Chapter 258 - Capturing the Noble Faction
Hugo Riverclimb:
As we walked through the castle corridors, the images of the devastation I witnessed upon crossing the outer walls refused to leave my mind. The journey through Nikolaus Wolves' fortified village to reach the castle was a grim testimony to the brutal destruction that had unfolded. Every corner bore the marks of an unrelenting force, leaving behind a scene that resembled a desolate battlefield.
Pillars lay shattered, carts overturned like discarded toys, and carriages reduced to unrecognizable rubble. The once-busy streets were now engulfed in chaos. Craters and mounds of debris dominated the landscape, while gaping holes in the walls revealed the trail of havoc left behind. It was easy to spot the scorched marks characteristic of Nathan's lightning, a clear confirmation of his presence.
The bodies scattered across the village told a horrifying tale. Many were so mangled it was hard to believe they had once been human, resembling squashed, rotten fruit. As I walked, I occasionally kicked lifeless heads that rolled in my path, startling the few remaining soldiers who still hid. The scene was grotesque, almost surreal—a nightmare come to life.
It seems the young master has been keeping himself very busy.
The soldiers who hadn’t fled were reduced to mere shells of themselves, hiding in makeshift shelters. Some crammed themselves into barrels, others huddled under overturned carts, while a few, in pathetic desperation, feigned death amidst the wreckage. Their proximity to terror was unmistakable—they trembled uncontrollably, their teeth chattering in an erratic rhythm, unable to utter a coherent word.
Most were in a pitiful state. Their words were fragmented by fear, their minds evidently shattered. They didn’t even react to our presence; seeing human faces that weren’t hostile seemed to bring immense relief. Some began sobbing at the sight of us, as if they’d just been freed from an endless nightmare.
When we attempted to extract information, their shock was palpable. Slowly, they pointed trembling fingers toward the castle, as if merely mentioning the place could summon the horrors they had witnessed. Their terrified expressions were all the confirmation we needed that the true nightmare awaited inside.
The chaos intensified within the castle. Soldiers scurried aimlessly like rats trapped on a sinking ship, seeking any corner to hide. Their behavior was as strange as it was disturbing. Upon seeing us, several fell to their knees, begging to be imprisoned. It was as if they preferred the safety of a cell to the terror that seemed to permeate the place.
The castle itself had become a scene of nightmares. Broken walls, riddled with cracks and scars of destruction, told of the chaos that had erupted. Grotesque roots emerged from the ground like grasping hands, while corridors were flooded with water, likely the result of uncontrolled magic. Hastily constructed stone barriers blocked passages; some had crumbled, while others still stood.
Black scorch marks on the walls told a story of electrical destruction, where devastating lightning had scorched the stone, leaving trails of soot. The air was heavy with the stench of charred flesh and fresh blood. Corpses littered the halls: some impaled on wooden spikes that seemed to grow from the walls themselves; others dismembered, their bodies torn apart in brutal displays. Higher up, bodies hung grotesquely from the ceiling, suspended by roots dripping a thick, dark liquid.
The flames still licked parts of the corridors, with blackened walls and twisted beams marking the path of the fire that still burned in some sections. Jagged spikes protruded from the walls like lethal traps, fresh blood dripping from their tips. Portions of the floor had collapsed, revealing treacherous pits and triggered traps. The entire castle had been turned into a battlefield scarred by explosions and high-tier magic, each corner a reminder of the devastation left behind.
The nobles had been found hiding by our maids, all of them visibly shaken. The only one absent was Nikolaus Wolves, who had apparently separated from the group. When we dragged them out of their hiding places, the desperation was evident. Some didn’t waste a second before surrendering outright.
"Don't touch me, you filthy peasant servant!" shouted Count Laurence, still trying to maintain his air of superiority despite his capture.
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Without missing a beat, I turned to the nearest maid and ordered, "Break his nose."
She didn’t hesitate. With a swift punch, her fist connected squarely with his face. The crack of cartilage echoed through the hall as the Count stumbled back, clutching his face while blood gushed from his nostrils.
"How dare you!? I'm a Count!" he bellowed, his voice tinged with both pain and disbelief, yet the fear in his eyes betrayed his bravado.
"Fuck off," the maid replied flatly, shoving him back into the line of captives.
As we escorted the nobles through the castle’s corridors, their constant whining continued. They invoked diplomatic immunity, demanded a fair trial with the kingdom's approval, and insisted they were unaware of the conflict. Every step of the way, they repeated their rights, as if still clinging to the illusion of power. Some even requested the presence of their personal guards to escort them, oblivious to the fact that no loyal troops remained.
It only took a few cold, silent glares to remind them that their titles meant nothing now. They were completely at our mercy.
"What happened here?" one of the nobles demanded with a condescending tone. "I expect a full report. I have more important matters to attend to. When the kingdom hears of this, I'll await my trial from the comfort of my estate."
I clenched my jaw, struggling to keep my composure. The arrogance of these nobles was exhausting. Even after all the chaos they'd caused, they still acted like they were untouchable.
"You initiated this conflict against us. We merely defended ourselves, and from the looks of it, we lost. That makes us the victims here," declared Baron Franklin, his voice dripping with smug superiority. "We were just attending a peaceful dinner among friends when you unlawfully broke diplomatic code by attacking us. That's how the kingdom will view this. No matter how strong your suspicions are, in the end, that's all they are, suspicions."
As we marched further, a commanding presence emerged from the corridor ahead. My wife, Martha, was approaching, her expression as unforgiving as a storm. Her gaze swept across the captured nobles with cold authority, making it clear she wasn't there for polite negotiations.
"I can't believe this," she announced, her voice echoing through the stone halls as she stepped forward.
Without hesitation, Martha drew her spear from her storage bracelet, the weapon’s silver tip aimed directly at one noble’s throat with deadly precision. The sharp motion froze everyone in place, the noble trembling under her glare.
"Who... who are you?" he stammered, his face pale with terror.
"Me?" Martha’s voice took on a deadly, mocking sweetness, the smile on her lips anything but comforting. "I'm just a maid. But you... you're Baron Gideon, aren't you?"
The man gulped, visibly sweating. "I—I am! But I’m not even from this duchy! I had nothing to do with any of this! I—"
His words died in his throat as my wife let out a cold, mocking laugh that echoed through the ruined corridors. The sound was sharp, cruel, and filled with dark amusement—a laugh I knew all too well.
That laugh never meant anything good. Not for Baron Gideon, at least.
"You’re the bastard who tried to kidnap our young masters years ago... and little Kinue," my wife said, her voice cold, laced with a deep-seated hatred she had clearly nurtured for a long time. "I kept your name and face burned into my heart all these years. How many nights I've dreamed of crushing your face into the ground beneath my feet. And look at that... fate finally delivered you."
Baron Gideon paled, his eyes wide with sheer terror. "I... I never tried to kidnap anyone from your house," he stammered, voice trembling.
"Oh, but you did," Martha replied, her smile turning sharp and venomous. "You just didn’t realize it at the time. The boy who injured your hand? Remember him?"
His face contorted with realization. "No... no, don’t tell me he’s here!" he shouted in sheer panic, his skin turning as pale as a corpse.
"Don’t worry," my wife said, her gaze colder than steel. "The young master won’t waste his time on trash like you. I’ll personally handle your sentence."
Without hesitation, Martha turned to the maids standing behind her. "Girls, take this one with us. Unfortunately, Baron Gideon died in a tragic accident during this battle," she declared with a twisted smile. "From now on, you’re no longer Baron Gideon but our personal practice dummy. Every drop of your blood will be used to teach my lovely students the fine arts of torture."
Before the baron could protest, one of the maids struck the back of his head with the butt of her spear. His body crumpled to the ground like a discarded rag doll, unconscious. The maids, efficient and expressionless, began dragging him down the corridor as if he were no more than a piece of garbage.
"This is outrageous!" shouted Baron Franklin, his face flushed with fury. "You dare lay hands on a noble of political standing! This is an unforgivable insult to the kingdom!"
The hall fell into a tense silence. I felt the pressure mounting in my chest as I turned slowly toward him, letting my footsteps echo with measured weight. Without a word, I clenched my fist and delivered a brutal punch straight to his face. The sickening crack of impact echoed through the stone corridor, and he fell hard, clutching his nose as blood poured from his nostrils.
"I didn’t lay hands on a noble of political standing, Franklin," I said, my voice calm but sharp as a blade. "I threw a punch."
The maids, unfazed, drove their spears into the backs of the other nobles, forcing them forward down the castle’s darkened halls. The sound of their complaints and weak protests echoed faintly, but they were swallowed by the oppressive silence surrounding us.
The power these men once flaunted meant nothing here anymore.