Royal Bastard’s Bloodstained Regression Chapter 86 86: In The Barrack’s

As the prisoners marched in line, chains clinking with every step, Daemon silently studied the island. Soldiers stood at every corner watchtowers, fences laced with magic, even flying familiars in the sky. Escaping from here ant choosing death.

Not that I haven't died before, he thought grimly.

"Aaah!" A sudden scream broke through the quiet.

"Captain!" a soldier called out, dragging a prisoner by the collar. "This bastard tried to run. I caught him trying to scale the dock fence."

Captain Timothy stepped forward, eyes cold. "Trying to escape already?" He clicked his tongue. "Tsk. Good. You'll make a perfect example for the newcors."

"Please—please forgive !" the man cried, dropping to his knees.

Timothy didn't even hesitate. He grabbed the man by the hair, raised his left hand, and seared a spell into the prisoner's chest. Flas burst through flesh as the man howled in agony, his screams echoing across the dock.

The rest of the prisoners froze. So looked away. So turned pale. Others hardened criminals, maybe,didn't flinch at all.

Daemon,was focused analyzing Timothy's mana flow and control. Judging by the intensity of that fire spell and his fluid casting, he was likely a seventh-circle mage.

Just like aura users have thirteen stages, mages have thirteen circles, Daemon thought. This guy's no pushover.

Timothy looked up, a smirk creeping across his scarred face as he scanned the crowd. "That's just a taste. Disobey, and you'll wish death ca quicker. We've got a chamber built for pain. Trust —you don't want to see it."

Silence followed. William covered his face, trembling beside Daemon.

"Keep moving," Timothy ordered.

They marched again, eventually arriving at a massive structure in the center of the island. It was carved into the base of the tortoise-shaped rock, walls made from dark obsidian stone, laced with glowing enchantnts. Spires jutted from the top like spears. The air grew colder.

Daemon glanced around—guards were stationed every few ters. Barrier runes pulsed faintly underfoot. Even without chains, no one could escape this place easily.

This was more than a prison. It was a fortress built to hold criminals .

As the heavy gates groaned open, the group was ushered inside the facility. The air turned thick—hot and tallic, laced with the scent of sweat, blood, and stone dust.

Inside, the building was divided into massive sections. Through rusted iron bars and open archways, Daemon caught glimpses of the prisoners already at work—dozens of them, hunched over, smashing massive chunks of rock with crude tools. Their uniforms were stained with dirt and dried blood. Chains clinked with every movent.

The deeper they went, the louder the sound of mining grew—tal on stone, groans of pain, barking orders.

"Keep moving!" barked a guard behind them, shoving a prisoner forward.

Timothy walked ahead with a calm, almost bored expression, hands behind his back. He turned his head slightly. "These n you see mining? Lifers. So of them have been here ten years. Others? One week left before their bodies gave out."

William gulped.

Timothy smiled. "Consider this your future. Unless, of course, you try sothing stupid. Then we speed up the process."

They reached a lower hallway, lit with dim, flickering crystals embedded in the walls. Rows of thick iron-barred cells lined both sides.

"This block's for new blood," Timothy said, halting in front of a door. "You'll be processed here. Two per cell."

The guards began unlocking the cells and throwing the prisoners in one by one. When they got to Daemon and William, the guard hesitated.

"This kid goes with him?" he asked.

Timothy shrugged. "Why not? Let the criminal babysit."

Daemon raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he stepped into the cell. William followed quickly, keeping close.

The door slamd shut behind them with a loud clang.

Daemon sat on the lower bunk, scanning the cell. It was bare—stone walls, a small water basin, and two bunks with torn bedding. No windows.

William sat on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest.

"I... I hate this place already," he whispered.

Daemon leaned back against the wall. "Get used to it fast. Weakness gets eaten here."

"You think we'll really be working in the mines tomorrow?"

"Definitely." Daemon's red eyes glinted in the dim light. "And if we're lucky, we'll find what I ca here for."

William blinked. "You an... you want to be here?"

Daemon just smiled to himself.

Elsewhere, on the upper floors of the fortress...

Nyxtriel stood still, arms behind her back, blending in with the row of new recruits awaiting assignnt. The heavy boots, stiff uniform, and iron badge on her chest all felt wrong. She loathed the feeling—tight, restricted, and above all, human. But for Daemon's plan to work, she had to stay in character.

A stern voice broke the silence.

"You," said the female recruit with chestnut hair and sharp green eyes. It was the sa woman who had been eyeing Nyxtriel with suspicion since the docks. "You were late during roll call. And no one rembers you from training. Where exactly did you say you transferred from?"

Nyxtriel didn't blink. She tilted her head slightly, giving the woman a cool smile. "Eastern post. Border camp. I was reassigned here two days ago. You think I wanted to leave guard duty in the mountains for babysitting criminals?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. "There is no official 'Eastern post' near the border anymore. It was dissolved six months ago."

Nyxtriel sighed dramatically, stepping closer so her voice dropped to a whisper. "Exactly. Dissolved because of that ss with the rogue fire mage. We weren't supposed to talk about it,sealed orders. But sure, go ahead and report it. I'd love to explain myself to the captain again. Maybe he'll reassign ... right out of this hellhole."

The woman hesitated.

Nyxtriel smirked inwardly. Humans fold fast when you speak with just enough truth to make the lie believable.

"Hmph Fine," the woman muttered. "But I've got my eye on you."

"Sa," Nyxtriel said sweetly, her smile not reaching her eyes.

Later, in the barracks...

Nyxtriel sat at the edge of her cot, polishing her blade—not out of necessity, but habit. A few of the recruits joked, others slept, but she kept to herself, alert.

She already knew her assignnt for the next day: escort duty. She would be overseeing the new prisoners during their first mining shift—Daemon included. She hadn't been able to speak to him since arrival, but she caught his eye briefly during the lineup. That was enough.

She ran her finger along the blade's edge, whispering in her mind, Just a little longer, my lord. Then we find what we ca for.