C15 CHAPTER15

Seymour was a diminutive man with eyes that radiated wisdom. Devon observed him with satisfaction, noting that he appeared remarkably well for someone who had endured a prolonged confinement in the dungeon.

"I see you've settled in quite comfortably," he remarked.

"Do I really have any other option?" Seymour retorted, his face twisted into a sneer.

Devon exhaled a quiet sigh. He was acutely aware of Seymour's bitterness towards him for the imprisonment. Seymour seemed incapable of recognizing that, if not for Devon's mercy, he and the other humans would likely be dead.

"I've come to discuss a matter with you—your freedom. I require something from you, and in exchange, I'm prepared to grant you the liberty you so desire," Devon proposed, reaching his hand into Seymour's cell to offer a handshake.

With a sudden ferocity, Seymour lunged at Devon's hand, seizing it with a vice-like grip, as if attempting to wrench it from its socket. Devon, taken aback, struggled to free his hand, to no avail.

"Release me!" Devon demanded.

"Never!" Seymour shot back.

In an instant, Seymour's grip faltered, and he collapsed to the floor. Devon, still reeling from the encounter, was astonished to find Hector materializing in the cell, having struck Seymour with a formidable blow.

"My apologies, Master," Hector intoned, genuflecting.

"How... How did you get here? I understand you appeared, but how did you know to find me?" Devon inquired, massaging his arm, which had been thoroughly abused by Seymour's assault.

"I perceived you were in peril and was transported here by magic, Master," Hector explained, remaining on bended knee.

"I see. I understand," Devon replied, though he knew it would take time to adjust to the presence of his guardian—more accurately, his guardian zombie.

As Seymour stirred, Hector readied himself to strike again, but Devon intervened. "Stop! Are you trying to kill him?" he protested.

"I am deeply sorry, Master," Hector replied, a hint of smugness on his face.

"Don't you have other responsibilities?" Devon asked, his patience wearing thin.

"My sole duty is to serve you, Master," Hector affirmed.

"Very well. I need you to leave me be for now. In fact, do not reappear unless I summon you. Is that clear?" Devon instructed.

"Yes, Master," Hector responded and vanished without a trace.

Devon let out a weary sigh. He hadn't intended for any of this to unfold and knew he needed to return to the Palace before his father learned of his absence and initiated a search. Realizing Seymour wouldn't regain his speech for several more hours, Devon resolved to head home and return the following day.

Navigating the corridor of cells on his way out of the dungeon, he was halted by a call from one of the prisoners.

"Third Prince!" a voice rang out.

Turning toward the source, Devon approached the cell and found himself looking into the deep, expressive eyes of a woman. Her gaze fixed on him, lips parted slightly in surprise.

"Hi," Devon greeted simply.

"Third Prince, my respects," she said with a bold certainty. "I'm quite taken aback to see you here. Surely, you haven't come to mock our plight."

"You're correct. Mockery is the last thing on my mind," Devon replied, studying her intently. "What's your name?"

"Sarah. Sarah, Third Prince," she responded. "And what brings you to this grim place, if I may ask?"

A wave of relief washed over Devon, knowing someone took an interest in his situation. Perhaps he could confide in Sarah after all.

"I'm here to talk about your future," Devon murmured, leaning in closer to the bars of Sarah's cell, signaling the confidential nature of his words.

"Our future?" Sarah's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm short on time, so I'll be as clear as crystal: I'm devising a plan to free you and everyone else from this dungeon," Devon confided in a hushed tone.

Sarah's eyes grew wide, nearly bulging with astonishment. "You can't be serious?" she gasped.

"I'm dead serious. I intend to liberate you all from the Devil's Capital," Devon assured her with a stern frown.

"Master, your words astonish me," Sarah cautioned. "But be wary—the Capital is rife with deceitful souls eager to betray you for your father's favor. Please, take care."

Devon let out a soft sigh. Even Sarah was aware of the tricky nature of the devils under his command. It was quite ironic how the devils viewed humans as the bad guys, and the feeling was mutual. It seemed as though there were no truly good people in either realm.

"I'm fully aware of the risks involved, but I'm committed to setting you all free. There's just one condition," Devon declared, locking eyes with Sarah.

"And what might that condition be, Third Prince Devon?" Sarah inquired, her gaze wary.

"I need your assistance," Devon replied briskly.

"What exactly do you need my help with?" Sarah pressed.

"I'm planning to leave the Devil Capital," Devon revealed, not skipping a beat. His resolve made it clear he had given this considerable thought.

Sarah inhaled sharply, taken aback. "W...why would you want to leave, Third Prince?" she stammered.

"Are you familiar with the war of expansion?" Devon probed.

"Yes, I am... it's looming on the horizon," Sarah confirmed.

"That's just it. I may not be a Devil with formidable military prowess, but I'm still responsible for safeguarding my territory. If I don't, it'll fall during the war. I need to figure out a way to flee this accursed Capital before the conflict erupts," Devon elaborated.

"And if you fail to escape?" Sarah questioned.

Devon held her gaze steadily. "Then I die."