Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent Chapter 287: Into the Dungeon Prisons

Iron-Scale’s scaled fingers dug into the nape of Voranthar’s neck. The forr king stumbled over the slick granite steps, his knees scraping violently against the uneven rock. Blood pooled under Voranthar’s torn fingernails as he desperately clawed at the stone to stall the descent.

Iron-Scale hauled him forward by his ruined collar and dragged him deeper into the spiraling stairwell.

Gulag marched directly behind them, driving her boot squarely between Alden’s shoulder blades. The impact sent the nobleman sprawling face-first onto the polished floorboards of the subterranean corridor.

A dozen Vanguard soldiers corralled the surviving generals and aristocrats from Aethelgard into a tight, shivering circle.

"Remove the plating," Hawl ordered, tapping the flat of his blade against a general’s shin. "Drop the silks."

The captives fumbled with their gilded buckles. Gold-plated breastplates and velvet robes clattered onto the wet stone.

Torix kicked a discarded crown across the hallway, sending the jeweled band spinning into the darkness. The prisoners huddled together in their torn linen undertunics, their bare feet shifting uncomfortably on the damp floor.

Alden clutched a shredded piece of his tunic over his chest and looked up at Gulag. "We require a tribunal. The treaties of the central plains guarantee a hearing for surrendered officers."

Gulag stepped forward and slamd her gauntlet across his jaw. Teeth scattered across the stone wall. Alden collapsed into a heap, spitting blood onto his own bare feet.

"March," Iron-Scale commanded, pointing his blade down the final corridor.

The Vanguard soldiers shoved the group forward. The ambient light of the upper castle faded completely, leaving only the sputtering torches carried by the escort. Mildew coated the slick walls. Stagnant water splashed around their ankles with every step.

They reached a massive iron enclosure at the bottom of the citadel.

Iron-Scale grabbed Voranthar by the hair and threw him through the open bars. The forr ruler crashed onto the dirt floor. Gulag tossed Alden into the filth right beside him.

The remaining nobles scrambled into the cramped cell, pressing themselves tightly against the rusted back wall to avoid the guards’ weapons.

Voranthar dragged himself to the front of the enclosure. His bruised fingers wrapped around the iron bars. He stared up at the Kobold commander.

"The Radiant Monarch will scour this entire continent," Voranthar spat, coughing up a mouthful of dark fluid. "He will turn your master to ash."

Iron-Scale grabbed the massive iron door and shoved it forward. The tal latch engaged with a resounding clank. He turned the key, securing the lock in place.

"The spiral owns your throne now," Iron-Scale replied, slipping the key onto his belt. "Enjoy the dark."

Iron-Scale signaled the squad. The Vanguard turned their backs on the cell and walked toward the stairwell. The torches vanished around the corner, leaving the ruined king and his followers in blackness similar to the abyss where Rubedo was once thrown into.

Iron-Scale pushed the oak doors of the eastern recovery ward open and stepped into the sunlit chamber. Lupis sat propped against a pile of pillows on a vast canopy bed.

He was still wrapped in fresh linen bandages. He dragged a quill across a long roll of parchnt. Gulag and Novus followed closely behind Iron-Scale, their boots scuffing the polished floorboards. Hawl and Torix flanked the doorway to secure the room.

Lupis rolled the parchnt and held it out. Iron-Scale took the docunt and unrolled it across the foot of the bed. Dozens of nas were scrawled in dark ink across the page.

"These are the cowards who slipped through the cracks during the siege," Lupis stated, pointing a bandaged finger at the top of the list. "Counts, barons, and financiers who backed Voranthar and funded his magical artillery. They abandoned their estates the mont the gates fell and scattered into the surrounding countryside."

Iron-Scale scanned the nas and handed the parchnt to Gulag. She morized the first cluster of targets and passed the list to Novus.

"They took their personal guards and a substantial amount of gold," Lupis added, leaning back against his pillows. "They will try to buy rcenaries or cross the border to seek asylum."

Gulag cracked her knuckles and grinned. "Gold buys swords. It buys absolutely zero courage against the Vanguard."

"We split the roster," Iron-Scale commanded, tapping a map laid out on a nearby table. "Novus, take your infantry squads and secure the southern trade routes. Torix, deploy your weavers into the western forests to catch anyone trying to hide in the brush."

Novus gave a curt nod and turned toward the exit to rally his troops. Torix clicked his mandibles and scuttled out the door to mobilize his swarm.

"Hawl, take a detachnt of scouts to sweep the northern mountain passes," Iron-Scale instructed. "Gulag and I will take the eastern plains and run down the primary caravans."

Hawl saluted and vanished into the corridor. Gulag hoisted her mace over her shoulder, her amber core flaring within her chest.

"Inform the other commanders about it and send them for the hunt. Elder Syra will handle the palace and everything in the anti," Iron-Scale glanced around to make sure she was lurking in the shadows. "Let’s leave before she gets the wind of the news and throws all the paperwork to instead."

"Bring them back to the holding cells," Iron-Scale called out to his departing commanders. "Drag them into the dungeons alive, or leave them bleeding in the dirt. The Spiral claims them all."

A week of tracking across the eastern plains yielded dozens of rusted iron cages dragged behind the transport wagons. Iron-Scale marched through the gates alongside Gulag and Novus.

The wooden wheels of the carts crunched over the stone pavent. Blood dripped constantly from the slatted floors of the rolling prisons to paint a dark trail across the courtyard.

Inside the enclosures, the captured lords and financiers of Aethelgard and Transtead piled over one another in a ss of torn silks and severed limbs.

A forr count whimpered in the corner while clutching the cauterized stump of his right arm. Several bodies lay completely motionless under the boots of their surviving peers. Flies sward the rotting wounds of the aristocrats who had tried to fight back against the Vanguard.

Hawl unlocked the primary cell blocks in the lower dungeon. Torix directed his weavers to haul the cages down the spiraling stone stairs. The iron enclosures scraped loudly against the walls.

The captives cried and scrambled away from the reaching claws of the operatives.

Gulag grabbed the latch of the first cage and ripped the door open. She reached inside and dragged a nobleman out by his hair. She tossed him effortlessly into the dark holding cell.

Novus and his infantry moved down the line to pull the remaining prisoners from their transports and shove them onto the damp dirt floor of the dungeon.

Iron-Scale stood at the end of the corridor and watched the cells fill to capacity. He locked the main iron gate and dropped the large key ring onto his belt. The surviving loyalists of the old regi huddled together in the darkness among the corpses of their failed rebellion.

anwhile, the heralds were still hiding, relocating and moving their bases every day to make sure they weren’t caught.