As Elian returned, pulling alongside his mother and Gremory the improvised stretcher that carried his father's lifeless body, two men cut through the forest at a gallop. The hooves of their horses struck the damp earth in a dull, relentless rhythm, splattering mud in their wake. They rode north, vanishing into the woods like shadows fleeing the scene of a crime.
On the white horse rode a man clad in light chainmail, the cold steel catching fragments of light filtered through the canopy. At his waist hung a battle-worn sword, still scarred from combat, and strapped to his back, a heavy satchel held the tools used in Arthur's torment. One might expect his chest to be swollen with pride at the act just committed… but it wasn't. Lucius's face bore a grim rigidity, a silent irritation that had burned within him since leaving the clearing, as though something had soured the taste of victory.
Beside him, astride a horse black as pitch, rode Kreld. In him, there was no trace of frustration. His eyes, sharp as blades, gleamed with the satisfaction of one who had not only destroyed what he intended but had sown terror like salt over scorched earth. More than that, he had enjoyed the rare chance to test himself against two renowned mages: Elise of the Second Hierarchy, and Gremory of the Fourth. To him, that clash had been a feast, and the flavor lingered in his mind.
"Why the grim face, Lucius?" Kreld taunted, his voice laced with venom and irony. "Didn't you enjoy the peasant?"
Lucius felt the sting of the jab but didn't bother to feed it. The anger he carried was too heavy for trivial sparring.
"Enjoy him?" he replied, with a cold, malicious smile. "Of course. But I wanted to enjoy his wife as well." His tone, steeped in lust, suddenly hardened with frustration. "And yet, while I tortured him… not once— not once—did he beg me for mercy."
The confession was venom he could neither swallow nor spit. Lucius had tortured dozens over his lifetime, and all—without exception—had pleaded for their lives. But Arthur… Arthur had refused. He hadn't begged for himself. He hadn't pleaded for his wife's fate. He hadn't surrendered to pain. For Lucius, that was unforgivable.
It wasn't that Arthur believed his family was safe—deep down, he knew nothing was certain. But he had chosen to die rather than give that man the pleasure of witnessing his fear. That silence, that almost serene defiance, was a thorn lodged in Lucius's mind, festering with each recollection.
"And before he died…" Lucius paused, teeth clenched as the image returned, "he still wore a smile. A damned smile… looking upward."
Kreld didn't answer. His mind was still locked in fragments of battle, replaying each spell cast, each blow traded, each labored breath. For him, that night hadn't been merely an attack—it had been an experiment, and the results had exceeded expectations.
Lucius broke the silence with a clipped order.
"Come. We need to reach the manor as soon as possible."
It would be two days' ride to Baron Hoffmann's estate—two days in which the forest would hide them like a loyal accomplice, while the pain they'd left behind spread slowly and poisonously through the village.
★★★
The journey to Baron Hoffmann's manor was surprisingly uneventful. They encountered almost no trouble along the way. At times, they crossed paths with solitary travelers or small caravans, but nothing that could link their faces to what had transpired hours earlier. Before leaving, they had changed clothes—a precaution Kreld took further by burning Lucius's bloodstained garments, ensuring no trace could be tied to the Baron.
The sun, already low on the horizon, painted the west in deep shades of red and scorched orange. Light faded slowly, giving way to the penumbra of night, which crept in like a silent veil.
When they arrived at the wrought-iron gates, adorned with figures of golden vines and exotic birds, two guards awaited them. Their black armor, trimmed in gold, bore the Hoffmann family crest upon their chests. One stepped forward, voice firm and direct:
"The Baron wishes to see you at once."
Without needless words, Lucius and Kreld passed through the gates and into the inner courtyard. The manor loomed ahead—imposing, symmetrical—its stained glass windows catching the last golden rays of the day, each pane depicting hunts and conquests. The garden, meticulously tended, displayed rose bushes in full bloom and topiaries carved into perfect geometric forms. At its center, a white marble fountain spilled arcs of water that intertwined before falling softly into a circular pool where orange carp drifted lazily.
The gentle sound of water contrasted with the vigilant stares of the guards positioned throughout the courtyard. Lucius kept a steady pace, while Kreld, still wearing the faint smile of recent destruction, regarded the refinement around him with a mix of disdain and curiosity.
They followed an outer walkway lined with stone columns and glass-paneled doors that reflected their figures. Crossing the main entrance, the scent of polished wax and fine wood greeted them. Inside, the walls were paneled with carved oak, crystal chandeliers spilling golden light over Persian rugs, and oil paintings depicting banquets and hunts. Yet here and there, details broke the harmony: the cruel gaze of a patriarch in a family portrait, an ivory sculpture of kneeling, chained figures—pieces discreetly placed, yet heavy with meaning.
They climbed the grand staircase, its golden railings gleaming under the chandelier light, until they reached the upper floor. Guards stood motionless at each end of the corridor, their expressions a little too neutral to be natural. At the far end rose double doors of mahogany, their bronze handles shaped like eagle talons polished by years of use.
Lucius knocked once. The reply came almost immediately—a deep, measured, authoritative voice:
"Enter."
Upon opening the doors, they found Baron Hoffmann seated behind a massive walnut desk. Around him, towering shelves brimmed with books, rolled maps, glass jars, and small cases containing rings, human teeth, and old medals. A fire burned in the hearth, casting both light and warmth into the room, though the true flame was in the Baron himself.
He greeted them with a cold, calculating gaze, his lips curved into a sly smile—as if he already knew the answer before asking. His fingers drummed lightly against the desk, the ruby on his hand catching the firelight.
"Gentlemen…" he said, voice low but steeped in expectation. "I trust you bring good news."
Lucius was the first to move, bowing in a formal gesture before the desk—calculated, a blend of respect and submission. Kreld, on the other hand, remained upright, arms relaxed at his sides, gaze fixed on the Baron—a silence that wordlessly declared he owed the man nothing.
The Baron noticed the contrast. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger crossing his face, though it quickly dissolved into feigned indifference. Resting his chin on his right hand, the ruby on his finger glinted again.
"Report," he ordered, without preamble.
Lucius straightened, his voice carrying a faint satisfaction as he described the details.
He recounted the capture, how he had bound Arthur in the clearing, each calculated blow, each broken finger, the deep cut to the thigh, the shattered knee, and finally, the blade driven between the ribs. He also spoke of the final, unsettling detail—the smile Arthur wore until his last breath.
The Baron raised a brow, tilting his head slightly.
"And the wife?" he asked, voice slow, almost casual. "Did you get to enjoy her?"
Lucius's expression hardened, frustration flashing in his eyes.
"No," he replied, curt but heavy with anger. "I had no opportunity."
The Baron's smile widened, a malicious glint in his gaze.
"Don't worry, Lucius…" he said, like offering a poisoned gift. "Opportunities will come."
Leaning back in his chair, he shifted focus.
"And the boy?" he asked, with an interest that seemed more strategic than personal.
Lucius drew a slow breath before answering:
"I didn't see him… but after looking at the father's body, I'm certain he's broken."
At that, Kreld gave a faint snort of laughter, cutting through the room's tension with silent mockery.
"While you were entertaining yourself with the peasant, I was handling bigger problems," he said, voice dripping with irony. "Elise saw me. We fought… and it would have ended differently if not for the mage she left protecting the family before arriving with another mage and the child. That complicated things."
Lucius shot him a look of disdain but pressed on, as if to reassert his own worth.
"To avoid direct ties, I hired two mercenaries to stage a bandit attack. No one will connect this to us."
"Elise isn't a fool," Kreld interrupted again, this time with a crooked smile. "She knows it was you, Baron."
That malicious smile returned to Hoffmann's lips, now with a colder gleam in his eyes.
"Knowing isn't the same as proving," he replied, almost amused. "And without proof, she can do nothing."
Silence fell. The Baron placed his hands on the desk—a gesture of finality.
"Very well. That's enough for today," he said, in a tone of dismissal.
Lucius gave a brief bow before leaving. Kreld, as before, didn't bend even slightly—he simply turned and walked out, the echo of his boots fading down the corridor.
The Baron remained alone in the room, slowly turning the ring on his finger while a faint smile lingered on his lips.