Chapter 112 (From engineer to Conqueror)

Aurélio looked at Miguel with a smile that radiated pure disdain, his voice dripping with mockery. “So, little brother,” he said, pausing for a moment to let his words echo in the room, “what do you think is going to happen now?”

Miguel remained silent. He stared at Aurélio, but had no strength left to respond. The physical pain was excruciating, but the humiliation and emotional exhaustion were equally crushing. Still, he refused to give his brother the satisfaction of a reply.

Aurélio sighed softly, almost pretending frustration, as he walked over to a nearby table. He picked up a bottle of expensive wine, the label showing its noble origin. Unhurried, he poured a glass, the dark liquid reflecting the flickering flames of the fireplace. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” he said calmly, raising the glass to his lips and taking a long, slow sip. He swirled the wine in his mouth before continuing.

“You’ll be executed.” His voice was cold, and he shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “But don’t think it’ll be simple or quick. No, Miguel. You’re going to suffer. A lot.” He pointed a finger as he spoke, as if laying out a well-crafted plan. “You’ll serve as an example to everyone. A warning of what happens to traitors like you.”

Miguel continued in silence, his mind trying to process the situation, but his body reacting sluggishly, growing weaker with every moment.

Aurélio, however, wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more from Miguel, wanted to break him completely. “And that brat they brought with you... Who is he?” His voice sounded disinterested, as if João’s identity wasn’t important, but the question was laced with venom. He knew the answer carried weight, and he wanted to see how Miguel would react.

Once again, Miguel chose silence, pressing his lips tightly together. Aurélio laughed, a cold sound that echoed through the room. “You don’t have to tell me, you know?” He took another long sip of wine and set the glass aside, shaking his head. “It doesn’t really matter. He’s going to die too. I’ll make sure his death is as slow as yours.”

He stepped closer to Miguel, a malicious smile spreading across his lips. “It was nice seeing you again, little brother. But know this: after I’m done with you, that whore Amélia will be next.”

At the mention of Amélia’s name, Miguel felt a spark of anger surge through his body. Even exhausted and debilitated, the mere mention of her made him want to fight, to resist. Amélia, as distant as she had always been, was someone he deeply respected. She had finally understood him, and now Aurélio was threatening her too. The thought of seeing her in his brother’s hands filled him with rage, but the words wouldn’t come. His physical weakness kept him from responding as he wished.

Aurélio noticed the anger flicker in Miguel’s eyes and smiled, satisfied that he had provoked the reaction he wanted. With a lazy wave, he gave the order for the guards to take Miguel away.

The guards grabbed Miguel once more, dragging him out of the room. As he was hauled through the castle’s corridors, Miguel felt the darkness closing in around him, growing stronger with each step. The once familiar corridors now seemed like a cold, endless labyrinth. The feeling of helplessness followed him with every stride, but even so, he knew he couldn’t give up. Not while João, Amélia, and the people of Drakmoor still depended on him in some way.

The days in the dungeon passed in a painful haze for Miguel. He had long lost track of time; the days and nights blended together in an endless darkness. The cold, damp floor of the cell was his only refuge, and his body, now a shadow of what it once was, was covered in wounds and filthy with mud and blood. His thoughts were muddled, drifting between memories and reality, as he vainly searched for some glimmer of hope amid the unbearable situation.

Then, after days of isolation, the soldiers returned. They yanked him out of the cell without ceremony, as if he were a sack of meat to be discarded. Miguel could barely walk, his legs too weak to support his weight. Too drained to resist, he was taken outside, into the daylight. The sun, though weak, was almost blinding to him, and his eyes took time to adjust. When his vision returned to normal, he realized he was being placed in a cage. A rusty, old iron structure that swayed slightly atop a cart.

The soldiers locked the cage with a metallic clang, and the cart began to move. Miguel, lying on the iron floor of the cage, watched the streets as the cart moved slowly along. The city around him was vibrant, full of life, but completely indifferent to his existence. The contrast was stark: while he withered, the city thrived, and people went about their lives, ignoring the fate of a condemned man.

After what felt like an eternity, the cart arrived at the city’s center — the main square. It was a grand place, with a large fountain in the center, surrounded by trees and merchant stalls. People walked back and forth, children ran and played, and vendors shouted out their offers. However, when the cart stopped and the cage was placed on display in the middle of the square, the crowd’s attention began to turn toward the caged prisoner.

Miguel, now dressed in rags, felt the gaze of the crowd upon him. The days of imprisonment and torture had left his appearance unrecognizable. His body was filthy, his beard grown out and unruly, and he could barely stand. He knew the humiliation was part of the punishment. It wasn’t enough to simply kill him; he had to be displayed as an example.

One of the guards, with a mocking smile, stepped forward and raised his voice, drawing the crowd’s attention. “Hear ye, all! Gather around! Let me tell you about this man in the cage!”

People began to gather, forming a circle around the cart. The guard continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “This man here,” he said, pointing to Miguel, “is a traitor! A rebellious baron from the far south of the duchy who allied with the beast-men and decided to proclaim himself king of his lands!”

Miguel, inside the cage, didn’t react. He had no strength to contest the lies the guard was telling. He knew the truth no longer mattered here. It was more convenient for Aurélio to paint him as a villain, a ruthless rebel, than to admit that his own brother had risen against him for a just cause.

The people began murmuring, exchanging looks of disdain. Some started hurling insults. “Traitor!”, “Rebel!” some shouted, while others laughed at his disgrace. Miguel felt the words like small stabs at his already shattered dignity, but he remained silent, staring at the cage floor.

At the back of the crowd, Miguel noticed the presence of slaves. Beast-men, chained and watching in silence. Their faces bore the marks of suffering, their skins bruised and dirty. They looked at Miguel with a mixture of curiosity and resignation. Some, perhaps, were perplexed by the idea that a human would have fought alongside them. Others, however, seemed disillusioned, maybe believing that Miguel’s alliance with their people had been in vain. After all, here he was, imprisoned and humiliated like any other.

The soldier spoke again, his tone even more mocking. “This man thought he could defy the duke, that he could separate his lands from the kingdom of Árdia! He thought he’d be a king! But look at him now,” the guard said, pointing at Miguel with contempt. “This is the fate of those who oppose the duke and the kingdom!”

The crowd seemed to accept the guard’s words, and the disdain in their gazes was palpable. To many, Miguel was a traitor, a fool who had taken a reckless gamble. Among the murmurs, he could hear some laughter, some jeers, and the insults began to grow more frequent.

The soldier then stepped back and declared with a sadistic smile: “In three days, this traitor will be executed! Until then, he will remain here, exposed for all to see what happens to those who defy the power of the duke and the kingdom of Árdia!”

The soldier’s words echoed through the square, and the crowd slowly began to disperse, but their contemptuous gazes lingered. Miguel, trapped in the cage, felt the weight of defeat press down on his chest. The physical and emotional pain swirled together in a storm of despair. He knew there wasn’t much time left. Three days. Three days until his execution. The silence of the square seemed to swallow his thoughts as he remained there, alone, caged, and without hope.