Royal Bastard's Bloodstained Regression-Chapter 86: In The Barrack’s

Silence followed. William covered his face, trembling beside Daemon.

"Keep moving," Timothy ordered.

They marched again, eventually arriving at a massive structure in the center of the island. It was carved into the base of the tortoise-shaped rock, walls made from dark obsidian stone, laced with glowing enchantments. Spires jutted from the top like spears. The air grew colder.

Daemon glanced around—guards were stationed every few meters. Barrier runes pulsed faintly underfoot. Even without chains, no one could escape this place easily.

This was more than a prison. It was a fortress built to hold criminals .

As the heavy gates groaned open, the group was ushered inside the facility. The air turned thick—hot and metallic, laced with the scent of sweat, blood, and stone dust.

Inside, the building was divided into massive sections. Through rusted iron bars and open archways, Daemon caught glimpses of the prisoners already at work—dozens of them, hunched over, smashing massive chunks of rock with crude tools. Their uniforms were stained with dirt and dried blood. Chains clinked with every movement.

The deeper they went, the louder the sound of mining grew—metal on stone, groans of pain, barking orders.

"Keep moving!" barked a guard behind them, shoving a prisoner forward.

Timothy walked ahead with a calm, almost bored expression, hands behind his back. He turned his head slightly. "These men you see mining? Lifers. Some of them have been here ten years. Others? One week left before their bodies gave out."

William gulped.

Timothy smiled. "Consider this your future. Unless, of course, you try something stupid. Then we speed up the process."

They reached a lower hallway, lit with dim, flickering crystals embedded in the walls. Rows of thick iron-barred cells lined both sides.

"This block's for new blood," Timothy said, halting in front of a door. "You'll be processed here. Two per cell."

The guards began unlocking the cells and throwing the prisoners in one by one. When they got to Daemon and William, the guard hesitated.

"This kid goes with him?" he asked.

Timothy shrugged. "Why not? Let the criminal babysit."

Daemon raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he stepped into the cell. William followed quickly, keeping close.

The door slammed shut behind them with a loud clang.

Daemon sat on the lower bunk, scanning the cell. It was bare—stone walls, a small water basin, and two bunks with torn bedding. No windows.

William sat on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest.

"I... I hate this place already," he whispered.

Daemon leaned back against the wall. "Get used to it fast. Weakness gets eaten here."

"You think we'll really be working in the mines tomorrow?"

"Definitely." Daemon's red eyes glinted in the dim light. "And if we're lucky, we'll find what I came here for."

William blinked. "You mean... you want to be here?"

Daemon just smiled to himself.

Elsewhere, on the upper floors of the fortress...

Nyxtriel stood still, arms behind her back, blending in with the row of new recruits awaiting assignment. The heavy boots, stiff uniform, and iron badge on her chest all felt wrong. She loathed the feeling—tight, restricted, and above all, human. But for Daemon's plan to work, she had to stay in character.

A stern voice broke the silence.

"You," said the female recruit with chestnut hair and sharp green eyes. It was the same woman who had been eyeing Nyxtriel with suspicion since the docks. "You were late during roll call. And no one remembers you from training. Where exactly did you say you transferred from?"

Nyxtriel didn't blink. She tilted her head slightly, giving the woman a cool smile. "Eastern post. Border camp. I was reassigned here two days ago. You think I wanted to leave guard duty in the mountains for babysitting criminals?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. "There is no official 'Eastern post' near the border anymore. It was dissolved six months ago."

Nyxtriel sighed dramatically, stepping closer so her voice dropped to a whisper. "Exactly. Dissolved because of that mess with the rogue fire mage. We weren't supposed to talk about it,sealed orders. But sure, go ahead and report it. I'd love to explain myself to the captain again. Maybe he'll reassign me... right out of this hellhole."

The woman hesitated.

Nyxtriel smirked inwardly. Humans fold fast when you speak with just enough truth to make the lie believable.

"Hmph Fine," the woman muttered. "But I've got my eye on you."

"Same," Nyxtriel said sweetly, her smile not reaching her eyes.

Later, in the barracks...

Nyxtriel sat at the edge of her cot, polishing her blade—not out of necessity, but habit. A few of the recruits joked, others slept, but she kept to herself, alert.

She already knew her assignment for the next day: escort duty. She would be overseeing the new prisoners during their first mining shift—Daemon included. She hadn't been able to speak to him since arrival, but she caught his eye briefly during the lineup. That was enough.

She ran her finger along the blade's edge, whispering in her mind, Just a little longer, my lord. Then we find what we came for.