Chapter 20: 20

Suddenly, the sound of grinding teeth was drowned out by the sound of urgent footsteps. Clark left the meeting room and climbed the stairs as fast as he could. And when he finally came out through the first basement floor, what he saw was literally hell.

“Ha-ha-ha… Shit. Fucking traitorous bastard…”

Laughter mixed with sighs ran through his teeth as if he had lost his mind.

Clark Hughes was a man who had seen others die many times. It was not uncommon in the life of a knight, and above all, he had the experience of participating in the war to stop the rebels of the Grand Duke. In his own way, regardless of where he came from, he made his name among the best with only his skills. He couldn’t even remember how many enemies he had slashed to prove his skill.

So Clark had the confidence to stand firm no matter how nasty the scene in front of him was. At least, he thought so, until he faced the horrors before his eyes.

The remains of the Molotov Cocktail (firebomb) that Calix Hamel, a traitor, used when he attacked the imperial castle were rolling around on the floor. In a space full of things that did not burn, a flame that rose in the middle was seen losing momentum and extinguishing… No, wasn’t it?

Clark found that the spilled liquid was burning quite ‘stickily’ for a simple oil or alcohol. He gritted his teeth after being reminded of the possibility that the contents contained sugar only after several tens of seconds had passed. Because sugar caramelizes, when you set fire to a building or animal, it sticks to it and does not go out, doubling its durability. Cocktails of this kind were often prepared for a specific purpose.

“Ah…aaaaaa!!”

“Water!! Where’s the water, damn it!!”

A scream proved that he was right.

Firebomb. It’s an improvised bomb that fills a bottle with a flammable liquid and throws it with a wick. Considering the simple manufacturing method and simple materials, there is no firearm more suitable for use in prisons where materials are limited.

However, the problem was that this was only a story when it was made ‘well’. An inflammable substance that was roughly poured without gloves or a stand remained on the surface of the bottle and when it caught fire, it burned the person holding it first.

In some cases, the lid did not close, resulting in a catastrophic spill of its contents on people. The sight of melting flames swallowing people was a shocking scene even for Clark, who had experienced many wars.

“Crazy bastard.”

He spit out a curse. The war had its own purpose, its own honor to uphold, but this one-sided terror, well…

“Now, since you tortured me, of course, I would agree, but the bastard who started the fire first, it wasn’t me.”

Before he knew it, Calix, who came out of the stairs with him, sneered at him with a traitor’s face. He shrugged his shoulders to the head of the prison, who was trying to grasp the situation and at the same time giving instructions.

Clark couldn’t even afford to protest his attitude, because he didn’t know what was coming from where, let alone the people who were burned alive in front of him.

“Oh… Wait a minute”

The explosion he heard earlier must have been…

Bang-!

At the same time as the monologue, something large and bulky exploded. Clark looked back, eyes filled with fear. He could see Calix Hamel moving his lips with a relaxed expression.

“Throw the rest.”, he ordered.

From somewhere in the prison annex, continuous bursts and explosions were heard alternating. It was only then that Clark realized that the identity of the sound came from the laundry collection box, where the work clothes of prisoners returning from the workhouse were piled up.

“Run.”

Clark trembled with fear and pursed his lips, then let out a loud roar.

“Go to the annex now, we need to draw water!”

At the same time as he spoke, several buckets of washing water exploded with a roar. The flames soared. Pieces of clothing smeared with coal dust loomed through the flames, which had grown so large that it was difficult to approach. Calix stretched the corners of his mouth into a smile.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no water.”

“Calix-!”

“I wonder if you should also check the fountain. You’ll have to run fast to get even the underground water. You’ll have to figure out where those guys who are burning alive over there are trying to throw Molotov cocktails.”

“At the time of the treason, they should have made an immediate decision. Damn it.”

“Well, even if your boss dies, he won’t be able to get rid of me. My beloved told me to repent while crying.”

It was a misjudgment. They lost because they gave him too much time.

Calix muttered bloodily. Because he found the meaning of life a little late. Then he smiled again and said, well, anyway. It was terrifying to see him speak.

Clarke struggled to accept that this demonic man was playing with them. The conviction that the advice he gave playfully was not false came from the fact that Clark himself was still reacting quite ‘fun’. The general manager had an obligation to resolve this case, which was certain to return to his own negligence.

He turned his head. Still, somewhere, someone was throwing a poorly made Molotov cocktail. A liquid with dye or oil added lasts much longer than simple alcohol. In fact, the Molotov cocktail, albeit clumsily thrown, rose greatly without getting tired.

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And this newly appointed general manager remembered the only facility made of combustible materials.

“It’s ridiculous.”

Stables! And at the end was a convoy wagon made clumsy to bring in the sinner.

“I told you, look in the right direction.”

He felt it, this cunning prisoner simply wasn’t going to break out on his own. Clark gritted his teeth, searched his memory, recalled the nearest water source, and ordered water to be fetched. At the same time, he had to think about how many prisoners could escape from prison in this situation, but when the thought led to that point, he realized one thing.

“…from the beginning?”

He barely uttered a single word in a trembling tone.

The wagons used for escorts were also operated to ride injured prisoners in the labor field. And the place one had to pass through to access it from the workhouse was the temporary shelter of the supervisors.

“I mistook him for someone else, but who would have thought he’d put something like that there?”

Calix laughed. Clarke was silent beneath him with a stunned face. The terrorist in front of him made a quivering sound, not caring. It smelled like fire from the ridicule mixed with madness.

Clarke was devastated.

“I know, you shouldn’t give too much reward. I’m going to die soon, so there’s nothing I won’t give you.”

Calix seemed to be laughing even more and was exhausted as he continued talking to himself as if humming, with only a subtle smile on his face. Then, as if he was trying to pretend to be kind, his lips twitching seemed innocent enough to look shallow.

“Oh my God, you can’t be that naive. Aside from pouring alcohol as you ask, there’s no law saying that a Molotov will always be in the shape of a wick. Didn’t you even think there would be some kind of bomb that explodes when you open the lid?”

Stupid. The prisoner he misidentified would not have escaped from prison already. If he went out, he would be blamed for opening the bottle for the first time and dying.

‘Well. He didn’t kill me, so it doesn’t matter anyway.’

He smiled contentedly. The lack of morality produced a bright smile that did not suit the man’s face.

“Why?”

No more screaming was heard. The fire that rises from the liquid that had not yet burned was just blowing its tongue over the body that was already becoming ashes as if it were trying to catch the eye.

Clark asked, shuddering at the horror. Calix did not give an answer. But he just muttered, “Thirty people must have left by now.”

When we got to the side of the stable in question, the devastation reached its climax. The wagons escorting the prisoners, the horses pulling them, and even the stables to which they were tied were set on fire and burning. In the distance, guards shouted as they carried water.

Only then did everyone properly grasp the situation. There, there were no more ‘living’ prisoners left.

Clark looked up at the sky. Calix was walking towards the entrance with a leisurely gait. Was it like this during treason? How many people died then thanks to the Molotov cocktail?

‘If you think about it…’

Why didn’t the prince dispose of him immediately? The Grand Duke was still alive and well.

He closed his eyes, wishing it was all a nightmare and a delusion. Calix’s cool voice was faintly heard, along with an unpleasant odor.

“Tell the crown prince. I can repeat this as many times as I want.”

Calix blinked slowly as he left the prison. His obsessive-clouded eyes wavered, and then he called out a person’s name in a very small voice.

Margaret Eilish. He repeated it over and over again and looked up. He thought it would be enough to turn off the lights.

As if something melted inside of him.

“You’ll have to pay for what you’ve released.”

The prisoners who had come beforehand cheered at that one sentence. The guild members of Glaciers and the traitor’s entourage each packed up the items they had decided to take and scattered as if they had a set task to do.

Calix even confirmed that some of them were running to put out the fire along with civilians and knights, and then closed his eyes with an expression that it was all over. Clarke was too busy looking at the demon to look behind him properly.

Shadows heading to Alcatraz holding something between some people busy moving to extinguish the fire. The prison guard tower made a noise.

‘Sooner or later, more knights will come.’

Clark pondered over what Calix had said. He said he could repeat it any number of times. It was clear what it meant.

He picked up his sword.

On that day, on a sunny Monday before the execution of the Grand Duke, five attempted escapees from Sinalore who had gone out to work died, and a total of thirty-nine people, including the former Grand Duke, escaped from prison.

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