Chapter 12: A Prison Of Chains

Far beneath the grand mansion of Prosperum's ruler lay a damp, shadowed dungeon. The air was thick with rot, and the stone walls dripped with condensation.

Sir Gallant descended the narrow steps, his boots echoing in the silence. He walked with purpose, approaching a lone cell at the end of the corridor.

Gripping the cold iron bars, he peered inside.

A man sat chained to the wall—his once-powerful frame reduced to frail bones and pale skin. His scruffy hair and unkempt beard showed months of neglect. This was Bernard Sylvester, the world's greatest Trinket Blacksmith.

Gallant's voice sliced through the stillness.

"So, you still refuse to comply, Bernard Sylvester?"

Bernard slowly lifted his head, his hollow eyes meeting Gallant's.

"Comply? Comply with what, exactly?"

Gallant's expression darkened. "You know damn well what. You will forge me a weapon strong enough to topple the heavens!"

His voice thundered through the chamber as he slammed his fist against the bars.

Bernard let out a dry, rasping laugh. "Topple the heavens, he says. You fool. No weapon in existence can do that."

Gallant's eyes burned with fury. "That's a lie! The four weapons you crafted before—the ones wielded by the great warriors of New Pegasus—could rival the gods themselves!"

Bernard smirked, a shadow of his former arrogance glinting through his exhaustion. "A weapon's power comes from its wielder. You are not strong enough to command such a thing."

Gallant's patience snapped. Grabbing a nearby cup of week-old water, he flung it into Bernard's face.

Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the dungeon, his temper barely restrained. As he ascended the steps, a soldier approached him.

"Sir, the representatives from the World Federation want to see you."

Gallant's frown deepened. What could they possibly want?

Gallant strode through the lavish halls of his mansion. Every few steps, he passed a grand portrait of himself, framed in pure gold. His vanity was unmatched—no one was greater than him.

No one except…

"Sir Gallant, there's something you need to know."

Gil's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

No one except the World Federation.

Gallant turned to face Gil and King, the two World Federation agents standing before him.

"King recently encountered August Magnus of New Pegasus."

The color drained from Gallant's face. "August Magnus is here?" His voice wavered.

Gil nodded. "We don't know why, but we'd like your assistance in subduing him."

Gallant swallowed hard. He did know why August was here, but revealing that information to the Federation would only bring trouble.

King's sharp gaze studied him. "You're hiding something."

Gallant scoffed. "Hiding? Why would I hide anything from you?"

Gil crossed his arms. "Where were you before we arrived?"

"In my room."

King remained silent for a moment before shrugging. "Alright then. What's the plan?"

Gallant forced himself to regain his composure. "If August Magnus is here, he's likely in the Underground section of Prosperum. If he had been spotted anywhere else, I would have been informed immediately. I'll lend you a portion of my army to assist in raiding the Underground."

Gil hesitated. "Won't your people be furious?"

Gallant let out a dry chuckle. "Those rats aren't my people. They refuse to pay taxes, and I can't do anything about it because of their strength."

King smirked. "Then your army is useless. If they can't handle a few troublemakers, what good are they to us?"

Gallant clenched his fists but kept his expression calm. "They may not be the strongest, but they can help you search the area."

King exhaled. "Fine. We'll take what we can get."

As the two Federation agents turned away, Gallant's expression darkened. One day, the World Federation will bow before me. Mark my words.

In the Pleasure Hall, Erica reclined on a plush cushion, exhaling a plume of smoke from her ornate pipe. Across from her, Adrian and Emily Vester—the assistant to Bernard Sylvester—sat in tense conversation.

Emily had finally removed her cloak, revealing her delicate features, amber eyes, and tanned skin.

Erica's voice was sharp. "Why didn't you come to me when Bernard was taken?"

Emily's expression hardened. "To be honest, I never liked your relationship with my master."

Erica smirked. "Damn brat."

Emily ignored her, turning to Adrian. "I don't trust her, but I trust you. My master always spoke fondly of August. It's unfortunate he's in that state."

Adrian met her gaze with unwavering determination. "Don't worry. I'll save him."

Erica let out a loud laugh, nearly choking on her smoke. She set her pipe down, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Ha! You? Save Bernard? Kid, do you even know what you're up against? The World Federation, Gallant's forces… You think you're ready for that?"

Adrian's voice was steady. "With Emily's help, I am."

Emily blinked. "Me? How am I supposed to help?"

"You know how to make Trinkets, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Perfect. You'll help me create mine. With that Trinket, I'll save Bernard."

Erica smirked. "Not a bad plan, kid."

Emily, however, looked uncertain. "But… I'm not as good as my master."

Adrian placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You've got this."

His confidence startled her. Something about his conviction made her hesitate—then, finally, she nodded.

"Fine. But we'll need to go to the Workshop."

"The Workshop?"

"What do you think? It's Bernard's personal forge."

Adrian turned to Erica. "Take care of August for me. I'll be back soon."

Erica waved him off. "Go, kid. Try not to die."

The deepest parts of the Underground were home to the worst criminals in Prosperum. It was here that Emily led Adrian, weaving through dark alleyways until they reached two massive, rundown buildings.

Between them stood an unassuming storehouse.

Adrian frowned. "This is it?"

Emily pushed open the door, and the inside took his breath away.

The space was massive, far larger than the exterior suggested. The oakwood floors gleamed under the dim lantern light, and the walls—made of sturdy brick—were lined with weapons.

On the right wall, axes.

On the left, swords.

And in the center, behind a massive worktable, various pieces of armor glistened in the light.

Emily walked toward the table, motioning for Adrian to follow.

"Well? You coming?"

Adrian stepped inside, still in awe.

Emily dumped the contents of her bag onto the worktable. Dozens of shimmering purple ores tumbled out, catching the dim light.

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "What's with the weird purple rocks?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "They're not—" She paused, then sighed. "You know what? Fine. They're rocks. But with these 'rocks,' I'm going to make you a Trinket."

She held up a piece of ore, her amber eyes glinting with determination.