I'm a Immortal Tavernkeeper, But My S-Rank Daughter Doesn't Know That!

The interrogations of Wanda and Victor dragged on for almost two hours, but all the guards got were mocking answers and arguments that didn’t interest them, so they couldn’t get the confession they wanted out of either of them.

"And don’t you dare give a hoot until your trial tomorrow!" Lieutenant Lafbert shouted angrily as he slammed the cell door.

Lafbert was still muttering down the cell corridor as he turned the key ring with the keys.

"That bastard only knows how to bullshit, what am I going to say when the Captain gets here in the morning?"

Victor shrugged and took a good look at the cell he had been thrown into. It wasn’t the first time he’d been arrested, but this was his first opportunity to be in a nobleman’s dungeon.

The floor was cold, uneven stone, with a few puddles of stagnant water in the corners - at least Victor hoped it was just water. The smell of mold permeated the air, mixed with the smell of dust. The walls gave off a claustrophobic feeling, and the only source of light came from a small oil lamp that partially illuminated the entire corridor. He was certainly several meters below the surface.

Victor looked at the bars and analyzed them. These metal bars were so thick that it would be difficult even for an ogre to twist them to escape. So it would be pointless for him to try, even using Fortification Den.

"Yeah, looks like I’m in a pretty charming place once again." Victor spoke to himself and let out a short, bitter laugh. He was used to situations like this in his life, but there was something different about the atmosphere of this very ’noble’ dungeon.

"White Bear? It’s you, isn’t it?" Robe, who had been quiet until then so as not to disturb the guards, heard Victor’s voice and recognized it immediately. His voice sounded weak, because he was one wall away, in the cell to the left where Victor had been thrown.

"Ah, thief, are you there?" Victor replied, leaning his back against the cold wall next to the cell door.

"Thief? I’m not a thief, I’m a tax collector!" Robe, the thief, puffed out his chest to say. "And you know my name’s Robe, man!"

"Okay, okay, I’m sorry about that, Robe. I’m just a bit stressed. Apparently, you and Wanda have become so involved in the nobility’s affairs that you’ve become their main target. I warned her that nobles have no sense of humor, let alone clemency."

Robe sighed ruefully. "Yeah, I know that now..."

"Anyway, how was your interrogation?" asked Victor.

"Interrogation? Oh, yes. They just asked me why Wanda got me out of prison."

"And did you tell them the real reason?"

"No! Of course not! I told them that she wanted to know what I’d done with the jewels I’d stolen, and then they threw me in here without asking any more questions. I can’t tell if they believed me or not." Robe sat down on the floor and hugged his legs, dejected. "But what about you? How was the interrogation?"

"Nothing special. However, it’s clear that these soldiers are a bit lost and confused. I’d venture to say that they don’t fully understand the situation either, they’ve just received orders from someone higher up."

"Orders, right? The guard just now said something about a captain, so that means they haven’t decided what they’re going to do with us yet. There’s still hope for us."

"Yes, there is hope. We’ll have a trial and maybe we’ll be able to argue."

"But something still bothers me, if we’re such dangerous criminals that we should be tried by a Captain of the Realm, why aren’t there any guards here? Shouldn’t they be keeping a close watch on us?" Robe asked, and he was right, for there wasn’t a single guard in the corridor of that part of the dungeons. Victor could feel it with Den.

"That’s because we’re not the main attraction or the one they fear so much."

At that moment, Robe stopped to think and the image of Wanda came into his mind.

"Right now, Wanda should be assigned to the deepest cell in this underground, where she’ll be in chains up to her neck and with most of the guards in this prison glaring at her, ready to kill and also to die."

Then Victor, aware of the need to conserve energy, decided to lie down on the hard stone bed. He rested his head on his hands and stared at the dark ceiling. Robe, on the other hand, still restless and suspicious, paced up and down the cell.

"Anyway, we should rest now. We don’t know what lies ahead, and we’ll need all our strength and cunning to face tomorrow."

"Rest?" Robe asked. "How could we do that while Wanda is surrounded by these animal-like guards? She must be as frightened and confused as we are."

Victor let out a light laugh, but still kept a serious look on his face. "Believe me, Robe, she’s been in far worse situations. Besides, with so many eyes on her, Wanda should be safer now than before. No one will try to kill her tonight. If we really want to help her, we need to have energy for tomorrow, and I’ve been exhausted since I arrived in this city. The key to success lies in knowing when to save energy and when to spend it. And now is the time to recharge our forces."

Despite Victor’s attempt to convince Robe, the thief continued to grumble, complaining about the general situation. Robe wasn’t someone who was annoying, it was just a natural reaction for someone normal who was stuck in such a gloomy place. On the other hand, Victor closed his eyes and began to breathe slowly. The icy sensation of the stone against his back began to disappear as he sank into a state of semi-relaxation.

The thief continued to chatter to himself, questioning the choices that had brought him here and cursing the nobles. His aloud thoughts were like small murmurs at the back of the cell, a discordant symphony of anxiety and distrust.

However, as the minutes dragged on, he realized that Victor was too quiet.

"Don’t you agree with that, White Bear?" Robe asked.

Robe waited for an answer, but heard nothing but the deepest silence. Soon, he heard a soft, almost imperceptible sound echoing down the corridor. A snore that indicated that the accomplished Hunter had fallen asleep even as Robe spoke.

Victor’s soft snoring persisted in the silence of the dungeon while Robe, still absorbed in his thoughts, seemed bored. Time dragged on slowly, exhaustion soon caught up with him and his eyes grew heavy. Robe surrendered to exhaustion a few minutes later, still muttering softly and angrily.

However, this tranquillity was abruptly broken by a series of knocks on the cell bars.

Victor blinked, trying to find his way around in the darkness while he was still very drowsy.

Robe was startled by the sound and when he opened his eyes he saw a fat man standing in front of his cell.

"Food for the prisoners!" grunted the man.

On the floor near the doors of both cells, there was an iron tray for each inmate. The tray was filled with a slimy, smelly substance that vaguely resembled food.

Robe put one of his hands to his nose and glared as he approached the tray.

"Is that what they call food here?" grumbled Robe, a little sheepishly. "I’ve eaten better things out of a tavern dumpster."

The guard, oblivious to the complaints, left, locking the door at the end of the corridor with a bang. The ghastly meal remained there, as a cruel reminder of the reality of his imprisonment. Robe continued to grumble, expressing his dissatisfaction and turned away from the food.

"I don’t know what you’re complaining about. It may not look like a real feast, but it can’t taste that bad." said Victor, finally approaching the tray and examining the food without showing any disgust.

Robe looked at the food on the tray again, a shapeless, pasty mass. "You’re strange, White Bear. I just hope you don’t get sick from that slop."

Victor picked up some of the food with a rusty spoon and took a bite, chewing slowly. With his mouth still full, he declared:

"Actually, I’ve eaten much worse. This is a luxury compared to some of my trips."

Robe rolled his eyes. "Worse than that? Really? I feel sorry for your stomach."

Savoring each bite as if it were restaurant food, Victor didn’t seem the least bit nauseous. "Come on, it’s not that bad. It tastes a bit like..."

However, Robe was right in his own way in rejecting eating that food, because just as Victor was about to take another spoonful into his mouth, the tray slipped out of his hands, falling to the floor with a metallic clang. Robe heard the noise and was startled.

"Victor?" exclaimed Robe, now fully alert. He quickly approached the railing to try and see what was happening in the next cell.

Before Victor could say or whisper anything, he fell to his knees, clutching his throat with one hand while an expression of intense pain compressed his face. Victor tried at that moment to tell Robe not to touch the food, but only groans of pain escaped his lips.

Hearing these murmurs, Robe despaired and immediately began to call the guard. However, the harsh reality was that at that moment, as much as the guard who delivered the food could hear Robe’s muffled cries through the dungeon walls, he had no expression other than happiness on his face, for he had accomplished his mission.

It didn’t take long for Victor to stop moving. His body lay motionless, death having finally caught up with him.

An instant after complete darkness enveloped his mind, Victor opened his eyes to the loud sounds in his cell again. He was back to the moment when he woke up to the banging on the bars.

Victor got up, sleepily, and saw that the iron tray was on the floor and apparently intact again.

Victor sat up in his bed and put his hand to his throat, wide-eyed. A few moments later, he realized that it had happened once again, and he muttered to himself as Robe still woke up:

"Here again..."

"Food for the prisoners!" grunted the guard in front of the thief’s cell.

Robe raised his head, looked at the food with disgust and even frowned without realizing it.

"Is that what they call food here?" Robe grumbled, approaching the tray and putting a hand to his nose. "I’ve eaten better things out of a tavern dumpster."

It was the same as before, no different, just like the time Victor died for Sable. So this time Victor decided to act more prudently. Instead of indulging in the poisoned meal, he ignored it completely, stepping on it to take revenge for the pain he felt while he was dying of poison.

When he heard the door at the end of the corridor close, Victor whispered:

"That food is poisoned, boy. Don’t touch it."

Robe’s eyes widened, hardly believing Victor’s words. "Poisoned? How do you know?" He questioned and took a few steps back.

"I... just know. Trust me."

The young thief stared at the food and swallowed his own saliva. To disguise his own fear of death, he said:

"But are they idiots by any chance? Why poison such horrible food? They should give us something that looks good if they want us to die, shouldn’t they? Who would eat something that looks and smells like that?"

Victor could almost laugh even in the midst of this situation, because Robe was ironically right. It was so strange that they would poison food that looked so odd that Victor didn’t even notice. To Victor, this poisoning plan looked more like a bet than an elaborate plan.

Therefore, Victor wisely concluded that this was just one of the ways they would try to kill him and Robe while they were in jail that night, as a file burner, or perhaps a way to irritate Wanda and incite her to react to the arrest, creating a pretext for them to kill her.