Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 108  Forgotten son(1)

Tiberius pov:

The straw on the floor stank of urine. There was no window, no bed, just a bucket to shit and pee in. He remembered the white floor and wall of his room , the beautiful scenery outside his window.The only thing he could now only sightsee was the shape of his feces, which was also his only entertainment . Once the door had slammed shut, he had seen no more. The dark was absolute. He had as well been blind.He begged days and nights to the men outside the dungeons for a small candle.The first hours he believed they could not hear him.Then finally they maybe took pity as he was given one .

That was two days ago, or so he believed he had no way of knowing apart from when he go to sleep and then wake up , not that it was a reliable way of telling the hour. The glob he was given to eat was hard bread and a soup that was more dirty water than soup.

He was the son of the emperor , illegitimate as he was , still he had eagle blood in him. Has he done anything to deserve this?He knew that mattered little , his very own existence was a slight to the empress and she lost no time immediately after she got power , to sweep that little trouble away from her sight. He could not think of any other reason

 The dark silence pressed down like a weight on his chest. He was isolated in every sense of the word, not just from the world, but from hope, from his own sense of worth.

The candle had almost burned itself down. He watched the tiny flame eat away at the last of the wax, its flickering light barely illuminating the edges of his small world. He liked to think the candle was his life—a dim spark that would go out when the wax was finally gone. He even hoped for it. When it ended, perhaps his suffering would end too.

He made plans to keep himself sane, and built castles of hope in the dark, destined to fall .

Tiberius was half-asleep when the footsteps came down the hall. At first he thought he dreamt them; it had been long since he had heard anything but the sound of his own voice. When the heavy wooden door creaked open, the sudden light was painful to his eyes.

The jailer thrust a jug at him. He grasped it with both hands and gulped . Water ran from his mouth and dripped down through his chin. He drank until he thought he would be sick or that he would die , apart from the dirty soup this was the first drink he had .

"Can I . . . ?" he asked weakly when he could drink no more.

The man was a scarecrow of a man with a rat's face and frayed beard, clad in a mail shirt and a leather half cape. "No talking," he said as he wrenched the jug from Tiberius's hands.

'And there goes my talking companion' he thought meekly, smiling not to cry

Tiberius barely registered the door swinging shut, the familiar heavy thud reverberating through the cold, stone walls of his prison. But just before the door fully sealed him in again, another sound caught his ear—a softer, unexpected noise. The dull thud of something falling to the ground.

He raised his head slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light still flickering from the dying candle. His breath hitched in his throat as two figures slipped through the doorway, moving quickly and quietly. They weren't jailers, that much was clear, as usually they tended to walk making a lot of sound.Those two instead seemed to be walking on pillows as not a soud was heard.

Tiberius froze, heart pounding as the figures entered, closing the door behind them with a muted creak. One of them crouched down beside the fallen jailer. For a moment, Tiberius thought they might be there to finish him off. But instead, the figure gently set a bottle of some kind beside the unconscious man. The jailer was still breathing—his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. He was alive, just...not awake.

The second figure's glance lingered briefly on Tiberius before returning to the task at hand. In the dim light, Tiberius's mind raced, flooded with possibilities. Were they here to kill him? Did the Empress Mother send them to finish the job? But even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. If the Empress Mother wanted him dead, she wouldn't resort to such secrecy. No, her style would be far more direct—a public execution, swift and final. A single decree, and his head would roll. All this effort to sneak into his cell and drug the guard—it didn't fit.

Tiberius watched the two figures carefully, his breath shallow. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, but his instincts told him they weren't here to kill him.

"W-who are you?" he managed to ask, his voice dry and cracked from days of neglect. The words felt useless the moment they left his lips, as neither of the figures so much as glanced his way. His voice was small, swallowed up by the cold stone walls of the cell.

Without warning, the first figure turned to the other, his voice low but firm. "Get the bastard out."

Tiberius flinched at the harshness of the words, but before he could react, the other man moved quickly, his hand disappearing into the unconscious jailer's pouch. There was the sound of metal jingling, and then the man held up a pair of keys. For a moment, the quiet clink of metal against metal filled the room, and Tiberius realized just how starved he was for any sound other than his own desperate whispers. Such a small sound, he thought, and yet, so sweet.

The man slid the key into the lock, the metallic click reverberating like music in Tiberius's ears. The door creaked open, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Tiberius saw the corridor beyond his cell—a narrow, dimly lit hallway that stretched into darkness. Freedom, however distant, was suddenly in reach.

"Keep quiet," the man behind him whispered sharply, pressing a finger to his lips as a warning. Tiberius didn't need to be told twice. He nodded eagerly, his fear mingled with a strange relief. They weren't here to kill him—they were rescuing him. But why? What possible reason could anyone have to free him? He was nobody now. No allies. No powerful friends. No titles or lands. Nothing of value to offer anyone. The very act of rescuing him seemed, from his perspective, a fool's errand.

As they pulled him to his feet and ushered him quietly into the corridor, Tiberius's mind whirled with questions. What did they stand to gain from this? What could possibly make this worth their while? He cast one last glance at the unconscious jailer, slumped by the cell door. Why me?

The two men led Tiberius through the dungeon corridors, their footsteps eerily soft against the cold, damp stone floor. They moved with practiced caution, glancing around every corner before signaling him to follow. Tiberius's bare feet padded silently behind them, his heart racing with a mix of fear and hope.

They walked in near silence, save for the occasional drip of water echoing through the dungeon. Tiberius, though weak and disoriented, couldn't help but notice how methodical the two men were. They paused at every intersection, waiting and listening, ensuring the way was clear before proceeding. It was a level of care that heightened his confusion. Who were these men?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity winding through the labyrinthine halls, they reached a small wooden door. Tiberius recognized the area immediately, though it made no sense to him. The latrines? It was different from the grand, marble-lined lavatories used by the nobles. This was far simpler, meant for the guards and servants, tucked away in the lower parts of the keep—far from the eyes of anyone important.

The wooden door creaked slightly as one of the men pushed it open. The smell hit Tiberius immediately, a mix of stale air, dampness, and the unmistakable stench of human waste. The stone floors were wet, though not from water alone, and the dim light from the corridor barely penetrated the room. He hesitated, unsure why they had brought him here. This wasn't an escape route—this was a lavatory.

The man in front turned back to him, a brief glance in his direction as if to signal him to enter. Tiberius followed, though confusion gnawed at him. Why here? He had imagined a break for freedom, perhaps leading to an exit or a hidden passageway, but instead, they had led him to this filthy, lowly place. @@novelbin@@

The answer came to him when the two raised the wooden board where people sat to shit.

This was their way out, freedom would be reached through the shit of dozens of people.