He'd be terribly disappointed if the 'boss' of such a moderately sized (though mediocrely armed) organization lived in such squalor. 

...This was, of course, discounting the fact that they were based in Silva's underground sewer system. 

Tycon considered himself a proper adventurer. As such, he felt obligated... within reason, to search each room he came across for spoils. 

He had made excellent time thus far, slaughtering the members of House Galanis with sword, fang, and acid-spewing shadow. The task remained simple, as he'd only encountered Bronze-Rankers and below. He surmised a majority of House Galanis' Iron-Rankers had died by the front gates of the Vanzano estate. 

From merchant social circles to n.o.ble ones, House Vanzano's name was... not well respected, bordering on bad luck to speak of. Further, they were financially indebted to multiple factions, including House Galanis and the Banker's Guild. 

The attack wasn't for reputation... nor was it for coin. Such a powerful force of Iron and Bronze-Rankers could topple the city guard... as well as threaten any n.o.ble house, save the precious few with a Gold-Rank in their employ. 

What was House Galanis' real reason for their interest in House Vanzano? 

Tycon fiddled with the door's heavy latch and swung the rotten door wide open, allowing dim light to spill into the otherwise blackened room. 

He narrowed his eyes at what he saw inside... suspended cages containing nude women, most of them deceased. A few bells earlier, a Church Inquisitor mentioned he had... toys in cultivation. 

He had wrongly a.s.sumed the old degenerate was referring to drugs and depraved s.e.x acts. The captives held within the cages were starved, physically tortured, and killed as if they were simple beasts.

What was the point? With the former, a human could derive physical pleasure. For the latter... it just seemed wasteful. 

With his sharpened vision, Tycon saw movement from a brunette and a blonde, both within the first of two cages. The brunette's hand twitched. She was alive, if barely. The movement of the blonde was from the undulating flesh of one of her cheeks-- maggots, likely. Bloated body, thrumming skin, flies buzzing about... Tycon hoped that one was dead. 

Walking into the room, Tycon struck the second cage with the flat of a stolen longsword. Even with the loud, sudden clang, there was no movement. 

"Well, no point tarrying here," Tycon shrugged, turning back towards the door. 

"W... wait..." A weakened voice whispered. 

Tycon hesitated. The voice sounded... familiar. Odd. He was fairly certain he hadn't made any 'friends' in Silva. 

He approached the first cage, "Good evening. You appear to still be alive-- for now. Congratulations."

"Are..... rescue?" The girl mumbled. 

Tycon had been trying to improve his ability to understand implied questions. Logically, the caged girl was asking if she was being rescued. 

Scrutinizing the malnourished, dehydrated, and s.h.i.+vering girl's form, Tycon recognized her. It was the young woman he had stabbed in the bicep a week or so prior-- the smart one. Scar tissue from her healed injury still remained. 

It was but one of the many signs of abuse on the woman's naked body... lashes upon her back and b.r.e.a.s.t.s, self-inflicted cuts on her inner forearms, a vertical line across her entire abdomen. He recalled back then, she was sharply dressed in long-sleeves and trousers... the better to hide her scars. 

With her condition, Tycon judged she wouldn't live much longer... not unless her deity provided her with some sort of miracle. 

Hah. A shame. 

"No. I'm not here to rescue you, young lady." Tycon smiled politely, "But if it makes you feel any better, I'm technically... avenging you? I hope that's alright."

A small, relieved smile appeared on the woman's lips... then her eyes closed, never to open again. 

Tycon took a deep breath and nodded. That worked out. He spun on his heel to leave once more, proud to have sent off the young woman in peace. 

...The girl's pathetic coughing halted his movement. 

She wasn't dead. 

Tycon narrowed his eyes, grimacing. He was staring at a keyring on the wall adjacent to the door. Security-wise, it was a very poor place to put the cage keys. 

It annoyed him. He wanted nothing to do with the girl. There was no benefit to it... But it would cost him minimal effort and only several seconds to do so. 

Taking the keys, he opened the cage. Utilizing his upper body strength, he removed the weakened woman, holding her in a princess-carry. At least she would die free. 

The woman pressed her forehead against Tycon's shoulder, the scent of her unwashed shoulder-length hair slightly unpleasant. 

"K... kill me..." She begged. 

Tycon slightly wished she'd asked that before he'd spent the several seconds in recovering her It would have taken less time to stab her in the eye. 

"Alright, just... give me a moment...." As weak as the woman was... if Tycon just dropped her, she'd probably die with her head's impact upon the stones. He began to scan the floor below, searching for a particularly jagged rock. 

"Those eyes.... It's... you." She whispered, reaching a frail hand out to brush against his cheek. "I've... I've repented..... All this time... I've repented....." 

"Oh..." Tycon hesitated. Her pitiable words made his chest tighten, "Well... good for you."

"Your... your name..... ss...savior?..."

"Hah. Forgive me. I'm not going to tell you." Tycon smirked, "You're going to die soon and people could be listening."

She coughed weakly into the fabric of his bloodied cloak. Tycon decided not to mind it. It wasn't his. 

"My name... is.... Doe."

Tycon chuckled, "Like a deer? A female deer?"

The woman had enough liveliness to pout at Tycon's teasing, "It's short..... for Medousa..."

...Oh, was it? 

"Medousa, then... as in 'Guardian' or 'Protector' in the Ancient Tongue?" Tycon pursed his lips... "Hm. It's a beautiful name."

The woman remained silent. Did she die? 

Tycon placed the woman down gently outside of the prison cell, closing the heavy door to somewhat allay the stench. He checked the woman's pulse. She lived. 

Doe was a resilient young lady. 

Tycon removed his thick, (stolen) cloak and placed it upon the s.h.i.+vering woman. It amused him slightly that the thin layer of blood would provide additional guard from the dank, chilly environment. He tilted her head back and poured a sliver of water from his canteen down her throat. She awoke, choking and coughing. 

"Wh... what.... the h.e.l.ls...." Doe complained. She blinked tears out of her eyes, adapting from utter darkness to dim torchlight. 

"Tss..." Tycon scoffed, grinning, "I've decided to grant you a miracle. Make your choice. Do you truly wish to die here?"

⟬ Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭

« Go ahead. »

⟬ Inspirational Surge..... Activating. ⟭

...

Tycon left his canteen and a bit of jerky with the young woman. He instructed her to only take small sips and to suckle on the rations. Victims with her condition had to slow their intake dramatically, in order to avoid vomiting. 

He found another door-- this one, different from all the others. A metal sculpture of a snake was built into the door at about eye level. It was probably designed to be intimidating. Tycon thought it looked... cute. 

His System informed him the door had a mechanical trap... That was interesting. When he stood adjacent to the door, the metal snake began to hiss, emitting a translucent gas. 

First-Circle Poison. 

Tycon took a deep breath, appreciating the thought and engineering expertise of the device. It was a very handsome snake, too. It made him want to hire a sculptor to capture his likeness... not that he had any permanent home where he could display it... nor was he willing to spend such coin on the frivolity. 

The thought was nice, though. 

He charged mana into his leg and kicked at the door near its lever mechanism. It broke off its hinges... which revealed that the door wasn't as impressive as he'd initially thought. Maybe it wasn't the 'boss' room? 

"Good evening!" Tycon strode into the room. He smiled, making eye contact with the single fellow inside. He approached him, lazily flipping his short sword, "I'm looking for the head of House Galanis! Would you happen to know where he or she is?"

"That'd be me, tough guy."

A sharp-eyed human stood with his two hands splayed onto his desk. The bandit leader had short, dark, curly hair, a bit of white sprinkled throughout. His clothes were... pa.s.sable as a n.o.ble, though his hair was oily and his weak chin was rough and unshaven. 

⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Warlock. ⟭

There was a surprising lack of fear on his face. It was likely he couldn't sense the rank difference between them. 

...Or maybe he had a bit of self-respect? 

Tycon approached the table, standing eye to eye with the gentleman. 

"Let's cut a deal, guy," A sleazy grin was plastered across the Warlock's face. He spoke, gesturing with one hand, "I know what you're 'ere for --and I'm sure we's can come to some kinda arrangement."

Did he mean that? No... Tycon doubted it. Every human lies.