The winter night did not merely blow past—it bit with teeth of ice. Freezing gusts swept down the open avenue, howling between the dark, silent buildings of Ngabo. White flakes of snow scattered across the dark cobblestones like salt, swirling in the draft before settling into the frozen slush beneath their boots.
Beside Chinua, Khunbish's heavy tread crunched rhythmically against the icy ground, his breath blooming into thick white plumes that vanished into the dark air. Chinua kept her heavy cloak pulled tight against the stinging chill. Her eyes were fixed ahead, her cheeks flushed pale red by the frost, but her expression remained calm, steady, and unyielding against the bitter gale.
Ahead on the open street stood the heavy timber entrance to the subterranean prison. Mounted on the exterior stone posts, iron braziers sputtered and hissed against the wind. Their orange flames whipped wildly, casting long, grotesque shadows that stretched across the snow-dusted street—shimmering specters that seemed to dance and twist as if greeting the Eastern General.
Then, floating out from the open stairwell that led into the dark below, came the sound.
It was a suffocating chorus of misery carried on the cold air—soft, hollow wheezes from weak lungs mingling with deep, chest-racking coughs that echoed out onto the empty street.
Guarding the entrance, two Magoli soldiers sat huddled over a stone fire lantern, their fingers stiff and blue as they hovered over the dying embers. Their eyes were bloodshot from the biting wind, their lips dark and cracked from the frost.
The moment the crunch of boots on snow alerted them, the guards scrambled to their feet, their iron chestplates clanking as they moved to salute.
Before either soldier could utter a word, Chinua raised her leather-gloved hand in a quiet, stopping gesture. Her eyes softened with silent understanding. With a gentle nod toward the lantern, she silently motioned for them to sit back down and return to the meager warmth of the flickering flames before continuing down the prison stairwell.
The underground prison was dimly illuminated, the torches hung along the stone walls casting flickering light down the long, narrow corridor. Shadows—some towering, some faint—swayed across the heavy timber bars of the cellblocks.
As Chinua and Khunbish descended, the rhythmic crunch of their boots against the damp stone steps echoed through the gloom. At the foot of the stairwell, the first five cells on either side were reserved for the most severely ill—those whose labored breathing signaled that death was close behind.
Chinua paused before the first cell to her right. Inside, thirty Paayasian captives were tightly huddled together on the freezing floor, using their shared body heat to ward off the winter chill. A few raised their hollow, sunken eyes toward the late-night visitors; others were far too weak to care, having already surrendered to their fate, simply waiting for the end to take them.
"Chinua," Khunbish warned in a low, hushed whisper, taking half a step forward. "The doctors suspect a contagious sickness has spread down here. We should—"
"It is only suspicion, Khunbish," Chinua cut in quietly, her gaze sweeping over the suffering men before continuing down the damp, musty hallway toward the high-ranking officers' cellblock.
"Chinua—" Khunbish muttered, hurrying closely behind her.
Chinua came to a halt directly outside Yongyee's cell. Scanning the dark enclosure, she spotted the former captain sitting alone in the far corner beneath a small, barred high window. Reaching out, she rapped her gloved knuckles twice against the heavy wooden post. The sharp thud-thud rang out through the silence, stirring the sleeping men inside and drawing eyes from adjacent cells.
"I heard you wished to speak with me," Chinua said, her voice steady and clear as her eyes locked onto Yongyee.
Yongyee slowly pushed himself off the floor. Dragging his tattered hem across the dirt, he stepped toward the locked iron gate until only the thick timber bars separated them.
The last time he had laid eyes on Chinua was during the frantic clash at the city walls, where he had watched her duel General Phia from a distance. On the battlements, she had been a distant figure surrounded by dust and iron. But now, standing mere inches from her, looking directly into her fierce, unyielding eyes, he finally understood why a veteran commander like Phia had fallen to her.
Standing before him was not a noble lady playing at war, but a warrior carved from cold stone. She stood broad-shouldered and tall—matching his own height—carrying the exact same formidable, battle-hardened aura as any veteran commander on the field.
"I wish to surrender under three conditions," Yongyee said, his voice ringing through the damp cellblock.
"You do understand that you are in no position to negotiate terms with me, right?" Chinua replied, a subtle smirk spreading across her lips. She slowly looked Yongyee up and down, taking in his tattered clothes and bruised knuckles. "By surrendering, you will be branded a traitor to your realm."
"Someone once told me that a soldier does not betray his king unless his king has abandoned him first," Yongyee spat through gritted teeth, his jaw tight. "My king refused to part with a handful of spare coins to secure my freedom. Yet here you stand—a general who burned an entire city to the ground just to reclaim the body of a fallen captain."
"He was not merely a captain," Chinua said, her tone dropping into something cool and fierce. "He was my friend. A brother-in-arms. Family."
"Then his death was honorable," Yongyee said quietly. "Far more honorable than my life, as I sit here still breathing. If I surrender to you, at least I know someone will care enough to retrieve my body from the battlefield when my time comes."
A genuine smile touched Chinua's lips. "You are truly one of a kind, Captain."
"And you are one of a kind, Hmagol's Eastern General," Yongyee shot back, keeping his spine straight and his head held high. "Which is precisely why you will accept my terms."
"And what makes you so certain I will accept anything from a captive?" Chinua asked, stepping closer.
Yongyee leaned forward until his face was barely a hair's breadth from the heavy wooden bars.
"Because if you accept my terms," Yongyee whispered, his voice dark with absolute conviction, "I will sell my life to you. Not just my own—every single soul trapped down here. Two thousand abandoned men will be yours to command."
Chinua stared into his eyes. The stubborn, unyielding glint in his gaze reminded her so much of Hye it almost made her laugh.
"So," Chinua murmured, leaning against the timber post. "What are your terms, Captain?"
"We need medicine immediately, especially for the men coughing up blood in the front cells," Yongyee stated clearly. "If you intend to keep us locked down here through the winter, we require extra blankets and braziers for warmth. And if you choose not to hold us in chains... set us free to go home to our families. When you call upon us, we will march behind your banner."
Chinua smiled at Yongyee, the gears turning in her mind—until she suddenly blinked, pausing mid-thought. A look of sudden realization crossed her face as she remembered the original, simple reason she had walked down into the subterranean gloom at midnight in the first place.
Without another word about the surrender, she turned on her heel and began walking down the corridor toward the stairwell.
Just before her boot stepped past the cell, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.
"By the way, Captain... are there fish in the Nuazas River?"
Yongyee blinked, entirely thrown off by the question, before nodding slowly. "Yes. Plenty."
"Thank you," Chinua said cheerfully.
She turned back and continued up the stairs into the cold night air, with Khunbish following closely at her side.
When Chinua stepped out from the dark stairwell of the subterranean prison, the late-night snowfall was scattering far more heavily across the empty streets of Ngabo than when they had arrived. White flakes dusted her hair and cloak as she stood under the vast, quiet sky.
"Chinua," Khunbish said, his brow furrowing as he pulled his collar tight against the cold. "Accepting Yongyee's two thousand men will make our garrison stronger, but more swords mean more mouths to feed. I am worried the royal court in Ntsua-Ntu will refuse to approve an increase in our winter food supplies."
"Khunbish, didn't you hear?" Chinua turned to him, a bright, knowing smile breaking across her frost-flushed face. "There are plenty of fish in the Nuazas River. Besides... we still have our newly made allies: the princes from the Zhongqiu, Noncho, and Buyant Kingdoms. The last time we shared a meal, they swore that if we brought the oil, they would bring the fire."
She raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes gleaming with tactical ambition. "Now is the time to see if they will truly bring the fire when we are soaked in oil."
Khunbish offered a silent nod, a small, approving smile touching his lips. "So, you have already made up your mind to let Yongyee, and his men join us, right, Chinua?"
"I never had any intention of executing Yongyee or his men in the first place," Chinua admitted, her tone light as she turned her eyes toward the dark horizon. "My original plan was simply to squeeze Es Ke for ransom money so we could rebuild this ruined city." She let out a soft sigh, her breath blooming in the freezing air. "I just didn't expect that greedy king to refuse to part with a single coin for his own men."
"Then why keep them locked in those cold, damp cells all these months?" Khunbish asked.
Chinua turned to face him, her expression shifting into one of cold, calculating wisdom.
"Khunbish... you can never tame a wild tiger if it has not tasted the whip. But if you whip the tiger enough, it will willingly crawl at your feet whenever you enter the room."