"My Lord—what exactly do you mean by this?"
Kaster stood before Blake, his face dark with anger and frustration. He had never imagined that the little scheme he'd cooked up to inconvenience the lord would end up backfiring spectacularly on himself. To be perfectly honest, Kaster hadn't the faintest idea what kind of big fish he'd accidentally caught. He'd acted purely on years of experience, sensing that there was something off about the group of travelers. After all, wandering merchants who roamed the land were rarely men of clean hands, and most people knew better than to meddle with them lest they invite trouble upon themselves. But Kaster and his men had been sent to the Twilight Forest for one specific purpose—to stir up trouble for the young lord. While local merchants were best left alone, these wandering traders were fair game. In Kaster's eyes, this young lord seemed like a man with no strong will of his own; he'd never be able to handle a mess like this properly. No matter how things turned out, the Twilight Forest would earn a reputation for lawlessness. Wandering merchants traveled far and wide—letting them go would ensure that word of the incident spread far and wide, completing their mission perfectly. And if, by some chance, the lord gritted his teeth and silenced the merchants to protect his territory's reputation? Well, that's where Kaster and his men came in. They could always spread rumors about the lord's ruthless cruelty, which would have just as damaging an effect... though Kaster would rather not get his own hands dirty unless absolutely necessary.
But things had clearly not gone according to plan. Blake had indeed released the captives—but what happened next had left Kaster utterly dumbfounded. Not only did the lord intend to travel with these wandering merchants, but he'd actually ordered Kaster and his men to accompany them? What kind of nonsense was this?
"My Lord—we are members of the garrison. Our sole duty is to maintain internal security within the Twilight Forest. So—"
"But I am your lord," Blake cut him off, fixing the middle-aged man with an elegant yet icy smile.
"As my subordinates, is it not your duty to obey my orders?"
"I believe you are mistaken, my Lord," Kaster replied, his expression growing grave as he picked his words carefully.
"While we are responsible for maintaining order in the Twilight Forest, we are not your subordinates. I would remind you that we were sent here by Viscount Wynn to 'assist' you in governing this territory. We have every right to refuse any orders outside the scope of that assistance."
Kaster emphasized the word "assist," making it abundantly clear that he was reminding Blake of their true allegiance. They were not his men—he had no authority to command them to perform tasks reserved for sworn vassals. After all, even though they were nominally under Blake's command, their true master was the Byrd family. Compared to the mighty Byrds, Blake was nothing more than a minor lord with neither status nor power to speak of. Why on earth would they ever obey his orders? Kaster shot Blake a sidelong glance. The lord should be well aware of their relationship—so why was he issuing such a command? Was he trying to take them under his wing and turn them into permanent residents of the Twilight Forest?
A cold sneer tugged at the corners of Kaster's lips. He'd like to see what tricks this lord thought he had up his sleeve. Did he really dare to oppose the Byrd family? With what—his wealth? His reputation? His women? Speaking of which, the maids in this castle were quite attractive. If the lord was willing to spend a fortune to bribe them, Kaster supposed they might consider serving under him for a few years... though they would never become his sworn vassals. Looking at the man's meager power, it was clear that no matter how hard he tried, he would always remain a petty lordling. They weren't stupid enough to abandon a great power like the Byrd family to throw their lot in with him.
But much to Kaster's surprise, Blake showed no reaction to his pointed reminder. He continued to wear that calm, placid smile, not a single muscle in his face twitching. Then, in a slow, deliberate voice, he called out:
"Ophelia."
"My Lord?" Ophelia, who had been standing silently behind Blake, adjusted her cloak and stepped forward.
"According to the law, what is the punishment for a commoner who shows disrespect to a noble?"
"Fifty lashes for a minor offense, expulsion from the territory for a serious one," Ophelia replied without hesitation, recalling the relevant statutes in an instant.
"And given that he is supposed to be your subordinate, we must also add the charges of disobeying a direct order and insubordination... combining all these offenses..."
"Yes?" Blake prompted, his smile never wavering.
"It is punishable by death."
Ophelia's words were sharp and unyielding, leaving no room for negotiation. At the sound of them, the anger that had been simmering inside Kaster erupted like a volcano.
What a joke! This man was nothing more than a lowly minor noble—did he really dare to kill him? Did he truly believe that just because he was a noble, others would meekly submit to execution? What nonsense! Kaster knew he couldn't stand against a great house like the Byrds—but was he supposed to cower before a washed-up little lord who couldn't even command a decent army? Did this fool really take him for an idiot?
With these thoughts racing through his mind, Kaster's face darkened instantly.
"My Lord—I advise you to abandon these foolish ideas. Nobles like you are beneath our notice!"
Kaster believed he had been more than generous with his words, his tone laced with a veiled threat. He had expected the young lord to show at least some sign of fear or hesitation—but instead, Blake simply turned to murmur quietly with Ophelia, as if Kaster wasn't even there.
"Did you hear that, Ophelia? That is a blatant, unvarnished threat."
"According to the law, such a crime warrants public execution—displaying the corpse as a warning to others..."
You arrogant bastards!
"You—" Kaster ground his teeth in fury, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. He drew it in one swift motion, determined to teach this insolent young upstart a lesson he would never forget.
But as his sword cleared the scabbard, Kaster suddenly felt his hand go light. The momentum of his draw carried him forward—and when he looked down, his eyes widened in shock. In his hand, there was nothing but the hilt of his sword. The blade had been cleanly severed, vanishing without a trace.
What in the name of the gods just happened?
Kaster stared at the hilt in his hand, his mind reeling. Then his gaze snapped upward—and he saw that the young lord's hand, which had been hanging loosely at his side, was now resting casually on the hilt of his own sword at his waist.
Could it have been him?
Kaster sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darting nervously around the spacious audience chamber. He and his two companions were the only ones present besides Blake and Ophelia. He knew his own sword well—it had been in perfect condition. And yet, in the split second it had taken him to draw his weapon, someone had managed to slice through the blade cleanly, without making a single sound.
Kaster was no slouch when it came to swordsmanship—he had considerable confidence in his own abilities. But in that moment, all that confidence evaporated into thin air.
How was this possible? Could it really be this boy—who looked not even half his age—who had done this? Kaster refused to believe it. If that were true, then this young lord must possess the skill of a high-ranked swordsman. That was impossible! Kaster had watched the man closely—he spent his days lazing about, drinking tea and reading books, or flirting with the maids in the castle. Ophelia, his adjutant, seemed far more dedicated to the territory's affairs than he did. Blake never seemed to find the time to practice swordsmanship. Of course, Kaster and his men had seen the sword the lord carried—they'd even laughed among themselves, mocking the young noble for carrying a sword he clearly didn't know how to use, nothing more than a pretty ornament.
But now...
"Master Kaster," Blake said calmly, his eyes fixed on the stunned man before him.
"I believe you have only two choices now."
"And... what is the second choice?" Kaster forced himself to calm down, lowering his hand and gripping the useless hilt tightly, his voice low and tense.
"There are plenty of men who would be more than willing to take your place as garrison commander," Blake replied, his words clear and unambiguous, leaving no room for negotiation.
Kaster's brows furrowed deeply. From Blake's lightning-fast move, he'd already suspected that the lord might be considering silencing him to cover his tracks. But hearing the words spoken aloud still sent a chill down his spine. To be honest, Kaster still couldn't bring himself to fully believe that this young man possessed such terrifying strength. But it was better to be safe than sorry. What if this young lord really was a high-ranked swordsman? Unlike those one-track-minded fools from the Zachary family, Kaster had spent years in the service of the Byrd family, and he knew all too well how nobles operated. Right now, he was in Viscount Wynn's good graces—but he was still just a commoner at the end of the day. As Ophelia had so pointedly reminded him, insubordination against a noble was a capital offense. If this noble was nothing more than a useless fop, Kaster could afford to dismiss his threats—but if he was a genuine high-ranked swordsman? Would the Byrd family really risk alienating such a valuable asset for the sake of a mere commoner like him?
"I understand your meaning now, my Lord," Kaster said, bowing deeply, his pride swallowing hard. He still wasn't entirely sure what this young noble was truly capable of—but caution was the better part of valor. Let the lord do as he pleased; Kaster could always report everything to Viscount Wynn later, and he would not be blamed. Losing his temper here and now would be the height of foolishness.
"I will do as you command. How many of my men do you require?"
"I need three squads. Leaving one squad behind to patrol the Twilight Forest will be sufficient."
"This... very well," Kaster replied, the words almost sticking in his throat as he fought back his initial urge to argue. He gave Blake a formal salute, then turned on his heel and strode out of the chamber without another word.
I must report this to Viscount Wynn at once!
With that resolve firmly in mind, Kaster hurried out of the hall. Blake and Ophelia watched his retreating figure, then exchanged a knowing smile.
"It's always so much easier to deal with intelligent men," Blake remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Indeed it is," Ophelia agreed.
"However... I assume you have already considered the problems that will arise from this course of action, my Lord?"
"Of course I have," Blake replied, nodding with a confident smile.
"With Judy and the others handling things, I don't think I have anything to worry about."
Ophelia's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint glimmer of understanding dawning in them. She glanced at Blake, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.
"And what about our... 'merchandise'? I trust you have plans for that as well?"
Blake's smile widened, his eyes flashing with a cold, calculating glint of ruthlessness.
"Such fine merchandise," he said, his voice soft yet filled with dark amusement.
"It would be a terrible shame not to drive a hard bargain, wouldn't it?"