Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 50: The Southern Slums

Chapter 50: The Southern Slums

"Get your best men," Atticus ordered, quickly making his way to the armory.

There was no time to waste. The southern part of the slums was rowdy and was known for the crimes, unrest rising in recent days. Jonah and his men had been working hard in attempting to stamp down the crime rate but it was a slow and difficult task. If Daphne was indeed there, every second wasted could be a second too late.

Jonah nodded, his face grim. He immediately barked out orders and his men quickly gathered with their weapons as though the hellhounds were behind them.

"I’m going ahead," Atticus barked out without sparing Jonah even a second glance. He saddled Sable on his own and took off in the direction of the slums without a backward glance.

His departure sent a cloud of dust into Jonah’s face, who merely coughed and waved at the air, grimacing.

Jonah could only sigh and jump on his own horse, before turning around and addressing his men who stared agog at their missing king.

"Guards, this mission is of grave importance. The slums are full of hidden nooks and crannies, and locals are not likely to be forthcoming. Nonetheless, keep your eyes and ears peeled. Leave no stone unturned in your search!"

"Yes Sir!"

And they were off.

***

The wind roared in Atticus’s ears. He urged Sable to go faster, even as he heard the way she panted in exhaustion.

"Just a little more!" Atticus dug his heels into her flank.

Sable let out a desperate neigh, but she held on, possibly sensing her master’s desperation. In no time at all, the similar silhouette of the slums came into view. The smell was depressingly familiar, threatening to make his stomach hurl, but he shoved it down.

Daphne was his priority.

"Stop, girl. Well done." Atticus praised Sable as he dismounted in one easy movement. Normally he would have found a stable for his beloved horse, but now there was not enough time.

Besides, he could only leave her at the outskirts of the slums as most of the routes were too cramped for a horse to fit through. He tied her to a post, and then entered the slums on foot, keeping a careful eye out for any oddities.

The slums were suspiciously devoid of life. Normally there would be children running among the streets, or men smoking pipes in front of their houses as their wives hung out their clothes to dry. Yet Atticus could only see boarded doors and windows.

He decided to go to the place where Eugene claimed Daphne was last seen, his heart racing as he spotted the dried bloodstains on the cracked cobblestones.

Atticus could only desperately hope the blood didn’t belong to Daphne. If the kidnappers were indeed after her, it’s most likely for ransom. Surely they wouldn’t hurt her!

He saw a shift from the corner of his eye. There was a flash of bright red hair. Finally, a possible lead!

Atticus lunged toward the woman, nearly pouncing on the interloper like a wolf on a rabbit.

"Tell me! What happened here!"

"Let go of me!" The individual cried out in a suspiciously high voice― only it wasn’t a short woman, it was actually a child. He struggled to escape, but Atticus kept a firm hold on him, shaking him by the neck to get him to stop.

A wallet fell from his clothes. The boy let out a cry in dismay.

"Pickpocketing?" Atticus rolled his eyes as he picked up the wallet. It was a handsome, if plain, one, clearly belonging to a rich merchant. Of course, the money was long gone. All young children in the slums learned to spend whatever coin they stole quickly if they didn’t want their own spoils stolen by someone else.

"Give it back!" Clearly, the kid also wanted to sell the wallet. In a more peaceful world, Atticus would approve of his entrepreneurial spirit, but now he only wanted answers and he wasn’t above threatening children for them.

His obsidian gem glowed, and the boy found himself floating in the air, his limbs plastered against his body, unable to scream.

"Quiet. You speak only to answer my questions. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded frantically, relieved that he could again hear the sound of his own breathing.

"Good." The magical grip loosened so that the boy could freely speak but Atticus was careful not to let his guard down. "Did you see a group of men taking a woman away? The woman would have been dressed nicer than normal."

Atticus paused, as he tried to recall the color of Daphne’s dress. He scowled, realizing that he couldn’t remember it because she refused to see him after the disastrous breakfast.

The boy, seeing his scowling face, began nodding more frantically. "Yes Sir! She came with a man! Then a whole group of other men came and beat him up badly. He tried to stop them, but he couldn’t. Then they took the woman and left him bleeding on the floor."

"Where!" Atticus growled out, his eyes flashing gold.

"To the house near the old sewers!" The boy squeaked out as Atticus finally dropped him.

The boy landed on the floor with a quick thud, but he hurriedly took the wallet that had fallen and darted out of the alley before the scary man with magic powers could change his mind. This wasn’t his day!

Meanwhile, Atticus didn’t care about the inner thoughts of a slum child. His brain was whirling with new information. The landscape of the slums had changed since he had taken the crown, but certain landmarks still remained. Places like the old temple, the rickety school building, and the old sewers still remained, abandoned and dilapidated, consumed by the ravages of time.

Atticus took a deep breath, letting muscle memory take over as he ran to one of his old haunts.

’Sunshine, wait for me. I’m coming to save you.’

His feet carried him through curves and corners, running down small, hidden alleys that were kept in the shadows. The roads were foreign yet familiar, places that Atticus knew like the back of his hand. Yet, it was filled with so much change that only his limbs recognized this place. They knew where to turn even though his brain could no longer recognize which roofs housed which people.

It didn’t take long for him to sniff out the disturbances. There was a tingle of magic that was in the air, thrumming like an invisible string of power. Normal people that knew not of magic and crystals might not have been able to catch it but Atticus, someone that had grown up trained and excelled in it, could sift it out easily.

He sharply turned in the direction, following that trial. One thing that told him he had found the right place was that the air was getting hotter and hotter by the second.

The nearer he got to the old sewers, the more he felt like he was nearing an active volcano instead. This heat was unheard of in Vramid, even in the summertime, much less during the height of winter. In fact, snowfall was common along the wintry northern lands. Yet, ever since he had entered the slums, something felt odd.

Now Atticus understood.

The roads were clean, free from layers of powdery snow. Everything had been melted down.

All of a sudden, a world-splitting explosion rang through the air. Around him, they were groups of people that had screamed in shock. They were still hidden in their houses but Atticus could spot curious eyes looking out of their windows. Perhaps it wasn’t the first time that night they had heard similar noises.

Atticus jolted slightly, looking in the direction of the sound. Birds had all taken off into the air, startled by the random detonation. They scattered, flying away from the source of the noise.

On the other hand, that was where Atticus rushed towards.

The puzzles clicked into place. Between the sudden blast and the tingle of magic in the air, someone must’ve used magic in the slums where the house was.

But who?

The people in the slums could not get crystals― they could barely even afford food, much less a luxury item that was hard for even nobles to get their hands on. Not to mention, people that were capable of magic weren’t as easy to steal from.

Even if they were to rob the rich, a stone meant for such explosive pyromancy was hard to come by in Vramid, where control of crystal sales was tightened. As far as Atticus was aware, even the Gibbous Auction House hadn’t sold any crystals that enabled fire magic in recent days.

Atticus located the house that the boy was talking about rather quickly.

Or rather, what was left of it.

In front of Atticus, the ’house’ had been charred into smithereens. The four pillars barely even stood, with the roof blasted right off. The wood and tiles that once created a shelter had been torn right off, still burning with embers scattered around it.

Even the trees within the immediate surroundings had been charred, the twigs barren and empty, some still on fire. Debris was everywhere and what had fallen from the sky wasn’t snow but ash. What was once the strong, pungent smell of the sewage waters was now greatly masked by the smell of smoke and char.

Atticus took a small step forward, stopping when something cracked beneath his foot, causing him to look down. What he was met with caused Atticus’s heart to stop.

It was a human bone, black in some areas, gray in others, and pure white on one end.