The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

'That's a lot of guards. They've long since exceeded the maximum number a Waterdeep noble is allowed to maintain.'

As Anser made his way through the estate, he had already seen well over a hundred guards, while unarmed staff were few and far between.

However, in Waterdeep, the actual size of a noble family's armed forces had always been something of a mystery.

The number of private soldiers stationed at estates within the city certainly wouldn't exceed the legal limit, but outposts beyond the city and throughout the Sword Coast were difficult to inspect and even harder to define.

For example, the line between employees and private soldiers was quite blurry. Everyone had sizable holdings, so having a few extra employees was easy enough to justify.

'This feels more like a military outpost.'

As Anser made that observation to himself, he followed the Arcane Trickster into a four-story building.

The building was also constructed of red brick. This type of construction was common around Waterdeep: sturdy and durable, resistant to storms, and good at blocking sound. The downside was that it cost far more than building with wood.

The Arcane Trickster went straight to the fourth floor, knocked on the door, and entered one of the rooms. He bowed slightly as he spoke to a middle-aged man.

Anser couldn't hear them, but he could more or less guess what they were discussing.

He moved closer to the middle-aged man. The die turned slightly, and information about the target appeared:

[High-ranking member of House Cassalanter's Osprey Society. Human. Level 14 Sorcerer (Aberrant Mind), Level 3 Warlock (Fiend Patron)]

'House Cassalanter's sorcerous bloodlines really are all over the place. Are they addicted to crossbreeding or something?'

Aberrant Mind Sorcery was completely different from the Storm Sorcery of the captain he'd encountered earlier. The chances that they came from the same bloodline were extremely low.

Aberrant Mind Sorcery specialized in manipulating unnatural psionic power and could use it to alter the body's form. Calling them psionic sorcerers would be more fitting.

'What's wrong with just being a Sorcerer? Why insist on multiclassing into Warlock?' Anser couldn't understand it.

Then it occurred to him that real-world Sorcerers weren't like him. There really was such a thing as exhausting one's potential, after which advancing any further could be difficult no matter how hard one tried.

Inside the room, the middle-aged man's expression grew increasingly grim.

But he didn't lose his temper. After summoning his subordinates, he issued several orders in quick succession. Half the estate sprang into action, and the atmosphere abruptly grew tense.

Anser searched around and noticed several wisps of gray smoke suddenly rising from one of the partially enclosed buildings. Almost immediately, a strange gust of wind dispersed them, making the whole thing easy to overlook.

'Trying a little too hard to hide it.'

Anser immediately perked up and flew over. He followed the corridor into the building and saw that everyone inside was wearing cotton masks. Instinctively, he felt that something wasn't right.

When he rounded the corner, the sight before him gave him a shock.

Corpses. A vast number of corpses. A vast number of corpses that had been tortured horribly!

Every one of them belonged to a sapient creature. Their bodies were twisted and deformed, covered in wounds, their faces contorted in agony. One look was enough to tell that they had endured unimaginably brutal torture before dying.

Flaying, deboning, death by a thousand cuts, disembowelment, boiling... Every one of them was a punishment that pushed the limits of human imagination and endurance.

Anser tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, barely able to stomach the sight.

He considered himself someone who had killed countless people and had long since grown accustomed to life and death, yet he still found this difficult to accept. A trace of anger inevitably began to rise within him.

This wasn't killing. It was torture taken to the most depraved extreme.

'How could anyone possibly go this far?!'

The soldiers mechanically tossed the mutilated corpses into an incinerator one after another. As the bodies burned, the deathly energy that had accumulated around them was purified as well.

Not far away was the passage used to transport the corpses.

Anser followed it downward and soon arrived at a brightly lit underground prison.

Calling it a prison was generous. It was more like hell. The jailers wore sick, vicious grins as they did everything they could to torture people. The more pain, hatred, and despair their victims showed, the more excited they became.

Those who had already resolved themselves to die and no longer cared about physical pain, on the other hand, weren't subjected to further torture. Once the jailers realized their efforts were useless, they simply killed them.

These "prisoners" were a mixed lot. A small number were even wearing the uniforms of Waterdeep's condemned prisoners, meaning they might have been secretly transferred here from Waterdeep's prisons.

Most of them, however, were commoners and adventurers. Where they had come from was hard to say.

Soul bottles and soul gems had been placed in the corners of the prison. The moment someone died, their soul would be drawn inside, with no chance of escaping.

'So... it's for their souls!'

Anser felt that House Cassalanter had gone completely mad to take things this far.

Everyone knew devils coveted souls. Soul coins were the common currency of the Nine Hells.

Supposedly, their main production site was a massive foundry in Minauros, the third layer of the Nine Hells, controlled by the greedy archdevil Mammon and the greater devils under his command.

But forging a soul coin wasn't easy. Besides infernal iron, it also required an intact soul.

That soul might belong to an evil mortal, someone who had broken a devil's contract, someone cursed by a night hag, a prisoner captured in the wars of the Nine Hells, or the like. After falling into the hands of devils, the soul would then have to endure endless torment until it was saturated with the energy of despair before it met the requirements for use.

Perhaps only one soul out of dozens or even a hundred would meet the standard. Most souls would become damaged or simply disintegrate because they couldn't withstand the torment.

House Cassalanter was probably trying to obtain higher-quality souls by torturing people before death, thereby gaining greater benefits from the devils.

'Even if every last one of these people were criminals who'd done something wrong, this would still be evil of the worst kind.'

Anser had once been offered a trait that harvested souls, and even he hadn't dared choose it.

Souls were never truly free. The souls of believers belonged to their gods. Trying to snatch them away halfway through was bound to cause trouble sooner or later.

He didn't alert anyone and instead hurriedly searched the entire estate.

Before long, he discovered another hidden location beneath a different building. It was heavily guarded, and even the stone walls were completely enclosed by Walls of Force, making it impossible to enter even from the Ethereal Plane.

After some thought, he decided against forcing his way inside.

If House Cassalanter had a legendary powerhouse here, this was most likely where they would be. There was no need to station one at the Cassalanter estate in Waterdeep. That place was undoubtedly spotless.

'I need backup.'

He immediately cast Sending to Liam and Magistrate Tansen, explaining the situation here in as few words as possible.

Liam had already proven himself, while Tansen was a magistrate from an institution that, in theory, was among those most loyal to the Lords of Waterdeep.

Liam: {Wait for me. I'm going to get the commander!}

Tansen: {Wait for me. I'm going to see Lady Safahr!}

Their replies were brief and direct, reassuring Anser that he hadn't misplaced his trust.

The Safahr Tansen mentioned should be Vajra Safahr, the current Open Lord of Waterdeep, wielder of the artifact known as the Blackstaff, and head of Blackstaff Academy.

The previous Open Lord had been Laeral Silverhand, the fifth of the goddess Mystra's Seven Sisters. She had lived for nearly a thousand years, and her husband was Khelben Arunsun, the first Blackstaff.

Laeral Silverhand had only taken the position reluctantly in the first place. Once Vajra Safahr, a Blackstaff with whom she had a poor relationship, had grown into her role, Laeral chose to step down of her own accord.

Vajra Safahr, in turn, was elected Open Lord by an almost unanimous vote.

Everyone knew that behind her stood the legendary Khelben Arunsun: legendary archmage, Chosen of Mystra, first Blackstaff, Masked Lord, founder of the Gray Hands...

His soul had remained within the Blackstaff, allowing him to keep a firm grip on Waterdeep's affairs in another form.

With reinforcements arranged, Anser didn't hesitate. He notified Stoll and the others to prepare for battle while racing back toward the underground prison.

Those prisoners were still enduring inhuman torture. Perhaps even now, several more souls had already been drawn into soul bottles and reduced to currency for a transaction.

After reaching the prison, he first returned to Holrewen and added Adolf to the Adventuring Party.

The bearded man looked rough and straightforward, but he actually had a few schemes of his own. Still, he had already proven himself during their previous operation.

"Prepare for battle!"

With a wave of Anser's hand, Stoll, Makaria, Adolf, and Giant Tail appeared in the prison simultaneously.

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