The Sinful Young Master

It was in the morning, a couple of hours from the sunrise. The work had been going on in full swing. And Jolthar had been overseeing everything along with Roblan.

Right now, Jolthar stood in the tent, his sharp eyes scanning the words on the letter in his hand. The bright light from the outside cast shadows on the canvas walls, adding a heavy atmosphere to the already tense situation.

He was standing before the table with the map of the whole barony and areas around.

Roblan and Nora stood beside him, both clearly unsettled. They came as soon as they heard about the letter.

On the table, another letter lay untouched, yet its presence loomed over them like an unsolved mystery.

The one in his hand, the wax seal, had been broken, revealing Cleora's elegant script. It was from Cleora, and they received it today in the early morning. Her usual confidence and authority were still present in her words, but there was a tension in the way she had written them.

She was facing difficulties with the Ministry of Finance regarding the approval of the forge.

It seemed that they were scrutinizing every detail, questioning the scale and the necessity of such an endeavour in Tekkora.

Roblan leaned against a carved wooden chest, his arms crossed over his chest, his youthful face etched with a mix of curiosity and concern. His dark hair, tousled from the day's exertions, framed sharp features that mirrored his mother's.

Nora, on the other hand, paced the length of the tent, her boots scuffing against the woven rug beneath her feet. Her auburn hair, usually tied back in a neat braid, had come loose, strands falling around her face as she muttered under her breath. Her green eyes, usually so full of fire and determination, now flickered with anxiety.

While Cleora hadn't outright said what the issue was, Nora had immediately sensed that something wasn't right.

"I think it's the work of my father's family," Nora murmured, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression was hard, but there was frustration in her voice.

"They're a powerful noble house in the capital. It wouldn't surprise me if they were the ones pulling the strings behind this delay."

Roblan, still young and hopeful, dismissed her worries with a small wave of his hand. "Sister, you're overthinking it."

Jolthar asked, "Your father's family? Who are they?"

Nora looked at him and replied, "They are some big-shot nobles in the capital. I never really met them, but he mentioned a few times how he had influence in the empire and how they were a prominent family."

"And I don't think they are happy with how he had died. They even sent letters to send the body of my father and asked how he was dead. At that time, we told them the brothers killed themselves and nobody was responsible for their deaths. But I don't think they believed it. They asked Mother to come, but she denied, saying she didn't have anything to do with them as her husband was no longer alive."

"I don't think they were happy with the way she answered their orders. They have stayed silent till now because the Kaezhlar clan was the one who had been involved in this matter."

Jolthar didn't think that matter regarding the baron would come back to bite them after all these days.

Roblan said, "Mother will handle this. Besides, grandfather is on his way, isn't he? He'll help her."

Nora let out a slow, weary sigh. "I hope so. Grandpa is the only one who can help us now." She glanced at Jolthar, as if trying to gauge what he was thinking.

Jolthar had heard about Bertelot before. Cleora's father was a man of considerable influence, but Jolthar had never met him in person. He believed that Cleora had the tenacity and cunning to navigate the political games of the empire, but he also knew that she wouldn't have mentioned the delays in her letter unless things were getting complicated.

Still, that wasn't the only issue at hand.

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His gaze shifted toward the other letter on the table. The paper was thick, marked with an imperial seal. The wax seal had been broken, a sigil of the emperor's, the letter had been opened, yet it remained unread, untouched, as if none of them truly wanted to face what was inside.

Roblan, impatient as always, broke the silence. "So what should we do about this then?" He gestured toward the letter.

Jolthar didn't answer immediately. He had been staring at it, silent, lost in thought.

Nora exhaled sharply and yelled in frustration, and she spoke in a voice showing her anger, "This is troublesome, Jolthar. We don't have the requested number they're asking for, and I don't think we can afford to ignore the imperial decree."

Jolthar finally moved, placing Cleora's letter down beside the imperial one.

He straightened his broad shoulders, his fingers curling slightly as he stared at the decree. He had dealt with threats, with war, with men who wanted him dead, but this—this was different.

This was the Emperor.

Even in the farthest corners of the empire, a decree from the imperial palace was law.

Defying it was not an option unless one was willing to face the full wrath of the empire's armies.

Nora's voice was quieter this time. "Jolthar, what are we going to do?"

Jolthar finally reached for the letter. His sharp eyes flickered over the words, reading each line carefully. His expression didn't change, but there was something in his posture that became even more rigid.

The empire had made a demand—one that they could not easily fulfil.

His mind worked quickly. They needed a solution.

And they needed it now.

-

Jolthar's fingers tightened slightly around the imperial decree as the weight of its demand settled over him. The Empire was calling for three hundred men from Tekkora to be sent to the front lines.

The war with Chittera was escalating as they were gathering a large number this time, and the reports of their movements have been noticed by the empire, and this time, the empire intended to launch a full-scale offensive to crush the barbarian threat once and for all.

But Tekkora had just barely begun to recover from the last brutal battle.

The barony's forces had been stretched thin, its warriors either dead, wounded, or too exhausted to march into another war. Even if they could muster the numbers, sending men unprepared would be sending them to die.

Roblan's jaw clenched as he read over the decree. "This isn't something we can ignore," he muttered. "If we refuse, we'll be seen as defying the Emperor."

Nora's face was grim. "It's impossible," she said bluntly. "We don't have three hundred capable fighters left. The men we have now are still healing, and what should we do if we send all of our men to the war? Who would guard this place?"

"This is a death sentence!!" She groaned.

Jolthar remained silent, his mind calculating. The Emperor's decree wasn't just about gathering troops—it was a show of power. A reminder that no matter what Tekkora was trying to build, it was still under imperial rule. They were being deliberately pushed around by someone from the capital, and Jolthar had no idea who it was, and it was making him angry.

As they pondered their next move, a soldier rushed into the tent, his breathing heavy from urgency.

"My lord! I have an urgent report," the soldier said.

Roblan turned to him and asked him to continue.

The soldier reported, "There's an envoy approaching."

"They're coming straight for the tent."

Jolthar's frown deepened.

Roblan asked, "Who are they?"

The soldier replied, "They seemed to be coming from the empire; they were carrying imperial flags with them."

-

Outside, the sound of hooves echoed through the air as a group of riders approached. The dust from their arrival swirled in the wind, catching the golden hues of the sun.

The tension in the air was palpable as Jolthar, Nora, and Roblan stepped out of the tent, the cool breeze brushing against their faces.

The camp was alive with the low hum of activity—workers tending to their duties, people moving around, carrying the materials. The sounds of people talking and metal rang around the campsite.

But all of that seemed to fade into the background as the group of riders approached, their presence commanding immediate attention.

The envoy was a sight to behold.

Five men, each clad in the distinctive regalia of the Ministry of Finance—deep crimson cloaks adorned with golden embroidery, signifying their high status.

But it wasn't their attire that caught Jolthar's attention; it was their aura.@@novelbin@@

Like flames dancing wildly in the wind, their presence radiated power, an oppressive force that seemed to press down on everyone around them. These were not mere bureaucrats. These were warriors, strong enough to make even seasoned fighters like Jolthar pause.

Tier 8, at the very least. Their strength was unmistakable, and they made no effort to conceal it.