The Ordinary Commander

Interrogation Tactics

The dust from the toppled shelves hung in the air like a shroud, illuminated by the cold, moonlight filtering through the high library windows. Raka stood over the assassin, his chest heaving, while Sofia kept her daggers leveled at the man’s throat. The former thrall was shivering, his eyes wide with the trauma of a mind abruptly returned to its owner.

"We need to move him," Raka said, his voice low and urgent. "If the guard patrol comes back, we’re finished. There’s an alcove behind the archives. It’s soundproofed for researchers."

Sofia nodded, sheathing one blade to help hoist the man up. "He’s dead weight, Raka. This guy is barely conscious."

"Just drag him," Raka insisted. "I need to know exactly how deep this rot goes."

They hauled the assassin through the shadows of the library, the man’s boots scraping against the marble floor. They shoved him into a cramped storage room tucked behind a series of heavy curtains. It smelled of mildew and stale ink. Sofia lit a single, sputtering lantern, casting the assassin’s pale, confused face into sharp relief.

"Sit him up," Raka directed.

Sofia kicked the man’s legs, forcing him into a seated position against a stack of crates. The assassin groaned, his head lolling.

"Listen to me," Raka said, squatting in front of the man. "You’re going to answer my questions. Don't lie, because I already know what you did at the Vesper Gate. I know about the Kael’thas."

The man’s eyes snapped open, a flash of pure, unadulterated terror crossing his features. "You... you aren't supposed to know that name. No one outside the inner sanctum is supposed to know that."

Raka leaned in, his expression calm and predatory. "The Minister is a sloppy handler. Do you really think he’s going to protect you after you failed to kill me? He’ll have you erased before the sun rises."

"I did what I was told!" the assassin wheezed, his voice cracking. "I’m just a blade! I don’t ask why!"

"That’s exactly your problem," Raka said, tapping the man’s chest. "You think you’re a tool, but you’re just disposable fuel. Tell me, how long has the Minister been taking orders from the Throne regarding the harvest?"

The assassin blinked, his brow furrowing. "The Minister? He… he isn't the one who gives the final word. He’s just the middleman. He handles the logistics of the… the collection."

Sofia stepped forward, her voice a cold, sharp whisper. "Then who gives the orders? Spit it out, or I’ll let you explain your failure to the Minister’s own inquisitors."

The assassin shuddered, his head shaking violently. "No, please. They’ll peel the skin from my bones."

"They’ll kill you either way," Raka countered, bluffing with a confidence he didn't feel. "I have the ledger. I know about the reallocated gear. I have enough evidence to trigger a purge of the entire ministry. If you talk, I can give you a head start to the southern border. If you don’t, I’ll hand you to the guards myself."

"You… you’d let me go?" the man whispered, hope warring with fear in his eyes.

"I’m a man of my word," Raka lied, his face an impenetrable mask of command. "But I need the truth. Who is pulling the strings? Does the King know about the harvest?"

The assassin let out a wet, rattling laugh. "Know? Know? You think the Minister would dare to open a rift without the royal seal?"

Raka felt the air in the room turn frigid. "The King authorized the summoning for this?"

"He didn't just authorize it," the assassin muttered, his voice dropping to a trembling murmur. "He orchestrated the entire calling. Every single one of you… you weren't heroes. You were livestock brought to the slaughter to wake the ones who came before."

Sofia recoiled, her hand tightening on her dagger. "That’s impossible. Alaric acted like he was desperate to defend the kingdom."

"The kingdom is a stage!" the assassin spat, a sudden flash of defiance overcoming his fear. "He needs the war to keep the eyes of the people on the borders, while he prepares the altar beneath the palace. Why do you think the guards are so well-fed while you starve? You’re being prepped for the energy shift."

Raka gripped the front of the man’s tunic, his heart hammering against his ribs. "The altar. Where is it?"

"Deep below the obsidian dais," the man whispered. "The King goes there every night when the bells toll for the… for the final calibration."

"You’re lying," Raka said, his voice tight. "The King wouldn't sacrifice his own defense force."

"You are not the defense force," the assassin laughed, a broken, hollow sound. "You are the catalyst."

Sofia looked at Raka, her face pale. "Raka, we have to get out of here. We have to warn the others."

"If we leave now, they’ll catch us before we even hit the outer gate," Raka replied, his mind racing. "We have to know if the King is actually down there right now."

"I was supposed to report back after you were neutralized," the assassin said, his eyes glazing over. "He’s expecting a signal. If he doesn't get it, he’ll come to investigate the library himself."

"The signal?" Raka asked, his stomach dropping.

"A violet flare," the assassin croaked. "If it doesn't appear, he… he walks the perimeter."

Raka stood up, his face grim. "He’s coming here, isn't he?"

"He’s coming to see why his toy is still breathing," the assassin whispered.

Suddenly, the heavy iron door of the storage room groaned. The sound wasn't of someone trying to force it; it was the sound of a lock being disengaged with a casual, terrifying precision.

Sofia pulled her daggers, her stance widening. Raka stood his ground, though his legs felt like lead. The curtain was shoved aside, not by a guard, but by the slow, deliberate movement of a velvet-clad hand.

King Alaric stepped into the cramped room, his presence filling the space with the oppressive scent of ozone and ancient iron. He didn't look at the assassin. He didn't look at the stolen ledger on the floor. His gaze—sharp, detached, and utterly cold—fixed directly on Raka.

The room went deathly silent.

"I heard there was a disturbance in my library," the King said, his voice smooth, like honey poured over a blade. "I expected to find a book out of place, Commander. I did not expect to find my most reliable asset… compromised."

The assassin whimpered, shrinking back against the crates, but the King didn't even acknowledge him.

"Your Majesty," Raka said, his voice steadying through sheer force of will. "I was just doing a bit of reading. Seems I stumbled upon some… interesting administrative errors."

The King took a step forward, the heavy fabric of his cloak brushing against Raka’s knee. He looked down at the ledger, then back at Raka with a faint, chilling smile.

"Arithmetic is a dangerous hobby for a student who should be preparing for the front," the King murmured, his eyes scanning the room. "And you, Sofia. You were always so good at staying out of sight. Why change that now?"

Sofia didn't blink, though her knuckles were white around the handles of her blades. "I like to know what I’m fighting, Your Majesty. Turns out, it wasn't the monsters at the gate I needed to worry about."

The King sighed, a sound of genuine, weary disappointment. "You are all so very clever. It truly is a shame. The harvest requires a certain amount of… purity. If the fuel is corrupted by knowledge, it loses its potency."

"Is that what we are?" Raka asked, stepping forward to bridge the gap between them. "Just fuel?"

The King stopped, his eyes glowing with that same, artificial violet light Raka had seen in the library. He didn't answer with words. He simply raised a hand, and the very air in the room began to crackle and warp.

"You are the children of another world," the King said, his voice echoing with a power that vibrated through the stone walls. "You were never meant to save this kingdom. You were merely the key to restoring the throne’s true master."

Raka looked at the door, then back at the King. He realized, with a sickening clarity, that they were trapped in the heart of the spider’s web.

"Commander," the King said, tilting his head with mock curiosity. "Did you really think I would let a variable as erratic as you survive this long without a contingency?"

Raka gripped his knife, his heart racing. "I think you’re running out of time, Your Majesty. If you kill us, there’s no one left to trigger your rift."

The King’s smile widened, sharp and devoid of warmth. "Oh, my dear boy. Who said I needed you to be alive to trigger it?"

The room darkened as the King’s shadow seemed to detach itself from the floor, rising up like a living, ink-black tide. Raka glanced at Sofia, seeing the same resolve in her eyes. They were cornered, they were outmatched, and the King was smiling as if he were already watching the end of the world.

"Let’s see how much strategy you have," the King whispered, "when you’re staring into the abyss."