The roads were dusty, the sky heavy with dark clouds. Azel and Clad moved quietly, trying not to draw attention. It had been a few days since their bizarre encounter with the drunkard Paladin, but now, their goal was set.
Their footsteps slowed as they entered the outskirts of the Vincent State. The atmosphere here was thick with tension. Azel stopped in his tracks as he noticed something plastered on a brick wall.
Wanted posters.
And not just any.
His face. His sketch. A pretty accurate one too. They got the cursed mark right and everything.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"They're not gonna leave me this easy."
Clad leaned over.
"Yeah, seems the artist's got talent. But hey—no mention of your girl, right?"
Azel narrowed his eyes and turned to walk away—but then froze. Right beside his own sketch was Anna. The sketch was beautifully drawn, down to the gentle curve of her cheek and the determined glint in her eyes. It was almost... flattering.
Azel scowled.
"They might have investigated in Gazi, the locals must've made this."
"Or maybe, she's just too pretty for people not to remember. I mean, she's like the kind of woman who makes the world stop, you know?"
Azel didn't reply, but his hand unconsciously reached toward his heart. Anna was safe in Ivnell for now. But the longer he stayed away, the more uneasy he became.
Clad noticed the shift in Azel's gaze and clapped him on the back.
"We're gonna kick Saint Heron's shiny holy ass, rebuild the world, and then you can live like a normal guy. With your demon wife. Sounds like a good plan, right?"
Azel managed a faint nod.
They walked the final stretch in silence, until the imposing silhouette of Nouvelle Prison came into view.
It was enormous—larger than any fortress Azel had seen. A 13-story monolith of steel and stone. The towers gleamed under the dying sun, surrounded by high walls topped with runic spikes. This wasn't a prison, it was hell.
And at the very top, on the thirteenth floor in cell number 13, was their target.
Mr. X.
"Getting in won't be simple."
Clad muttered.
"It's indeed to big of a challenge without a plan."
"Execution's scheduled for sometime this month. No exact date. They're probably waiting for the perfect public stage."
Azel's eyes stayed fixed on the tower.
"We need a plan."
Clad nods.
"We should observe first. We need to know everything—when guards switch, how the patrol works, what the prisoners eat, when they sleep."
Azel agreed. Staying hidden was vital. He couldn't afford to expose himself now, especially with posters of him and Anna plastered all over.
"I have a plan."
Clad says folding his arms. Azel glance at him in return.
"I have enhanced vision which allows me to see anything within 300m radius."
He shows his eye. It turned deep white.
"It's called All seeing eye. The eyes enhanced by my void art. Your girl might also know this."
"I have never seen her use it."
"That so? Anyway, lets get back to work."
Azel stayed in the shadows, watching Clad do what he did best. They were staying at the nearby inn which thankfully came in Clad's range.
And so they observed. Sometimes, doubts crept into Azel's thoughts. Was this really the path he was meant to take? Gathering criminals, forming a rebellion? But each time he thought of Anna he hardened.
He needed allies.
By the end of the week, Clad returned with a smug grin and a map drawn in charcoal and ash.
"I've got everything. Cell placements, guard numbers, patrol timings, even kitchen schedules."
He said proudly, spreading the crude blueprint.
"Good work."
Clad winked.
"I'm good at what I do."
The plan began to form.
Each floor of Nouvelle had its own dedicated kitchen staff, guards, and warden. The higher the floor, the more brutal the conditions. The 13th floor, where Mr. X was held, was nothing short of hell.
"Only one meal per day. A single rock-hard loaf of bread. Water more dirtier than fucking poo. No mercy. And guess who's in charge of the 13th?"
Clad said, tapping the top section of the map.
"Vincent family?"
"Bingo. Third son. Tom Vincent."
"He's a monster. They say the Vincent bloodline practices a special sword art. Tom's a prodigy."
"That's going to be a problem but if I were to go, I might handle him."
"No we must need plan. Also, the guards on the 13th are all ex-crusaders—ruthless and fanatical. The prisoners are worked to the bone, sent to mine all day, sleep at 1 AM, and get dragged up by 5."
Azel exhaled slowly.
"We'll have to break in fast. Get Mr. X before anyone notices."
"There are three ways we can do this. One: sneak in as vigilantes. Super risky. We'd have to scale the building or find a hidden entry. Two: infiltrate as kitchen staff. Safer, but getting to the 13th floor kitchen is hard—each floor has separate kitchens. Or three: guards."
Azel looked at him. "Guards?"
"They change guards every week. We time it right, forge the IDs, grab the uniforms, and we're in."
"It's risky either way."
"Sure. But if we go as guards, we might be able to get to cell 13 without raising too many alarms."
Azel stared at the massive prison again. The air around it almost buzzed with magical suppression fields and divine warding stones.
"If they find out who we are…"
"They won't. We're gonna do this right. You and me. One shot."
Azel thinks for a moment before sighing.
"I guess we should get to work."
Clad gave him a confident grin.
"Now you're talking."
As night settled over Vincent State, the two men stood in the shadows of a city built on lies, staring up at a tower that was almost unbreakable.