Chapter 57: Dungeon Observations (1)

The spell shot cleanly through the narrow gap in the dungeon's iron bars and struck the red-cloaked vampire squarely in the neck. His head separated from his body in a single, clean motion, thudding to the stone floor as his lifeless body collapsed in a heap.

Only then did Phineas realize the cave where he'd been imprisoned was in fact a dungeon. In the dim light filtering through the passage, he finally noticed the concealed iron gate. Because the vampires had intended to move him, the gate had been left unlocked. Had it been sealed, even with an unlocking charm, he'd have been trapped. After all, magical prisons were warded against even the most skilled spellwork.

Cautiously stepping out, Phineas kept his wand raised and edged toward where the red-cloaked vampire had fallen. A tunnel stretched ahead, lit by wall-mounted braziers on either side.

Within the braziers danced a ghostly blue flame, flickering steadily despite the absence of any visible fuel source.

Phineas narrowed his eyes. Gubler Fairy Fire?

He'd only read of it before—legendary flames that required no fuel and burned eternally. Unlike Fiendfyre, which was volatile and dangerously hard to control, Gubler Fire remained stationary and completely obedient to its caster's intent. Rare and nearly impossible to conjure, it was the mark of extremely advanced magic. On the black market, it appeared only as a bounty reward—never as something sold casually.

If these truly were Gubler Flames lining the passage, it told him something important: these vampires weren't just powerful—they were also immensely wealthy. The kind of wealth most wizarding families only dreamed of. And in contrast, werewolves—also classified as dark creatures—lived in squalor, barely surviving.

The walls on either side of the corridor branched into more cave-like passages, similar to the one he'd come from. This entire place seemed like a massive underground prison.

Strangely, however, there were no guards.

No vampires in sight.

Were they truly so confident that no prisoner could escape? Or perhaps the term "prisoner" wasn't quite accurate...

Before Phineas could puzzle it out further, a new notification flashed across his system interface:

Mission Triggered: Escape from the Castle

"You were kidnapped and narrowly escaped from your cell, but this is only the beginning. With enemies all around and your survival uncertain, you realize you'll need help. Looking at the other cells, an idea strikes you—free the others.**

Mission Objective (Stage 1): Rescue those imprisoned by the vampires. Rewards will be issued after full mission completion.

Phineas frowned.

He had planned to leave as quickly and quietly as possible—find his original wand if he could, or at least locate a fireplace or safe Apparition point. Once beyond the restricted zone, he could Apparate straight back to Hogwarts. With Dumbledore still present, he doubted the castle would ever be invaded again.

That had seemed like the safest route.

But the mission changed everything.

System tasks always came with worthwhile rewards, and this one was worded clearly. Help others to help yourself. Without wasting time, Phineas turned down the closest tunnel.

It was damp and musty. The deeper he went, the more oppressive the smell became. A faint, sour stench hung in the air, but not strong enough to distract him—yet.

Down a short flight of stone stairs, he entered another corridor. Like before, braziers with flickering blue flames lined the walls. Their eerie glow allowed him to observe the area clearly.

Unlike the cells above, which were isolated, these were crowded. Each cell was packed with prisoners—mostly young women, all disheveled and filthy. Though grimy and gaunt, Phineas could tell many were near his age—perhaps recently graduated from magical schools.

The stench grew stronger here. Phineas soon discovered why.

Some of the women were dead.

Not from open wounds or trauma, nor starvation. Instead, their corpses were unnaturally shriveled—sunken, hollow, drained of every drop of blood. Like dried-out husks.

It was the work of vampires, of course. But it didn't make sense.

Why leave the corpses here? Vampires, though bloodthirsty, were typically refined and selective. They preferred clean, youthful blood—yet these prisoners were in squalor. Covered in filth. No vampire of status would lower themselves to feed like this.

Something wasn't right.

While Phineas pondered the implications, a sudden, agonizing cry shattered the silence. A scream—a woman's scream—echoed from one of the nearby cells.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Phineas turned sharply.

In that instant, he noticed how the women in the surrounding cells recoiled in fear—not from the scream, but from something in the walls and floor. Their eyes darted to seemingly empty spaces, as though something unseen was moving just beneath the surface—something that could strike at any moment.