The Sinful Young Master

She felt it immediately—waves of strange energy emanating from where Jolthar stood, unlike any aura she had felt in all her years of warfare or any. It was different than any swordsman or warrior; the aura was primal and brimming with raw power, which made her instincts prod and her curiosity piqued.

Her gaze settled on Dagur's fallen form, recognition immediate.

The barbarian warlord's reputation had spread far beyond his territories, his raids a constant thorn in the Empire's side for years. That he lay dead was significant—politically, militarily, and personally—for many who had suffered under his brutality.

She looked at the sword wound on Dagur and the blood on Jolthar's sword. She could feel three different variants radiating around him: green, silver, and grey, a mix of all three coloured energies.

A deep frown appeared on her; it was like anything she had seen.

"Did you kill him?" she asked, her tone neutral but carrying the unmistakable authority of her station. Her voice sounded less feminine and with a bass tone.

The question was directed at Jolthar, her eyes never leaving his transformed countenance.

He looked at her, her features rough, a scar on her forehead from battles she fought. It gave her an edge.

But Jolthar wasn't alarmed, and he did not respond.

Instead, he simply raised his head and released a sharp, piercing whistle that cut through the air like a blade. The sound seemed to carry farther than natural acoustics would allow, resonating with strange harmonics.

One of Iorina's subordinates, a captain with a heavily scarred face, bristled at the perceived disrespect. "You answer when the General addresses you, boy!" he barked, his hand moving to his sword hilt.

Iorina raised a hand slightly, staying her officer's aggression while she continued to study Jolthar. There was something in his demeanour that suggested responding to the young man's apparent insolence with threats would be a grave mistake.

A smile appeared on her as though she found him amusing. She could see the arrogance in his eyes and defiance in his stance.

Jolthar flicked the Knashii, wiping off the blood on the long blade, and sheathed his sword.

Count Hamen stepped forward, seeing the situation was getting out of hand.

"General Iorina," he said with a deferential bow, "this young man fought Dagur in single combat and killed him, saving us all considerable bloodshed. The barbarian forces are routed, thanks in large part to his... unexpected assistance."

She was one of the Great Generals of Arshiks, the powerful Phoenix General Iorina. Of course, Hamen had to show her respect; he may not bow his head to the empire, but the Great Generals were a different matter. They were like separate entities, strong enough to wipe out kingdoms.

It was what the emperor was proud of, as they were his strength and power.

Hamen's careful phrasing betrayed nothing of Jolthar's transformation or the transfer of power from the beast king, but his eyes conveyed a message to Iorina: This situation is more complex than it appears.

Before Iorina could respond, Jolthar turned away and simply... vanished.

One moment he stood before them, the next he was gone—reappearing instantaneously at the forest's edge where a figure had been observing the proceedings from the shadows.

Iorina's head snapped toward the movement, her eyes widening slightly—the only betrayal of her surprise at witnessing such impossible speed or teleportation. No, it wasn't teleportation; he moved so fast that it seemed like he teleported.

The captain from earlier snapped, "What insolence!"

Hamen's face wrinkled, and he was becoming more puzzled about the boy.

In the same moment, a shadow passed overhead as a massive drake descended from the clouds; its scales gleaming crimson in the moonlight, it banked toward the battlefield.

It was Maelruth; the whistle earlier had been for her, and she came as soon as she heard it. She had very perceptive senses, and she could sense Jolthar's call from miles away.

At the forest's edge, Jolthar's hand shot out with viper-like speed, closing around the throat of Yilar, who had been lurking among the trees. The pale man's violet eyes bulged with surprise as he was lifted off his feet, his legs kicking uselessly in the air as his hands clawed at Jolthar's implacable grip.

Jolthar, after killing Dagur, sensed a presence far more stronger than any human. He thought it was some deity or sort that had come here.

With a motion almost casual in its brutality, Jolthar unsheathed Knashii and swung his blade in a precise arc, severing both of Yilar's legs at mid-thigh.

The cut was so clean, so quick, that for a moment it seemed nothing had happened—until Yilar's severed limbs toppled to the forest floor and thick blue-coloured blood began to fountain from the wounds.

Jolthar tossed the mutilated man to the ground like discarded refuse.

Yilar's scream of agony tore through the night air, a sound of pure anguish as he clutched at the stumps of his legs, his inhuman violet eyes wide with shock and pain.

Hamen and Iorina exchanged a glance before spurring their mounts toward the forest edge, the General signalling her troops to continue dealing with the remaining barbarians. The drake circling above changed course, swooping low toward where Jolthar stood over the mutilated Yilar.

"What are you doing here?" Jolthar demanded, his voice carrying that otherworldly resonance that seemed to vibrate in the bones of those who heard it.

Yilar only groaned in response, his face contorted with pain. His hand began to move toward something hidden beneath his robe—a movement Jolthar caught immediately.

With another lightning-fast strike, Jolthar's blade severed Yilar's hand at the wrist, sending it tumbling to the blood-soaked ground beside his already severed legs.

The pale man's scream redoubled, his inhuman features twisting into something even less recognizable through his agony.

Jolthar knelt and tore open Yilar's robes with the tip of his blade, revealing a strange leather pouch strapped to the man's torso. The bag pulsed with an unsettling rhythm, as if something living were contained within.

Hamen and Iorina arrived just as Jolthar was examining the mysterious pouch. The Count's expression shifted from confusion to genuine shock as he recognized the mutilated figure on the ground.

"You!?" Hamen exclaimed, dismounting quickly.

"What are you doing here?"

Jolthar turned to Hamen, wondering how he knew Yilar. Jolthar remembered seeing this particular individual in the valley of the desert; this nynthrall was a peculiar one, Jolthar understood that. From what he could gather up until now, Yilar seemed to have worked with Chittera and attacked the empire.

And that strange creature, they fought a couple of days ago. The vile energy he sensed—no wonder it felt familiar to him. The creature, those strange men in the barony, and the vile creatures in the desert—they were all his doing.

The conclusion led up to Yilar, who was now writhing in pain. He had been experimenting on humans and doing what he willed.

Jolthar's brows stretched into a straight line; his expression turned serious as he wanted to kill Yilar right this instant.

Iorina remained mounted, her hand resting casually on her sword hilt as she surveyed the scene. Her experienced eyes missed nothing—the strange pouch, Yilar's inhuman features, and the calculated brutality of Jolthar's actions.

This was no random violence; the young man had recognized a threat none of them had perceived. Even she didn't notice Yilar was present in the woods.

"You know this creature?" she asked Hamen, her tone making it clear that his answer would be of great interest to the Empire.

The drake circling above let out a piercing cry as it began its descent, its massive wings creating gusts that bent the nearby trees.

Hamen, Iorina, and the rest of them looked up to see Maelruth landing before them.

The drake strode slowly towards Jolthar and stood quietly.

Iorina watched the drake with confusion. Hamen then answered her, saying the drake was Jolthar's mount, making her eyes grew even more wide with astonishment.

Jolthar ignoring the eyes of Hamen and Iorina, his eyes still on Yilar, asked again, "What are you doing here?"

Yilar's face contorted with pain.

"Like Dagur said, you are one heck of a pain in the ass, boy," Yilar gritted his teeth; blood poured from his severed limbs. Yilar was really shocked that he sensed his presence when he was shrouded himself in the darkness. He had greatly underestimated Jolthar.

Jolthar stabbed him on his thigh and said with a bass tone, "I asked you a question."

Yilar grinned through pain, "You are going to kill me anyway, so why waste my breath?"

Jolthar smiled as he said, "You are right, so how about you burn to death?"

Yilar's brow furrowed as he looked at Jolthar; his pain had been numbed for a second as he processed his words.

Jolthar turned to his drake and nodded his head.

Iorina already guessed what he was going to do.

"We need him alive, don't kill him," She said after remaining silent for a while now.

Iorina needed the evidence of stating the appearance of a Nynthrall; they weren't supposed to be in the human lands, and yet there was one right in front of them.

It seems like Hamen had contacted them. There were questions, and they would need to hear from the Nynthrall.