Oath of the King-Chapter 15: An expected Betrayal

As the night stretched on, footsteps echoed outside the inn, heavy and purposeful. The village chief and a group of men approached the door, their faces grim and determined. Torches flickered in their hands, casting long shadows on the dusty ground.

"Surround the building," the chief ordered in a low voice. "We'll take him quietly. Can't let the townsfolk know just yet."

Leonhard, oblivious to the danger creeping closer, finally let sleep claim him. Martha stayed awake, her instincts telling her that something wasn't right. She listened to the muffled voices outside, her heart pounding.

A single thought crossed her mind as she gripped the dagger hidden in her belt.

"We shouldn't have trusted that old man."

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Suddenly, a gas began to fill the room. "No, no, that's sleeping gas," Martha thought as she fought to resist it. She crawled across the floor, struggling to wake her son. "L...Leon...Leonhard..." she whispered weakly before drifting into unconsciousness.

The assailants entered the room, wearing masks. One of them said, "Take the woman to the slave merchant. She looks nice and may fetch us a good sum." Two of the men dragged Martha outside while the others began chaining Leonhard with star stone— the only material that could suppress a magic user's power.

A few hours later, Leonhard was jolted awake by a sudden splash of cold water. His body shivered as he scanned the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. There were four men in the room. One had curly black hair, an eye patch, and a skinny frame. Another was a broad-shouldered old man with silver hair, holding torturing tools. A third was a tall, handsome man with red hair, golden armor, and a gleaming blue sword. And then there was the old man who had betrayed them.

Leonhard's heart burned with fury as he realized the truth. "You! We believed in you! Why did you betray us?!"

The old man smirked. "You and your mom were just too naïve. You decided to trust a stranger, hoping it would teach you a lesson, kid."

The men began their brutal interrogation, their hands rough and cold as they grabbed Leonhard by the shoulders, forcing him to look up. One of them, the man with the eye patch, leaned in close, his breath rancid and heavy.

"Do you know him?" the man hissed. "Hexrend. We know you do. You have the same energy, the same power."

Leonhard's head throbbed, the weight of the chains on his arms dragging him down, but he refused to show weakness. His body trembled from the cold, his muscles sore, but he clenched his teeth and fought to stay conscious.

"I don't know who that is," Leonhard croaked, his voice hoarse and weak. His chest burned from the bruises already forming from the brutal chains, but the men just laughed in response.

The broad-shouldered man with silver hair sneered and stepped forward, holding a jagged, rusted knife in his hand. "We know you're lying. You think you can hide it? We feel the magic in you, boy. And we're going to make you talk."

With no more warning, he plunged the knife deep into Leonhard's side. Leonhard's scream echoed through the cold room, and the sharp pain sent a shock through his whole body. The world blurred for a moment, the room spinning as his body tried to process the agony.

"Tell us where Hexrend is!" the man yelled. But Leonhard couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything except the excruciating pain coursing through him.

He gasped, blood dripping from his wound as he clenched his fists. "I don't know him!" he shouted through gritted teeth, his voice cracking.

But they didn't care.

The man with the curly black hair, the one with the eye patch, grabbed a handful of Leonhard's hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat. Leonhard gasped, his breath coming in shallow, painful breaths as the men continued their torment.

"Lying won't save you," the man sneered, before slashing the air with a thin, razor-sharp blade, slicing across Leonhard's chest. Leonhard cried out, feeling the cold steel tear into his skin. The blood poured from his wounds, pooling on the stone floor beneath him, and his legs shook from the agony.

"Hexrend will be pleased," another man murmured, his voice cold and cruel. The man with the red hair and golden armor stepped forward, holding up a small, ornate mask. The mask was made of dark iron, with intricate markings, but Leonhard couldn't recognize the face it belonged to.

His vision swam with pain as he tried to focus on the mask. It seemed so familiar, yet he couldn't place it. His mind was a haze of agony, and the world around him felt like a distant nightmare.

"What do you know of Hexrend?" the man asked again, his eyes hard and unforgiving. Leonhard could feel the pressure of the mask, as if it were about to crush him under its weight.

"I don't know him!" Leonhard screamed, blood trickling down his lips. His voice was raw, broken. "I swear! I don't know!"

The men didn't stop. The man with the red hair, his hand steady and cold, lifted his sword. The blade gleamed in the dim light, and he swung it down in one brutal motion, cutting deep into Leonhard's shoulder. Another scream tore from his throat as the metal sank into his flesh. His body convulsed, and for a moment, everything went black.

He woke to the sound of the men taunting him, laughing at his suffering, mocking his pain. But he could barely hear them over the ringing in his ears and the blood rushing in his head. His skin was torn, raw, and bloody. His heart pounded, and his breath came in ragged, painful gasps.

"Hexrend is nothing to you, boy. You'll tell us what we want to know," the old man, who had once seemed so kind, said with a sickening smile. He stood over Leonhard, watching him writhe in pain. "You're just a tool, a weapon to be used. Tell us what we want to know, and maybe we'll stop."

But Leonhard's mind was fading, the pain swallowing him whole. His thoughts grew fuzzy as he desperately tried to stay conscious, but the world was slipping away. His body screamed, begging for relief, but all he could do was hold onto the last shred of hope that somehow, somewhere, someone would save him.