The Devil's Cage Chapter 504: Strange, Stranger, Strangest

Chapter 504: Strange, Stranger, Strangest
Translator: Dess Editor: EbonyFrost
Something was very wrong!
The imposter Fallen from before might be explainable if he was being sent as a scout but the sudden squad of alchemy enhanced warriors?
Were they on a suicidal mission?
Kieran squinted his eyes and examined the alchemy enhanced warriors before him with his experience and their estimated power level, his heart was even more puzzled after that.
Maybe the alchemy enhanced warriors were much stronger than a commoner but incomparable to Kieran himself.
Based on how cunning and sly Barry was, he wouldn't have sent his men to die after knowing how powerful Kieran was, unless…
"Barry couldn't completely control the current situation! Maybe because of the scout's death, he realized there were intruders in his turf but he doesn't know who we are… No, that's not right! If I were him and went through all the effort to build such a big stage, I would have known the place like my palm on my hand, no way such petty mistakes would occur! But the squad of alchemy warriors appearing means…"
Kieran signaled Ohara while his heart was filled with doubts. He then drew [Arrogant Word] out of the box and charged towards the squad of enemies.
He needed more information to clarify his doubts, trying to figure out what was going on before his eyes and the best source of information at the moment was the squad of alchemy enhanced warriors.
A big horizontal sweep forward, slicing the squad of alchemy enhanced warriors in half like vegetables.
After every one of them was sliced down, Kieran carefully inspected the remains of the warriors.
From the basic belongings to their gutted stomach, everything that could be inspected were inspected thoroughly.
When Kieran found something peculiar that caught his attention, he squinted his eyes.
"So this is what's going on?"
The clue that he got from the alchemy enhanced warrior caused him to remain doubtful, even though he found the clue himself with his own hands.
...
Members of the mystical realm with a body of red leather armor and sack clothes were busy with their work. Some of them were drawing magic circles and some of them were placing bottles and cans of various sizes on the drawn magic circles.
The drawn magic circle was purely a part of the bigger picture, a part of a bigger, complete magic circle yet even if it was just a part, it had taken up the whole central square of Ciaran City.
The fountain, sculptures, benches, lamp posts, flower bed, and bushes were demolished five days ago. The leveled ground was filled with a layer of thick, heavy fat and the magic circle was drawn on top. When the worker's hand paved through the layer of fat, it was depressed deeper, pushing the extra fat aside and coagulated quickly with speed visible to the naked eye.
A faint stench came together with the coagulation and as soon as the fat coagulated, obscure faces of humans start to appear from within.
The faces were struggling, praying, looking vacant and filled with despair. Each of the expressions on the faces were so real but none of it bothered the mystical realm workers from working on them.
Those who were working on the magic circle had a cold expression and a serious face, even some actions and movements were surprisingly identical with one another, plus the same tone of outfit they were wearing, it made them looked like a bunch of robots.
Only one stood out from the bunch. He was wearing the same red outfit but it was made completely with linen, three straps of leather belt tightened the excessive spots on his outfit from the back of his waist. There was another loose belt at his waist, connecting to two more leather pockets on his left and holding a short dagger on his right.
The man was holding an iron rod in his hand as tall as any other common grown man.
A huge scar, as wide as a finger started from his bald head and extended down towards his chin. A single look on the horrifying scar would let one think the man was chopped in half and stitched back together.
"How is our allies?" He asked.
"Same as the past few days!" He answered.
"Our guests?" He asked again.
"They are heading towards the trap!" He answered again.
As his mouth moved when he spoke, the scar twitched, as if a giant centipede was crawling over his face, wiggling its body but what more terrifying was the person himself.
He asked and answered all the question himself, using the only mouth.
It was quite shocking for one to see such scene but the workers around him pretended they didn't notice anything, as if they had already used to it.
...
In some underground room in the city center of Ciaran, Barry was carefully cutting the cigar in his hand.
He wasn't using a cigar cutter but small scissors, similar to the one the ladies used to trim their brows.
Kachak, Kachak.
Barry trimmed his cigar into a cone shape with his unique way of cutting and he lit it up with a small turpentine oil fire.
He was humming the melody of an old song with his mouth and twisting the cigar in his right hand.
Because of his unique cutting, the cigar was lit quickly but he wasn't in a rush to savor the fragrance of the smoke, he placed the lit cigar in between his index and middle finger of his left hand and his right hand was holding an empty cup filled with ice.
The golden colored whiskey poured into the cup, swirling down across the seams of the ice.
Barry's eyes were glued to the flowing brandy.
Once the cup was filled to a considerable amount, he drank the whole cup and even swallowed the ice in his mouth.
Crask, Crask.
The ice was crunched to bits, melting in his mouth. The burning sensation of the whiskey intertwined with the icy cold on his tongue, numbing his mouth in a unique way, that was when he placed the lit cigar in his mouth.
After a deep puff, the thick and scentful smoke was exhaled out from his mouth.
A while later, the whole room was filled with cigar smoke but Barry acted like it was nothing as he kept taking big puffs of his cigar.
The way he smoked the cigar didn't look like one who enjoyed it but a rash, boorish man who couldn't understand the cigar.
Even more so with the cup in his hand, he kept pouring it with high-quality tequila and brandy, mixing it together. A common man couldn't even finish a whole cup of mixed distilled alcohol but he drank one cup after another as if it was water until he was completely drunk.
Plank!
The cup was smashed on the floor, followed by the bottles of distilled alcohol.
While Barry was cursing, mumbling gibberish in his slang and dialect, the half-burnt cigar fell of Barry's mouth to the floor. Little sparks flew out upon contact and after several bounces, the cigar stopped completely, lying still on the floor like Barry, who passed out.
Seconds turned into minutes, and after around two minutes, the room's doors opened up amidst Barry's ceaseless snoring.
One was a common wooden door and the other was an iron forged bar gate, both doors were combined together, to form a prison gate!
Anyone who had a look at the entrance would think as so and naturally, the room where Barry was was indeed a prison cell, an extra delicate one.
Two buff men walked in with a dull face, dragged Barry onto his bed and turned around, leaving the cell.
There wasn't any communications nor signs between the two throughout the whole process.
The only thing different was the man who held Barry's arms while dragging him to the bed, it seemed like both his hands exerted a different amount of strength, one side was lighter, the other side was heavier, but it was barely noticeable from the outside.
When the door was shut again, Barry continued his snoring, facing upwards on the bed with the help of the alcohol.
His snoring was getting louder as seconds passed.