"Ouch…Ouch…I think my arm is broken," a man whimpered, clutching his limb and writhing on the cobblestones.

"Uggghh!...same here," another moaned in agreement, his voice thick with agony.

A third stumbled into view, clutching his face. "My nose…it's flat," he mumbled, his voice muffled.

"Pfff" A snort escaped someone in the background, quickly stifled by another wave of pain.

"Don't laugh–...ouch!!" he yelped.

"Well, you're the bright one who decided to headbutt him," a voice laced with amusement came from a nearby figure.

"I didn't expect the guy to be tougher than a rock!" the head-butter protested, his voice laced with a hint of indignation through the pain.

"At least you're not like poor Greg over there" someone chimed in, gesturing towards a slumped figure propped against the wall.

All eyes turned to Greg, who seemed to be in a world of his own, his face contorted in a grimace of pain gripping a very specific place between his legs.

"What happened to him?" someone whispered, a hint of fear creeping into their voices.

"Apparently," the first voice continued, their amusement tinged with a hint of nervous laughter, "he tried to do one of the forbidden things in the world to our New Lord Commander, and he…well, let's just say Greg won't be winning any contests of…anatomy…anytime soon."

A collective wince passed through the group as they glanced sympathetically at Greg, who was now receiving more attention than he probably desired.

"Seriously? That's just asking for trouble," another man muttered, shaking his head painfully in disbelief.

"Indeed," a cold, chilling voice suddenly cut through the air, causing the Frostguard to freeze and turn to the source with a mixture of surprise and apprehension.

Aron the New Lord Commander stood before them, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the scene. His crimson eyes, devoid of any warmth, seemed to pierce through each man, dissecting their reactions.

After he gave them a better chance to earn their freedom, by allowing them to fight him as a group, they didn't hesitate to take that chance. They had charged at him like a tide, a ragtag group of men united by a common goal: survival.

That's when Aron learned firsthand how these criminals fought. They gave him a struggle, and if not for his tough skin, their unorthodox tactics might have overwhelmed him. Their fighting style was "dishonorable" in the eyes of a warrior like Aron.

They did anything to take him down. And when I say anything I mean anything, to the point that not-poor Greg tried to kick Aron in the 'abomination' between his legs, which caused Aron to react badly and deliver a powerful kick to the Not-poor Greg's little Brother.

To be fair, Aron relied only on his physical strength, wanting to test himself against different opponents since fighting Thyra was always…well, let's just say Aron suffered more than the men now groaning on the ground, and honestly, he found a perverse satisfaction in seeing them suffer a little too.

Flashing a "gentle" smile, Aron spoke, "It seems you gentlemen are in high spirits, yes?"

"A-Ahhh Lord Commander, we-" one of them stammered, but Aron interrupted with a raised hand.

"Why don't you give me 10 laps around the courtyard?" he suggested, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The Frostguard exchanged nervous glances, unsure how to respond to their new Lord Commander's unexpected request. They knew better than to defy him, yet the prospect of running laps with their injuries seemed daunting, especially since the courtyard could easily hold over ten thousand men.

"MOVE NOW!" he boomed, causing them to scramble into action, their movements clumsy and pained as they obeyed Aron's command.

As they began their laps, Aron watched with a sense of satisfaction, his crimson eyes following their progress with unwavering focus. He took note of their grimaces, their labored breaths, and the way they stumbled over the uneven cobblestones.

Then he shifted his gaze to the others who didn't participate in his challenge. And surprisingly they were the dwarves and The Elves.

"I take it that you all have no intention of walking away from here?" Aron inquired.

One of the elves stepped forward, answering, "We have nowhere to go, Lord Commander. Our fate was sealed when our own people banished us here."

"I see," Aron nodded. "Well, your fate rests in my hands now." He pointed to the running men. "Join your comrades."

The dwarves and Elves exchanged glances, their expressions guarded but resigned. Without protest, they followed Aron's command and joined the Frostguard in their laps around the courtyard.

Meanwhile, Aron found his way back to the wooden platform where sat on a chair observing the Frostguard.

Lieutenant Eamon and the soldiers stood in shock, witnessing their Lord Commander single-handedly take on over a thousand men. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Eamon, with his usual stoicism, attempted to ask Aron but then suddenly a man approached the platform carrying a plate in his hand—The cook.

"Greeting Lord Commander," The cook said, offering a bow in respect "We cooks prepared this special dish as a welcoming gift. I hope you accept it."

Aron narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the cook with his dragon sight. A knowing smile played on his lips as he nodded in acceptance.

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"I appreciate the gesture," Aron replied, his voice carrying a hint of genuine gratitude that surprised those around him. "Your efforts are noted."

With a graceful motion, Aron gestured for the cook to proceed with presenting the dish. The aroma of the stew filled the air, enticing and comforting.

As the cook offered the plate, Aron inspected the dish with a keen eye, noting the craftsmanship and care put into its preparation. Despite his formidable presence, there was a momentary softness in his expression as he accepted the offering.

"The aroma is delightful, and I bet the taste is even better." Aron lifted the spoon to his lips and took a tentative sip of the stew.

Meanwhile, the cook's face contorted into a fleeting, wicked grin before he quickly regained his composure. This did not escape Aron's watchful eyes, and he understood the reason thanks to the system message that materialized before him after the first sip.

[Warning: A foreign object is attempting to invade your body.]

'System, explain?'

[Master, I have detected small, indiscernible eggs mixed within the stew. I have managed to isolate it.]

'Analyze them,' he commanded inwardly.

[Analyzing]

A few seconds later, the system reported back.

[Master, comparing to data acquired upon your initial contact with the Frostguard, the eggs detected in the stew are likely from the same parasitic organism that infests them. They are small and inconspicuous, but if ingested, they could hatch and begin siphoning mana from the host.]

'I see,' Aron thought, maintaining a calm exterior. He turned to the cook, saying, "I can certainly see why this dish is called special. Thank you," his tone neutral as he gazed at the man.

The cook bowed deeply. "It was my duty, Lord Commander." He took a step back, attempting to leave, but Aron's voice stopped him.

"Wait."

The cook froze, his eyes widening slightly as he awaited Aron's next words.

"It would be a shame to experience this special dish alone" The corner of Aron's mouth lifted in a warm smile "Don't you think?...Come join me"

The cook's breath caught in his throat, uncertain of how to respond, he tried to stay calm and politely refused. "But Lord Commander that would be inappropriate"

Aron's smile widened, though the warmth didn't reach his crimson eyes. "Inappropriate? Nonsense. We are all brothers in arms now and we must share the good things to strengthen our bonds"

The smile on his face vanished, replaced with a chilling coldness. "Now, sit," Aron commanded his voice a low growl.

The blood drained from the cook's face as he hesitated for a moment, the weight of Aron's command pressing heavily upon him. Swallowing hard, he slowly took a seat opposite the New Lord Commander, his hands trembling slightly

Aron observed the cook's unease with a predatory gaze, his crimson eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent shivers down the cook's spine. Despite the warm smile that had briefly graced his lips moments ago, there was now an unmistakable aura of danger surrounding Aron.

With deliberate movements, Aron picked up his spoon once more, never breaking eye contact with the cook. "Eat," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument as he gestured the spoon towards him.

The cook's hands trembled as he reached for the spoon, his fingers brushing against the cold metal. Every instinct screamed at him to resist, to flee, but how? A terrifying aura slowly enveloped him, rendering him immobile.

He brought the spoon to his lips but then froze. Unable to place the utensil in his mouth, he began to shake violently with every fiber of his being.

Lieutenant Eamon turned to Keeper Eldarion, confusion etched on his face. He tried to ask what was happening, but seeing the old man's serious expression, a dread filled him. A theory emerged in his mind, one confirmed by Aron's next words.

"Have you ever heard the saying," he addressed the cook, "'The poison maker never tastes his own poison'?"

Instantly, the cook dropped to his knees, begging. "P-Please Lord Commander," he stammered, the spoon clattering to the floor with a deafening clang. "T-They forced me to do it!"

Aron's gaze remained steady, unmoved by the cook's pleading. His crimson eyes bore into the man's soul, dissecting his every word and movement with a keen awareness.

"Lieutenant," he called out, causing Eamon to snap to attention and swiftly approach him.

"Yes, Lord Commander," Eamon acknowledged with a sharp salute.

"Apprehend this man and confine him to the dungeon," Aron ordered. "Bring before me everyone who had a hand in preparing the food."

Lieutenant Eamon nodded sharply, his expression reflecting the seriousness of the situation. Without a word, he motioned for the soldiers to apprehend the cook, who was now trembling on the ground, his eyes wide with fear.

"Y-You can't do this!" the cook protested, his voice trembling with desperation as he was dragged away by the soldier. "I-I was only following orders!"

But Aron remained impassive, not sparing the man a glance as the soldiers dragged him away.

The Frostguard in the courtyard halted their laps, observing the scene unfold in stunned silence. They didn't fully grasp the situation, but the sight of Lieutenant Eamon dragging four men towards the wooden platform left them bewildered.

"Lord Commander," Eamon announced with a salute, slamming his fist to his chest, "these are all the cooks involved."

Aron nodded in acknowledgment "Thank you, Lieutenant," he replied before turning his attention to the trembling men before him.

The cooks stood before Aron, their faces pale and beads of sweat glistening on their brows. They exchanged nervous glances, unaware of the gravity of the situation they now found themselves in.

Aron's crimson eyes scanned each of them, utilizing his dragon sight. He identified three men free of the parasitic taint.

"These three," he commanded, pointing towards them, "To the dungeon"

The soldiers immediately stepped forward, apprehending the three cooks. Their cries and desperate pleas echoed through the courtyard, causing the other men to shiver in fear.

But then.

BOOF!

Someone from the ranks of the Frostguard in the courtyard, slammed the ground hard, throwing the men around on all sides. He quickly cast a wind spell propelling himself in the air attempting to flee.

Before anyone got the chance to even register what just happened Aron reacted quickly. Raising his hand Aron summoned a burst of dark energy taking the shape of a serpent.

The ethereal serpent lashed out with incredible speed, swallowing the wind caster's legs and sinking its fangs deep into their back and stomach.

"AHHHHHH!" A bloodcurdling scream erupted from the wind caster as the ethereal serpent continued to tighten its grip, dragging him across the cobblestones with relentless force.

His screams echoed through the courtyard, as his bloody hands attempted to grab anything hoping to stop the serpent's relentless assault. But it was futile; the dark energy coiled around him with a suffocating intensity, leaving him no room for escape.

Aron watched with cold indifference as the wind caster was brought back before him, his body bruised and broken from the serpent's merciless attack. The courtyard fell silent, the air heavy with tension as the Frostguard and the other witnesses looked on in horror.

The Brutality of their new Lord Commander.

"You thought you could flee from me," Aron stated, his voice low and menacing as he towered over the wind caster.

He gripped them by the throat, hoisting them off the ground. His grasp was like an iron vice around the man's neck. The wind caster choked and gasped for air, their face contorted in agony as Aron's crimson eyes bore into them with an intensity that sent shivers down their spine.

"There is no escape from my wrath"

Aron's voice echoed in the courtyard, sending a chill down the spines of all who heard it. The wind caster squirmed in Aron's grasp, his eyes wide with terror as he realized the gravity of his situation.

"I-I'm sorry, Lord Commander," the wind caster gasped, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to speak. "Please, have mercy."

But Aron showed no mercy, his grip on the man's throat only tightening as he continued to loom over him with an aura of menace.

"Mercy is a luxury I do not extend to those like you."

With a swift motion, Aron threw the man on the ground allowing the soldiers the seize him and drag him with the rest

Aron turned gazing at the men in the courtyard, who flinched when they saw his crimson eyes.

"Who told you to stop running?" he boomed. " move your asses NOW!"