The gate opened slowly as the mechanical gears moved, pulling the chains which then raised the large, thick slab of deep black steel.
Asterix stepped forward, raising his hands to properly adjust his gauntlets.
If he were within the walls of the Maddach Estate, he wouldn't have anything to worry about—he'd be in his usual garments.
But within these walls?
He better be fully armored.
His boots struck the earth within the well-guarded area.
He looked outside the wall.
And he could immediately tell the difference between the land within and the land without.
While the land outside had a deep, healthy green look to it,
the land within had a more grayish tone.
They said the grass is greener on the other side, and if you were within these walls, that statement was very much the truth.
Ten guards rushed through the opening, closing whatever space remained beneath the thick steel slab—
making sure nothing got in, spears drawn.
But despite their vigilance, they did not dare search Asterix.
The armor on his shoulder warned them—the Maddach Knight insignia was clear for all to see.
Asterix took a deep breath of this place.
It was the nostalgic smell of steel, coal, and blood.
He, like many of the guards here, had once worked within the prison walls of Maddach.
"Lord Asterix," came the gruff voice of a broad-shouldered man with a scar under his left eye.
His armor bore the blood-red Prison Land insignia of House Maddach. "We weren't expecting a visit."
The man extended a gloved hand. Asterix shook it once, firmly.
"I trust security remains… absolute," Asterix said.
The man nodded and turned.
They began to walk through the smoke-filled field, the screams of beaten prisoners echoing in the air,
meeting the silence of those who listened—
knowing they were next.
They passed a courtyard of chained prisoners, stripped to the ankle, dragging black orbs of weighted steel across jagged stone.
"Still using the classics," Asterix nodded.
The captain grunted in reply. "Builds character. And kills the ones without it."
He stopped walking, eyes drifting to one of the prisoners who was barely moving. "What's the reason for your visit, Lord Asterix?"
Asterix did not pause. "Lord Valen needs someone to practice with."
The captain raised a brow. "Sir, that is very illegal. It's been over twenty years since Imperial law outlawed any punishment outside protocols."
He pointed at one of the prisoners. "Any word of that coming out of this place, and I could be in trouble."
There was a silence. Heavy. Weighted.
"You don't have to worry about that. Request comes from the top," Asterix said.
The captain pressed his finger to his chin. "I'm afraid I can't help you. That's not something I can do."
The knight searched his cloak, withdrawing a letter not sealed with anything but a fold, and handed it over.
The captain, eyebrows raised, opened it.
Banknotes fell into his palm.
He said nothing. Just slid the notes into his pocket.
"Only the lifers. Or the ones waiting for the noose," he finally muttered, patting his pocket.
"That's all I need."
The knight chuckled as he watched the captain ignore Imperial Law at the sight of money.
They continued onward, arriving at an old shaft carved into the bedrock.
A creaking mechanical platform awaited them—a sort of vertical sledge built on belts and rusted gears.
The descent began with a shudder.
But as the oiled chain reached the gear, it started moving more smoothly.
"Any specifics?" the captain asked. "What kind of practice is Valen looking for?"
Asterix's jaw tightened. "Someone like Liam Maddach."
The captain didn't ask further. He understood what that meant.
The lower cell block was darker, older. A rot hung in the air like a memory that wouldn't die.
Both the captain and Asterix made sure not to make much noise in this place.
The guards stationed here—despite being much more built and armored—whispered to each other if they were bored.
Even if there was something to laugh at, they would only let out a silent chuckle.
Those imprisoned here were confirmed to be guilty of incredibly violent and dangerous offenses.
They reached a segmented wall of mana-reinforced iron.
The cell opened with a shriek.
Heavy chains rattled as it moved slowly.
And there he was.
A mountain of a man. Tall, wide with fat, stained in sweat and filth.
He had a spotted beard—one he would have shaved,
but since they wouldn't as much as give prisoners a blade,
he was forced to keep dirty hair on his face.
He adjusted the firelight to look at picture books to pass the time.
He stank.
Asterix waved a hand. "Clean him."
Two guards arrived with a hose attached to a pressurized valve.
They turned it. Water exploded forth, battering the prisoner against the back wall.
He roared in rage and tried pushing against the force of the water
"ASSHOLES! I'LL—!"
The captain raised his finger, and the guards increased the force of the water, continued pushing the prisoner back into the room with ease.
He tried pushing back. But there was not much use in it.
He turned to Asterix. "Name's Club Hog. Or at least that's what the gutter rats called him.
Led a gang in the Outer Ditch.
Used a reinforced club to beat patrols to death.
Took seven of my men to bring him in. Four stayed in the hospital."
Asterix didn't respond. He didn't need to.
A younger guard jogged up, slightly out of breath.
He bent forward and whispered,
"Lord Valen has arrived, sir. As requested."
Asterix turned.
Down the narrow hallway, a silhouette approached.
Hair combed. Robes spotless. A scented handkerchief pressed to his nose.
Valen Maddach stepped into the reeking darkness, expression tight with discomfort.
"Uncle…" he said, his voice quiet, almost accusatory. "Why have you brought me here?"
His eyes flicked to the dripping form of Club Hog, then to the broken walls around him.
The handkerchief pressed harder to his face.