After a few meters of walking, they stepped into another cavern—and this time, darkness greeted them.

  There was almost no light here—only a few faint crystals fixed to the ceiling, flickering like dying embers. The walls were damp, coated in slime and mold. The air was thick, suffocating—a heavy mix of dampness, rot, the stench of corpses, and human waste. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, softened by years of moisture, in places turned to mud.

  And everywhere—cages. Haphazard, as if quantity mattered more than order. They were made of earth magic: jagged, torn bars of stone rose from floor to ceiling, forming prisons right within the cavern’s body. Some bars were so narrow they resembled blades—one wrong move and the rock would slice into skin.

  In each cage—humans, elves, beastfolk, and spirits. Dozens. Hundreds. And more in the darkness that even the dim magic light could not pierce. In one cage—only children. Emaciated, with sunken eyes, matted hair, and bruises on their frail bodies. Their legs were drawn up beneath them, their eyes empty, as though these small beings had long since said goodbye to the world.

  In the next—women. Many were wounded, with torn scraps of clothing, deep scars, or fresh injuries. Some held small children—tiny, barely alive. Eyes—empty. No surprise, no fear. Only apathy.

  The men were further back, in the largest cages. Emaciated, their faces stripped of individuality. They looked like animals long since broken. Some lay unmoving. From several cages came an unbearable stench—inside were the dead. Long dead. But no one had bothered to remove them.

  Around each neck was an iron collar. Deep indentations marked the skin, as though the metal had tightened under magical force. On some, blood ran down from the wounds.

  A few of the slaves slowly lifted their heads as Alex and the Jester passed. Their gaze carried no hope or fear. Only silent astonishment. As though their minds refused to believe someone could appear from the darkness bringing anything other than pain.

  And even then, those eyes remained empty. Empty like this whole place. Empty like what was left of their souls.

  Alex felt something bitter and burning rise in his throat. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to make a single move, not to let anything show. The bile he was barely holding back pressed against him stubbornly from within. Cold sweat coated his skin. The smell of rot, blood, and human despair seeped into his lungs, dissolving into every breath.

  "And I thought… that after ruined cities, mangled bodies, and death dogging my heels during the war, I’d never see worse. But this… This is worse."

  Scattered coughs, the rattle of chains, quiet sobbing—all blended into a ghastly symphony of human suffering. Alex forced himself not to look away.

  The Jester didn’t speak a word either. He only tilted his head slightly, silently taking in the scale of what he saw. Then he touched his ear lightly—there, a communication artifact gleamed, identical to the one recently given to Alex.

  "I’m in position," the Jester said dryly.

  Almost immediately, Heinrich’s calm voice sounded in his ear.

  "Understood. We’re ready."

  The Jester traced a magic circle on the ground a few centimeters away. Within seconds, several dozen men were standing on it. They wore dark robes and masks, their faces half-hidden. Heinrich stood among them—unmasked, but with a deep hood. His eyes met Alex’s—calm, cold. One short nod. Alex returned it in kind.

  Heinrich stepped closer to the Jester, stopping at his side.

  "My lord," he said, lowering his head, "what is he doing here?" His gaze flicked toward Alex.

  "He’s helping me," the Jester replied without the faintest trace of irony. "You can relax."

  "Understood," Heinrich answered curtly, stepping back slightly.

  From the group of men, six immediately stepped forward. They moved to different corners of the cavern, forming a perimeter. Their palms touched the stone floor. Only a few seconds passed before the ground began to tremble—not violently, but noticeably.

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  Then—a sharp sound.

  The stone cages in which the slaves had been sitting began to vanish. The bars beneath them drew back into the ground, one after another, slowly, as though the cavern itself was exhaling the centuries-old stench of slavery.

  But no one rushed to run.

  Some slaves looked around in bewilderment, others touched the stone floor in disbelief that it was smooth again. But most… simply sat there, unmoving. As though the cages had gone, but the chains in their minds remained.

  The Jester let out a heavy sigh.

  "Expected reaction," he muttered.

  He took a few steps forward. Several more men in robes followed him. All of them raised their hands, and dozens of fireballs shot into the air, hanging beneath the cavern’s ceiling. Now it was bright as day. Everything that had been hidden in darkness—every wound, every trace of beatings, every stain of blood—now lay before all eyes, stripped of concealment.

  The Jester stopped in the center and swept his gaze over the cavern. When he spoke, his voice rang out clear and loud.

  "I know how your eyes look at me. Not with hope. Not with faith. But with silent submission—as if everything has already been decided, as if life ended for you long ago."

  He paused for a moment, looking at those who had turned their faces toward him. Then he went on.

  "I have not come here as a messiah. I do not promise to make you happy. I cannot return to you those you have lost. I will not change the past."

  His voice grew quieter, but warmer—almost aching.

  "But I can give you one thing. A chance. One, single, but real chance to start with a clean slate. Without chains. Without cages. Without masters who called you property."

  The Jester briefly turned back, gesturing toward the men in robes.

  "These people will now transport you to a safe place. There will be food. Clothing. Beds. You will be given medical care. And most importantly—a choice in how you wish to continue your lives."

  He turned again to face the slaves. The fireballs flickered above, casting fiery reflections over his figure.

  "I know Lorenzo has turned your lives into hell. He wanted you to forget what it means to be free. But today everything changes. Today he will answer for it all. And not only I—this young man," he gestured toward Alex, "will also have a hand in it. Together, we will make him pay. For every tear. For every corpse. For every scar on your bodies and in your souls."

  The Jester paused. Then he walked forward slowly, speaking to the slaves again.

  "However, you may remain here. Die in the dark. No one will force you to go. But if you still have even a spark of will—stand. Go to those people. They will lead you out. Not into a fairy tale, no—but to a place where you will no longer be valued only as merchandise."

  His voice grew firm, decisive.

  "I give you the chance to be free and to live anew. Whether or not you take this chance—that is for you to decide."

  And with these words, he fell silent, letting the quiet reign in the cavern.

  The Jester slowly approached Heinrich, who stood apart, watching the process.

  "From here, you handle it," he said briefly.

  "My lord, you can count on me," Heinrich replied with a slight bow, showing not a trace of doubt.

  The Jester merely nodded and, turning, headed toward the exit of the slave cavern. As he drew level with Alex, he said shortly,

  "Let’s go."

  Alex cast one last look around the dark cavern, filled with the marks of suffering and death, lingering on the figures of people who had just been given a chance at life. His fingers clenched into a fist on their own. Then he turned sharply and quickly caught up with the Jester.

  Returning to the arena, both leapt up to the stands in a single bound. They did not linger there—the narrow corridor ahead was the final stage of their path to the duke. Without stopping, they broke into a run again, unleashing their magical auras once more, letting them surge outward in powerful waves—a warning to anyone still alive in these cursed dungeons.

  Within minutes, another group of bandits appeared. There were about forty of them, well armed but far too slow.

  "I’ll handle this," Alex said shortly, without slowing.

  On the move, he created a dark magic circle, and in the next instant a solid torrent of black darkness burst from it. Like a living whip, it lashed forward with a deep roar, sweeping through the enemy ranks. The bandits didn’t even have time to cry out—their bodies simply evaporated under the assault of pure destructive power. Not a scrap, not a drop of blood remained—only scorched stone beneath their feet.

  "No magical aura in the nearest tunnels," the Jester remarked, glancing around.

  "Good," Alex replied, quickening his pace again.

  A few more minutes of running, and before them loomed massive doors of dark stone.

  "Well," the Jester drawled, peering at them intently, "looks like our favorite duke is hiding behind these."

  He cast a glance at Alex.

  "Ready?"

  "Yes," Alex answered curtly.

  The Jester nodded and stepped up to the doors, pressing both hands against them before trying to push. The stone gate didn’t budge. He strained again—same result. Alex, standing slightly behind, sent a few projectiles of darkness at the doors. They barely touched the surface before dissipating into nothing.

  The Jester smirked crookedly.

  "I wonder how many mages Lorenzo had to buy to enchant these doors so well that even your attacks couldn’t break through."

  "Those were weak shots," Alex replied, "just to check if the doors were enchanted."

  "Ahhh," the Jester said, clenching his fist. "Got it now."

  A familiar vicious grin spread over his face.

  "So, how dramatic do you want our entrance to be?"

  "As much as possible," Alex replied, clenching his fist too and gathering dark mana into it.

  "Then… on the count of three," the Jester whispered, stepping back and drawing his arm behind him. "One," he said, taking a deep breath.

  "Two…" Alex felt his heart beat a little faster.

  "Three!"

  The two lunged forward in perfect sync and struck the doors with immense force.