The Sinful Young Master

The others paused briefly, surprised by his decision to stay, but then continued their departure, leaving him alone with the figure.

The darkness seemed to thicken around them as Yilar stepped forward. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but his words were clear: "There was a child with divine presence among them."

As soon as he said that, the effect was immediate and dramatic—the darkness surrounding the figure rippled and pulsed, like the surface of a disturbed pond.

The temperature dropped even further, and Yilar could see his breath misting in the air.

Feeling the need to validate his claim, he quickly added, "It's the truth. I saw with my own eyes." His words carried the weight of absolute certainty, despite his fear.

The figure's response came in measured, deliberate words that seemed to freeze the very air: "Then find out everything about him. Every. Single. Detail."

Each word was emphasized, carved into the air like an inscription in stone.

The command was clear, and the consequences of failure were implicit in the tone.

Yilar nodded, feeling the weight of the darkness pressing down on him like a physical force.

He watched as the figure slowly retreated, the eerie darkness withdrawing with it until only natural shadows remained.

Before departing himself, he turned to stare in the direction of the town, his mind already working through the implications of his new assignment.

The morning sun had fully risen by now, but its warmth seemed unable to penetrate the chill that had settled into Yilar's bones. As he mounted his horse and began his journey back, his thoughts were consumed by what he had witnessed during the battle.

The divine presence he had sensed around the young warrior was unlike anything he had encountered before—not just power, but something more fundamental, as if the very fabric of reality bent slightly in the boy's presence.

He would need to be careful in his investigation. Such power would undoubtedly attract other attention, and the wrong move could alert potential competitors or, worse, warn the boy himself that he was being watched.

Yilar had survived this long by being cautious and methodical, and he would need all of his skills now.

The sun continued its journey across the sky, illuminating three separate paths: Preeyonka and her force returning to their command to report their discoveries, Dagur and Ozug making their way back to the province with news of General Remin's appearance, and Yilar beginning his solitary mission to uncover the truth about the young warrior with the divine presence.

Each of them carried pieces of a larger puzzle, though none could yet see the complete picture that was slowly taking shape.

As the last traces of unnatural darkness faded from the clearing, the morning breeze carried with it the promise of changes to come.

-

Meanwhile, back in the square, the aftermath of the battle lingered in the air.

The scent of blood mixed with the acrid stench of burning wood, the ground still slick with the carnage left behind.

Barony soldiers worked tirelessly to gather the wounded, their faces weary, their movements slow with exhaustion.

While the general's soldiers took the bodies of those transformed men out of the town, flames still burning, high in the sky. There was a smell of death in the air.

Despite the destruction around them, there was an undeniable sense of relief.

For now, the battle was over.

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Cleora stepped forward, her movements graceful yet firm, as she approached where Jolthar and Roblan sat.

Both men bore the marks of combat—cuts, bruises, and grime covering their armor—but they remained upright, their presence still commanding.

As Cleora neared them, a small smile formed on her lips.

There was something about Jolthar, something she couldn't quite place, that both intrigued and unsettled her. He was unlike any warrior she had met before.

She stopped before him and spoke, her voice warm yet steady. "You really saved us… a second time, at that.

Thank you, Jolthar."

Jolthar lifted his gaze to meet hers. For a moment, he just stared at her.

"You don't need to thank me; after all, this place is ours," he said it casually, but Roblan narrowed his eyes, and Cleora simply stared at him, smiling again.

He had many questions—about Dagur and how she seemed to know about the attack—but those would have to wait. The town was in ruins, its people shaken, and there were more pressing matters to attend to.

For now, he simply nodded in response.

Before he could say anything, he noticed another figure approaching.

Prince Milan was making his way toward them, his expression composed, though his eyes carried a sharp glint of curiosity.

Behind him, Arvant and Remin stood in deep conversation, their voices hushed but intense. Jolthar observed them for a moment, noting the way Arvant gestured with a slight urgency, as if something important was being discussed. He could see how Remin was listening to him but didn't really care; he could tell that he was just standing before Arvant.

He couldn't understand what this general was and his intentions. But he sure knows how to use the situation to his favour.

His dragon, the slender and serpentine creature, sprawled on the ground beside him. It was his first time seeing a real dragon, and it sure was magnificent.

Wymar approached them, reporting back to his lord general.

By the time Milan reached them, his focus had shifted back to him.

"Jolthar," Milan greeted, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Nice to finally meet you… though I wish it were under better circumstances." He was the only one without a single blood stain or injury in this whole square now.

Jolthar exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah… trouble follows us, I guess."

Jolthar saw Milan, last time at the birthday feast of the Kaezhlar clan. That day, he watched how he sided with the Kaezhlar clan. He was almost killed that day too. If not for Caelum, maybe they all would have. Jolthar pushed back those thoughts.

Milan chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment.

Then, turning to Cleora, he addressed her with a polite nod. "Lady Cleora, I wanted to thank you for your help earlier. Without you and your men, we might not have held out as long as we did. And your son too," he looked at Roblan, shaking his hand, thanking him.

Milan was a man who would remember his debts and the people who stood for him. It was a quality of his that made him popular among the low ranks in the empire.

Cleora gave a soft yet resolute smile. "It wasn't necessary. I simply did what was required of me."

Milan tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on her. There was a hint of admiration in his expression as he added, "Even so… you didn't just stand behind your soldiers. You fought alongside them. That takes more than just duty—it takes courage."

And he kept on going as he sang praises to her.

Jolthar observed Milan closely. He could see the way the prince's gaze lingered on Cleora, the subtle shift in his demeanour when he spoke to her.

Milan was mesmerised by her.

The realization made Jolthar smirk slightly to himself. He thought, 'She really is a one hot temptress.'

But before he could dwell on it further, Milan turned his attention back to him.

"And of course," Milan continued, "I owe my thanks to you as well. Your drake… truly a magnificent creature. Fierce, powerful." He hesitated for a brief moment before adding, "I also remember watching you fight on the clan grounds. You are an exceptional swordsman, just like your uncle. Back then and now too."

Jolthar's expression immediately darkened. His grip on his sword tightened slightly.

"I would like it if you didn't bring them up," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Milan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. He hadn't expected such a reaction. His knowledge of Jolthar's past was limited—he was unaware of what had happened between Jolthar and the clan. But the weight of those words told him that whatever it was, it wasn't something Jolthar wanted to discuss.@@novelbin@@

A brief silence fell between them.

Cleora noticed the flicker of anger in Jolthar's eyes but chose not to comment.

Roblan, too, remained silent, his expression unreadable.

After a moment, Milan sighed and raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Fine, fine. I won't bring it up."

He paused before offering a light smile. "But regardless, I owe you my life. You three saved me. Don't feel shy if you ever need my help."

Jolthar gave him a sharp look before responding, "Well, it just so happens that I need your help now."

Milan tilted his head, intrigued. "Oh? And what exactly do you need?"

Jolthar leaned forward slightly, his expression serious.

"I want your investment to help me build a forge here."

Milan blinked. Of all the things he had been expecting, this was not one of them.

"A what now?" he asked, clearly surprised.