The Escape

Lamplight cast long shadows across the cellar walls. In the enveloping silence, only the labored breathing of a portly figure could be heard as he stood trembling against the wall. Roland's round eyes fixed on Charles with fear, his mind racing with the possibility that the man before him might be yet another hunter from the Script-Decipherers or some other faction pursuing him.

Roland opened his mouth to cry for help, but in that instant, he suddenly forgot what he was about to do. Confusion swept across his face before Charles lunged forward, clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up," Charles hissed, his voice intense. "If you don't want to get hurt."

To demonstrate he wasn't bluffing, Charles raised his hand. "Garanu!" The watch lying on the table suddenly levitated into the air and glided into his outstretched palm, lamplight reflecting off its polished metal surface.

"This is just a fraction of what I can do," Charles continued, his voice ice-cold. "If you don't want to be cursed with excruciating pain and dragged face-down across the floor, you'll do exactly as I say."

Roland swallowed hard, his face turning pale as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He nodded slowly, submitting out of fear. Charles gradually released his hand from Roland's mouth.

"W-who are you?" Roland stammered, his voice quavering.

Charles ignored the question, scanning the room for a safe exit. Part of him wanted to call for Joseph, but he knew better—any noise might attract the attention of underworld operatives potentially lurking in the shadows. He chose to maintain silence.

"Which way can we get out without running into their men?" Charles whispered, gripping Roland's shoulder tightly. His face tense, brows furrowed. "And don't try to be clever..."

His piercing gaze locked onto the portly man, lips drawn into a severe line. "Because if you do..." He left the sentence hanging, letting the heavy atmosphere and implied meaning communicate the frightening consequences more effectively than any words could.

Roland hesitated before answering, "I... I don't know any safe path," he confessed, voice trembling. "I've only been staying here temporarily. I never learned any secret routes."

Charles clenched his jaw, glancing at the entrance—the only path he knew. But it might not lead directly to the streets, and they risked encountering the Master's men along the way.

"Listen, we need to get out of here. I'll lead the way, you follow exactly what I do. No noise, no strange moves. Understand?"

Roland nodded weakly, his eyes still fixed on the watch in Charles's hand with visible fear.

Charles slipped the watch into his coat pocket, then nudged Roland toward the door. When they opened it, they found themselves in a wide corridor with smooth stone walls dimly illuminated by wall-mounted oil lamps, revealing five doors arranged around them.

"Which way?" Charles whispered.

Roland pointed a shaking finger toward the leftmost door.

They crept silently across the stone floor, each step carefully measured to avoid making sound. Though the hall appeared empty, Charles remained vigilant. He pressed his ear against the thick wooden door, listening intently for movement on the other side.

Absolute silence greeted his listening—no footsteps, no whispers, nothing but a tense emptiness that made him more uneasy than reassured. This unnatural quiet heightened Charles's discomfort.

Charles motioned for Roland to back against the wall, away from the door. Then he pushed the door open slightly, the old iron hinges creaking softly. He quickly retreated to flatten himself against the wall as well, positioning himself in a blind spot perfect for ambushing anyone who might enter. The door closed again with a nearly imperceptible click.

His eyes narrowed, caution evident on his face. He now knew the corridor beyond wasn't empty. Someone was keeping watch.

Charles surveyed the hall, mind racing. Charging through the door would be suicide, especially not knowing what awaited on the other side.

He turned back to Roland, lowering his voice. "Any other way out? Staff passages or emergency exits?"

"There are no other ways," Roland shook his head, his voice unsteady.

Charles exhaled softly, disappointment rising within him. No choice remained but to risk confrontation. He edged closer to the door, preparing to use his power. 'Once I open the door, I'll use my power immediately,' he planned silently. 'Make the guard confused and forget what he's doing, then knock him unconscious before he can react.'

Ready now, Charles yanked the door open. The ancient iron hinges groaned in the silence as lamplight revealed a guard standing watch. Before the man could respond, Charles projected his power at him.

The guard's eyes widened for a brief moment before his expression transformed into confusion, as if he'd suddenly forgotten his purpose. Charles wasted no time, landing a powerful blow to the guard's jaw. The man staggered backward before collapsing unconscious to the floor.

Charles quickly grabbed the unconscious guard's arm, dragging him into the shadows before surveying the path ahead. An old stone staircase ascended into darkness, barely illuminated by a flickering oil lamp on the wall, their shadows dancing against the grayish-brown stone.

Charles gestured for Roland to follow as they carefully climbed the stairs, leather boots making the faintest scraping sound against worn stone. At the top, they reached a landing with a large wooden door—its surface smooth and unmarked, without any visible lock or handle.

His hands explored the walls in the dim light until his fingers brushed against a hanging rope. But before pulling it, he leaned in to press his ear against the door. The muffled voices of two men conversing casually drifted through, occasional laughter suggesting they remained unaware of the commotion below.

"Stay here," Charles breathed to Roland, tension visible in his features. He knew time was running short—the unconscious men below might revive, or others might happen upon the scene.

His hand closed around the rope, intent on the same strategy: rush in, disorient the guards with his power, and neutralize them quickly. He pulled the rope firmly. The door cracked open from the other side like a chest lid being unlocked, revealing a gap just wide enough to slip a hand through.

Charles heaved against the door, but found it unexpectedly heavy, as if made of metal rather than ordinary wood. Despite using all his strength and body weight, he managed to push it only halfway open before meeting resistance.

'This isn't good,' he thought, realizing he'd taken too long. The guards must be prepared now. But before he could retreat, hands from the other side suddenly pulled against him, and a gun barrel emerged through the gap, aimed directly at his chest.

"Come out," a curt voice commanded as someone pulled the door wide open.

Charles raised his hands slowly, stepping out from the underground passage into a spacious warehouse. Lantern light revealed five men surrounding him, all with guns trained on him. Glancing back, he finally understood—the door he had emerged from was cleverly disguised as a thick wooden shelf, seamlessly blending with its surroundings.

The young detective surveyed the warehouse, quickly assessing the situation. His heart raced, but he maintained a composed expression. Five gun barrels remained pointed at him, his every movement under close scrutiny.

"Hold it right there," one man barked, his voice frigid. "Strange that a stranger like you would know about this secret passage and dare try to open it." He adjusted his grip on the gun. "Now you're within range of all five of our guns. Move even slightly, and you'll be riddled with holes before you can do anything."

Cold sweat trickled down Charles's back. He knew the man spoke truth—at point-blank range, there was no escaping all five bullets.

"Where's your friend?" another asked, moving closer to peer into the secret passage. "You didn't come alone, did you?"

Charles's heart pounded harder, hoping Roland had the sense to either stay hidden or find another escape route.

"Search him!" ordered the apparent leader.

Charles swallowed with difficulty, cold sweat beading on his temple. The gun barrels remained fixed on him, trapping him with their unwavering aim. Every movement was closely scrutinized. He knew he needed to cast a spell, but first had to create a moment of distraction. The slightest unusual movement would trigger a hail of bullets.

As two men approached to search him, Charles's hand twitched in preparation for an incantation. But at that exact moment, a commanding voice thundered throughout the warehouse:

"Drop your weapons!"

As if under a spell, every man in the room released their guns, letting them clatter to the floor. Confusion swept across their faces at their own actions. Charles whirled around toward the voice.

At the warehouse entrance stood Joseph, poised majestically, both hands resting on a silver-headed cane before him. Lantern light gleamed off the polished metal surface. All eyes were drawn to his tall, dignified figure, as if pulled by some unseen force.

Charles seized the opportunity while everyone was distracted, releasing his power immediately. All five guards froze, their eyes growing distant as their minds clouded with confusion.

He lunged toward the nearest guard, landing a heavy blow to the man's temple. The next guard still stood confused by his jumbled thoughts. Charles spun around, delivering a powerful kick to the stomach, following with an elbow strike to the back of the neck.

"Hréoda!" The force-propelling spell surged from his hand, sending two more men flying into a shelving unit with a resounding crash of splintering wood.

The final guard began regaining his senses, attempting to reach for a gun but finding himself strangely unable to pick it up. Charles rushed forward, grabbing him by the collar and smashing his head against a wooden post. The unconscious body crumpled to the ground.

Joseph strode into the warehouse, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I was afraid I'd be too late."

"You were late," Charles panted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "But without your help, it would have been much harder."

He turned toward the secret door. "Roland! It's safe to come out now!"

But there was no response. Charles hurried to check, finding only emptiness. Roland had vanished, likely taking advantage of the commotion to escape back downstairs.

"This is bad," Charles muttered. "You stay here with your lame leg for now. I'll catch him and bring him back."

In the distance, an alarm bell began to toll ominously.