Extra's Perfect Ending

Chapter 119: Nothing here

Theia and Hilda could smell the faint fragrance of wine leaking from the barrels around them. It wasn’t overpowering, but had a subtle, distinct kick to it, unlike the alcohol from other regions. Moving cautiously, they avoided making any sudden noises that might alert someone to their presence.

The cellar was dimly lit by Hilda’s oil lamp, which provided just enough light to cover their movements. Despite the mansion’s grand size, the cellar seemed surprisingly small, with only about twenty barrels of wine lined up against the walls. Navigating through the barrels, they finally reached the door that led into the main mansion.

Theia carefully pushed the door open, just enough to peek through and see the hallway beyond. The corridor was brightly illuminated with oil lamps, the light reflecting off the freshly polished floors. The mansion had just fallen into evening’s shadows, and the brightness of the lamps contrasted starkly with the creeping darkness outside.

They waited, listening for the sounds of servants passing by or any indication that someone was nearby. When they were certain the hallway was clear, they slipped through the door, moving quietly to avoid detection.

Theia led the way, glancing down at a map of the mansion she held. It was a blueprint of the building, provided by Holen, who had obtained it from the construction office. However, it was covered in construction notes and markings she struggled to decipher. Still, she could make out the general layout, with clear labels indicating each room’s purpose.

They advanced slowly through the hallway, checking every corner for signs of patrolling guards or servants. Every so often, they would stop, listening for footsteps or distant chatter, ensuring they remained undetected.

After nearly an hour of careful maneuvering—avoiding patrols and sidestepping servants preparing dinner for the master of the house—they finally arrived at Ulla’s office. The door was adorned with ornate woodwork, far more luxurious than any other room they had passed.

Hilda reached for the doorknob and found it unlocked. They quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Inside, Theia noted that the room had a high ceiling, making it feel spacious and grand. A large bookshelf lined one wall, filled with books neatly arranged in perfect order. The work table was positioned diagonally, providing a clear view of both the large window overlooking the garden and the door.

They began their search immediately, moving through the room with practiced efficiency, knowing their time was limited. They sifted through stacks of documents, books, and letters, searching for any evidence that could link Ulla to the cult or any other suspicious activities. They couldn’t afford to read each document thoroughly, so they focused on skimming titles and glancing through the contents.

An hour later, they still hadn’t found anything of significance. Most of the documents were mundane—business records, letters of correspondence, trade agreements. The only thing that stood out was the frequent purchase of slaves, which Ulla seemed to treat with the same casualness as buying everyday goods.

His dealings mostly involved serving as a middleman, exporting goods between the southern seas and Tumidus—a trade that seemed perfectly legal and without controversy.

There was nothing that directly linked Ulla to anything suspicious or incriminating, at least not in the documents stored here.

Theia and Hilda exchanged a look, silently agreeing that they couldn’t waste any more time. They had searched through most of the room and found nothing worthwhile. Despite their desire to leave with something of value, they knew their priority was to leave without being detected.

Carefully, they made their way back toward the door, preparing to retrace their steps and slip back out the way they came. The night was far from over, and they still had to make it out of the mansion undetected.

They put everything back in order and exited the room, making their way back to the wine cellar—the best place to leave the house undetected.

As Theia glanced at the map, she noticed something strange. Up ahead, there were supposed to be three doors lined up, but she saw a fourth door that wasn’t shown on the original blueprint.

"The blueprint doesn’t show that door," Theia whispered to Hilda. Hilda immediately caught on, realizing this could be a hidden door, cleverly disguised in plain sight.

Without hesitation, Hilda went to work on the door lock. This time, the door was firmly locked, more securely than the wine cellar had been.

Theia kept watch as Hilda worked, but this time everything went smoothly. Within a minute, the lock clicked open, and they slipped inside. The room was dark until Hilda lit the oil lamp again, casting flickering light over their surroundings.

Theia’s eyes widened, this wasn’t a room but a stairway leading down. They descended carefully, and at some point, the stairs ended, giving way to a long, dark hallway.

As they stepped into the hallway, both of them immediately recoiled—not from any visible danger, but from the overwhelming smell. The metallic scent of iron and blood filled the air, thick and suffocating.

"Miss Theia, this is likely where they keep the slaves," Hilda said in a cold voice, unable to completely hide the fury boiling inside her.

The hallway was lined with iron-barred cells, and in the dim light, they could see blood smeared on the stone walls and floor. If they listened closely, faint cries for help could be heard from deeper within the prison. The distant voices sent a chill down Hilda’s spine. Theia wasn’t in any better condition, her face was filled with sadness as she looked at the miserable cells.

Hilda held up the oil lamp to one of the cells, peering inside to find the source of the noise. In the dim light, she saw a shriveled figure cowering in fear of the light. He covers up their his with their skinny hands.

"Please... don’t hurt me! Just take the blood, but don’t hurt me..." the person begged, their voice barely louder than a whisper, filled with desperation.