Richter and Lukk walked together through the ravaged, echoing halls covered by darkness.
With torches in hand, they struggled to see the specifics of anything outside of their immediate proximity.
Still, the major shapes of the high halls were well visible, and Richter had started mapping out the interior based on it.
They did not need to traverse the corridors visited earlier, as Richter’s sense of direction was like that of his beloved crows.
With almost a decade of experience, the maps he drew were of the highest quality, even if his current one lacked the usual loving care due to their pressing time constraints.
At every intersection, they stopped while Richter used his equipment to add their new discoveries to his map.
He marked the rooms, the bodies, any mechanical or artistic anomaly and other points of interest that Dieter might deem interesting or relevant.
While the exact distances did not quite match up with reality, the map was a decent enough estimation to where it would certainly prove useful.
The halls were strange, made in such a non-standard architectural way that even describing them would be most difficult.
The ground itself lay mostly flat and single-colored, while the encompassing walls often contained etched, absurdly detailed and color-painted artwork, to the point where Richter wondered if such wonders could even be achievable by human hands alone.
He had heard the stories of the walking, living and breathing machinery Vendaal hosted, remnants from an age long past now used as a perfectly obedient police force, and he wondered if their mechanical, unthinking precision could achieve these extreme levels of detail which humans could obviously not.
The ceiling was much too far out of reach to shine his torch’s light on, but Richter was sure they’d be no less decorated than the awe-inducing walls.
Unfortunately, Lukk proved to be a rather unentertaining companion.
Silently, he guarded him, but his thoughts were occupied elsewhere.
Growing slightly bored of the man’s solemn quiet, Richter decided to rudely involve himself.
‘So, you care to talk about it?’ he asked his friend.
He was met with silence.
Fine, Richter thought, slightly hurt.
That makes it easier to focus on our work.
‘Sure,’ Lukk suddenly said, after too long a pause.
With a clear hesitation in his voice, he asked, ‘Richter, would you consider me a just person?
I believe in my cause, but I am reluctant in my actions.’
Surprised at the question, Richter looked up at the imposing warrior next to him and saw a face full of doubt.
Taking a moment to find the right words, he responded to the loaded question.
‘It was the proper move, taking the girl hostage.
If you hadn’t, me, Fernand, Cornelia, Dieter, we would have all died in terror and aflame.
You can try asking one of many dead around us how their pacifist approach worked out for them, but I fear they might be unwilling to respond to you.’
‘Maybe,’ Lukk responded.
‘But maybe I’d rather be the shield that protects rather than the blade that cuts.’ Richter fell silent again, thinking before responding.
‘Isn’t that what you’re doing at this very moment?
Are you not acting as our shield, allowing us to venture out beyond our borders?
Did you not act out of defense, rather than offense when you grabbed the girl?
We all have our parts to play, and you have been born with an exceptional gift for violence.
Best not to fight your nature, as it was so thoughtfully provided by God Himself.’
‘Lukk,’ Richter spoke softly.
‘She will understand in time.
Not everyone is as unwilling to face reality as Fernand is.’ Lukk solemnly stared towards the ceiling of the long hall.
‘Richter, sometimes I feel like we are the ones blind to reality.
Not to what is, but what could be.
Is violence not the result of a lack of diplomacy?
Of the absence of an argument proper enough to convince others of your cause?
Of the inability to convey such an argument?’ He looked almost desperate.
‘I just wonder what combination of words would have halted her blade, and if I would have had the ability to find them if only my mind wasn’t occupied by these constant thoughts of violence.’
In silence they had continued charting the ancient maze, one chamber at a time.
It proved to be significantly larger than expected.
So much so that they decided to head back to Dieter before continuing on, as they had already been exploring for what felt like an hour.
As they arrived, Fernand was tending to the massive cut on the side of Dieter’s bare chest.
Aside from the initial burst, it had barely bled afterwards.
With a green glow coming from his fingertips, Fernand gently went over the wound without touching it.
Slowly, Dieter’s flesh started to move and adjust itself, his skin reforming until the wound was well closed, but still visible and scarred.
Cornelia and the small girl were absent, which he noticed proved to be a slight relief for Lukk.
The swordmaiden still lay unconscious and unthreatening, her mind lost deep within her artificially induced coma.
The only visible change to her was that the axe, previously buried in her shoulder, now lay on the ground next to her.
Aside from her pierced, deformed shoulder armour, any trace of a former wound or cut was now wholly absent.
‘Lord, we bring news,’ Lukk stated.
Dieter nodded to them.
Richter put the drawn map on one of the tables on the side of the room and showed its contents to the others, who had gathered around him.
‘We had initially walked alongside what we assumed to be the right edge of the underground halls, our first priority being to approximate the scale of our confinements.
While we have found the construction’s limits on the horizontal axis, its depth still very much eludes us.’
He looked at his companion.
‘Furthermore, it is our working theory, or rather Lukk’s, that there is an alternate path towards the surface, much like Fernand had suggested earlier.
The reason being is that we have found no trace of any means to communicate with the world above, nor of any slain crow-keepers.
And when we factor in the quality of clothing and jewelry of the dead and the shapes of many of their fuller, unfit selves, it would be rather unlikely that they had taken the same unreliable path as we have.’
‘Your theory is proven to be correct,’ Fernand stated.
‘Cornelia had a long talk with the youngster, and has uncovered quite a significant revelation for us.’ ‘Where are they now?’ Lukk asked.
‘In our same hall, in a different room.
Little Julia was unwilling to stay in the same space as Dieter.
Or as you, for that matter,’ the old man pointed accusingly at his own throat.
‘Regardless..’ Richter spoke, trying to steer away from the awkwardness, ‘..we have found little clues about my master’s plan.
But through imagery and functionality, we have uncovered the ancient purpose of this building.
Or so we think.’ ‘Which was?’ Dieter asked.
Richter coughed uncomfortably, as he shared a grimaced look with Lukk, who looked equally as tense.
‘They seemed to use this locale to feed something that lived in the abyss, at one point or another.’ Richter hesitantly spoke.
‘Something trapped, if the imagery were to be believed.
The words accompanying their artistic works were written in a language wholly unfamiliar to us.
Likely an Onrein, dead language.
Still, the intent was clear.
Whatever is or was down there, they considered it to be a being of great danger.
The greatest, perhaps.’