Chapter 231 - The Attack! Part-2

{15th July 1991} 

{Rigel's POV}

A low groan escaped my lips as consciousness slowly seeped back into my aching body. My head pulsed with a relentless, stabbing pain that sharpened with every slow heartbeat, scattering my thoughts into a blurred mess. Forcing my heavy eyelids open, I blinked groggily into dim light, my vision swimming for several disorienting seconds before finally coming into some semblance of focus.

The first coherent thought that broke through my haze of confusion was the realization that something felt desperately wrong—my body was tightly bound, pressed uncomfortably against a hard wooden chair. Chains bit painfully into my wrists and chest, restricting any meaningful movement. I struggled instinctively, panic bubbling up within my chest, causing the metal links to bite deeper into my skin. My breath hissed sharply through gritted teeth as the sudden motion sent a stabbing pain shooting through my back muscles, reminding me abruptly of my violent collision with the wall.

A wave of dizziness rolled through me, forcing me to slump back into the chair, breathing harshly as I desperately tried to gather myself. My heart hammered painfully, each beat like a drum within my aching skull. Carefully, cautiously, I attempted to extend my senses outward—seeking comfort in the familiar warmth of mana that normally flowed freely within me.

Only emptiness greeted me.

The shock of losing access to my mana reserves was terrifyingly immediate, leaving me feeling hollowed out, vulnerable. The oppressive absence sent an icy shiver racing down my spine. Without mana, I was effectively defenseless, a feeling I hadn’t experienced ever before. Since coming to this world and realizing that magic existed, I had always been within the safe confines of my own world.

'Merlin, what had happened to the others?' The thought screamed through my mind.

The memory of the explosion flooded abruptly back into my mind—the shattered wall, screaming voices, Ginny’s terrified expression—and dread pooled painfully in my chest. My breath quickened, anxiety pulsing urgently through me. I strained desperately, eyes darting around the room, searching frantically for any sign of my friends.

The room was small, starkly furnished, and oppressively dark, illuminated only by a single hovering candle suspended unnaturally near the ceiling. Its dim, golden light flickered gently, casting wavering shadows across the walls. Despite its small size, the candle’s glow seemed disproportionately bright, clearly magical rather than mundane, and left unsettling shadows dancing at the edges of my vision. The ceiling fan, blades motionless and thickly layered with dust, loomed silently above me, adding to the suffocating atmosphere.

I struggled again, experimenting with the chains, but the metal refused to yield, digging deeper into my wrists. With growing frustration, I stopped struggling, breathing deeply to steady myself. My injuries from the blast seemed relatively minor, but were enough to restrict my movement significantly. A few pulled muscles, maybe a bruised rib—nothing critical, but certainly debilitating in this situation. The one worry right now is my sealed mana.

A sudden, subtle prickling ran through my senses. Despite the suppression of my mana reserves, my mana sense—more an instinct, a passive trait than active magic—remained strangely intact. I sensed two people approaching, just beyond the door, their presence sharp and distinct, even without visual confirmation.

My heart leaped with renewed anxiety. I had seconds, perhaps less, before the door opened—just enough time to attempt one desperate gamble. They clearly knew about my magic, had cut off my mana reserves, but perhaps they’d overlooked something subtler—my metamorphmagus abilities. If I could just shift slightly—thin my wrists, loosen the bindings—I could possibly slip free.

I closed my eyes, focusing intently inward, desperately willing my form to change, shift, anything to free myself. My heart pounded urgently as I strained, yet…nothing happened. Frustration surged through me, quickly replaced by cold dread once again as the small shard of hope was ruthlessly shattered. Whatever method they used to suppress my magic clearly worked comprehensively. Even my innate abilities that needed active mana usage were inaccessible.

Before I could process my bitter disappointment, the door swung sharply open, flooding the room briefly with brighter light before quickly dimming again. Two figures stepped inside: a stout, potbellied man with beady eyes and heavy features, followed closely by a beautiful middle-aged woman. The woman instantly captured my attention—her features were unmistakably familiar, strikingly similar to Parvati’s. This had to be Mrs. Patil.

She stepped forward smoothly, clearly taking control of the situation. “Rigel Black,” she began calmly, her voice smooth, tinged faintly with regret. “I apologize for the harshness of your journey here, but you left us little choice.”

My jaw tightened instinctively. “Where are the others?” I demanded sharply, voice steadier than I felt.

Mrs. Patil’s lips curled faintly, clearly pleased with my immediate concern. “They’re safe—for now. Whether they remain so, however, depends entirely upon your cooperation.”

I felt my breath catch painfully, a wave of relief battling briefly against the fresh spike of anxiety her words provoked. Still, my Occlumency training—however reluctantly practiced—was proving useful now, allowing me to keep my face carefully neutral despite my internal turmoil.

“What is it you want from me?” I asked calmly, forcing my voice to be steady and confident.

Mrs. Patil’s smile widened slightly, clearly amused by my controlled demeanor. She stepped closer, leaning slightly forward, eyes sharp and calculating. My eyes drifted slightly to her exposed cleavage as she spoke, “The legacy of Dhanvantari, of course. Why else would your trip pass conveniently through Allahabad?”

I felt my heart drop. Of course—this entire journey had been carefully orchestrated from the beginning. Still, despite my growing anxiety, I maintained my outward calm, meeting her gaze evenly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said neutrally.

She laughed softly, the sound oddly melodious but laced with thinly veiled threat. “Don’t insult our intelligence, Rigel. There’s no need to deny it. We know precisely what you discovered, what you intend. There are greater forces at play here than you can possibly comprehend.”

The hint of warning in her tone was impossible to ignore, but I deliberately disregarded it, forcing my thoughts to remain clear, rational. If she knew this much—the place where the legacy is likely stored, the book’s existence, our intended path—it meant someone among them had read and deciphered the book, or at least part of it. So why did they still need me?

The puzzle piece clicked neatly into place, yet the picture was undecipherable for now. Still, stacking the clues meant that there was something more—something important they couldn’t accomplish without me. Perhaps something related to Parseltongue? That seems unlikely, though. Still, if that were true, I would still have some leverage, however limited. Judging by their mana signatures—anxious, eager yet tinged with subtle desperation—they weren’t as confident as they pretended.

'Fuck me, at least with mana sense I have some form of way to deal with this....'

I kept my expression carefully neutral, letting silence hang briefly between us, so she could sense my quiet defiance. “If you’re so confident,” I asked slowly, “why bother capturing us at all? Why not simply seek the inheritance yourselves?”

A faint flash of irritation flickered briefly in her eyes, quickly masked but enough to confirm my suspicion. She needed me specifically. Her lips pressed together briefly, her voice sharper now. “Because the final layer of protections cannot be accessed without a true descendant—someone who has the blood and mana flowing through his veins.”

That puzzled me. How was I related to an ancient Indian wizard? Yet I felt a flicker of triumph, quickly suppressed. There was my leverage. I might be physically bound, but my unique abilities still offered an edge. I exhaled slowly, carefully weighing my next words. “And if I refuse?”

The potbellied man shifted uneasily behind her, clearly anxious. Mrs. Patil’s expression tightened visibly. “Then your friends will pay the price for your stubbornness. Make no mistake—we do not wish to harm innocents, but our goals are greater than any single individual.”

Her words settled heavily over me, chilling in their implied threat. Panic surged again briefly before I forced it ruthlessly down. My Occlumency-trained mask never wavered outwardly, though my heart thundered wildly beneath.

“I’ll need proof they’re safe,” I finally said, voice deliberately measured. “Show me they’re unharmed, and we can negotiate further.”

Mrs. Patil studied me silently, clearly weighing her options. Finally, she nodded reluctantly. “Very well. A fair request. I will arrange it shortly—but be warned, Rigel. Do not mistake my willingness to negotiate for weakness. We are committed to obtaining the inheritance, one way or another.”

She turned sharply, sweeping from the room. The potbellied man shot me a nervous glance before scurrying quickly after her. The door slammed heavily behind them, leaving me once more in suffocating silence.

I exhaled shakily, sagging against my bindings. My mind raced frantically, desperately seeking solutions. I had leverage, some information, but just enough to buy time, perhaps, but not a permanent solution.

'I had to escape and free the others, still, this feels like an isolated place, so there would be other safeguards in place. Brute force likely wouldn't help me.' I thought, though it wasn't as easy as it seemed. Yet, without access to magic, bound tightly, isolated from everyone…what options remained? My gaze rose slowly, fixating on the flickering candle, mind churning rapidly.

A spark of resolve flared faintly within me.

There had to be a way out—I just had to find it.

And fast.

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