"
"Of course it's possible," he said with a smirk. "But difficult. Dangerous for me. If someone finds out, I lose my rank. My life, maybe."
"I won't tell anyone. I swear—"
He raised a hand to silence her. "It's not just about trust. Doing something like this comes with a price."
"I'll pay. Whatever it takes. If it means Caelum doesn't have to suffer like that... Please, just tell me what you want."
Rowen's gaze lingered on her for a long moment, then drifted lower, slowly, deliberately.
Eska's breath caught.
He took a step closer. "It's not money I want, Eska."
Her knees felt weak. "Then… what is it?"
"You said anything," he reminded her, his voice low but weighted with intent. "All I want… is to sleep with you."
Her heart dropped. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What…? What did you say?"
He leaned in, his voice smooth, laced with cruel amusement. "You heard me. I want to sleep with you. Just the two of us. That's the price you'll have to pay… if you truly want to save your husband."
"You planned this…" she whispered, stepping back. "From the start."
Rowen chuckled darkly. "Oh, don't act so surprised. Do you think people like me help for free? Look around, Eska — this isn't some fairy tale. This is reality. Your husband is rotting in a cell, bleeding, because of what he did. And he will die in there, if nothing changes."
"I can't…" Her voice cracked. "I can't do that. I'm his wife. I—"
"Exactly," Rowen said, voice rising slightly. "You're his wife. So act like it. Sacrifice for him. Save him. Or walk out that door and let them beat him again tomorrow. And the next day. Until he stops breathing."
Eska stood frozen. The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls pressing in.
"You said you'd do anything," he continued, slower now. "Was that a lie?"
She looked down, tears threatening to fall again.
"No," she said, barely a whisper. "It wasn't…"
He stepped even closer. "Then choose, Eska. Right now. You want to walk away and pretend you tried? Or do you actually want to save him?"
Her lips trembled. Her fists clenched. Every part of her screamed to run — but her heart kept showing her that cell. That blood. That silence in Caelum's eyes.
"I…" she forced herself to say. "If… if that's what it takes to save him... then..."
She choked on her own breath, but managed to speak. "I'll do it."
Rowen smiled — slow and triumphant.
"Good girl."
---
—Present Time—
After a while, swaying under the weight of alcohol, Rowen stumbled toward his house. His breath was heavy, reeking of liquor and rage. The night was silent, the world indifferent. He fumbled with the key, turned the handle, and pushed the door open with a grunt. It creaked.
He didn't bother closing it.
He didn't need to.
She would come. She always did.
He went straight to his room and changed out of his armor into a simple shirt and trousers. The room was spacious, with a large bed at its center, a few pieces of furniture, and a wide glass window across from the bed. He sat down quietly, and for a while, said nothing—lost in thought. Then—
"Are you here, sir?" Eska's voice was meek—fragile, like it might break if the wind blew too hard.
He didn't even glance at her.
"Yes. Come in, bitch," he muttered, voice thick with contempt.
She stepped inside, the door still ajar behind her. The moonlight illuminated her silhouette. She wasn't wearing much—just a thin cotton dress that clung to her like paper, soaked from the drizzle outside. Her hair hung in tangled strands over her face, and her knees gave out the moment she reached him.
She dropped to the floor, crawling the last step to his feet.
"Please… please forgive me, Sir…" Her voice cracked mid-sentence. She crawled the remaining distance, fingers wrapping around his ankles like chains. "I didn't mean to act like that in the tavern. My husband's friends were there. I—I couldn't let them see you touch me. Please, I'm begging you… don't take it out on him. I'll do anything… like before… just please…"
Her words crumbled into sobs.
She bowed her head so low her forehead touched the floor.
He looked down at her, his lip curling in disgust. Then he kicked her.
She yelped, collapsing onto her side, arms wrapped around her stomach. She didn't try to get up.
"You fucking bitch," he said, standing. His shadow swallowed her whole. "Already forgetting why your worthless husband's still breathing? If I hadn't withdrawn that complaint, he'd be rotting in a ditch by now."
"I haven't forgotten," she whispered through the pain. "I remember. I remember how merciful you were. How kind."
She pressed her palms together in desperate prayer, her sobs shaking her whole body.
She began to cry again. "Please don't hurt him. Hurt me instead. I deserve it. Not him."
Rowen tilted his head, his expression twisting with mock sympathy.
"So noble. So devoted. You still love him?" He laughed, but it sounded more like a growl. "Fine, then. Prove it."
She blinked through the tears.
"Undress," he said flatly.
Silence.
Only the ticking of a distant clock answered.
Then, slowly, she rose. Her limbs moved like they didn't belong to her. She stood still for a moment—then reached up, fingers trembling as they fumbled at the buttons of her dress.
The first one came undone. Then another. And another.
The dress slid off her shoulders, heavy with rainwater. It clung to her skin, reluctant to fall. But gravity was cruel. It peeled away, exposing her chest, her ribs, the faint bruise on her side.
Her breath was shallow. Her eyes stayed closed.
"You're still beautiful," Rowen murmured, his eyes crawling across her skin. "Maybe even more so now. Suffering suits you."
She said nothing.
"You know what I like about women like you?" he continued, circling her like a predator. "You break easy. But you don't shatter. That's what makes it fun. You hold the pain. You carry it. You remember."
He stepped closer.
She didn't flinch.
"You want to protect him? Then be what I made you. Like back then."
Her lips quivered.
"Yes… sir."
She moved forward, barely breathing, her soul long gone. Her lips hovered near his—close enough for their breath to mingle.
Then, just as her mouth brushed his—
Crack!
The window behind them shattered.
Not broke—shattered.
Glass burst inward, frozen mid-air for a heartbeat before slicing through the room like a storm of razors. Shards glittered, spinning and slicing, catching moonlight as they rained down like cursed snow.
Rowen stumbled back, startled. "What the—?"
---
(Chapter Ended)