The atmosphere in the mansion of the Duke of the West was dense, laden with tension, as if thunder was about to unleash its fury. The ancient stone walls absorbed the angry murmurs echoing through the corridors, illuminated only by flickering candles. In one of these rooms, two men faced each other in a heated argument.

Kristofer, the knight with dark eyes, was breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists. His cloth garments were stained with dirt and blood, silent witnesses to his recent battle. He was known to prefer action over words, but in front of Jakob, his words were now his only weapons.

Jakob, on the other hand, sported a sharp expression and penetrating eyes. His tangled hair and simple, though clean, attire suggested a hurried journey. He pointed an accusing finger at Kristofer, his voice cutting like a blade: "You wretch! You're a damned sloven, Kristofer!" Jakob spat the words out as if each syllable were a personal blow. "You nearly botched the mission! Nearly served us up on a platter to the enemy!" His voice resonated with a threatening tone, sparking with intense anger.

Kristofer gritted his teeth, feeling the heat of anger rising up his spine. He knew Jakob was right. The mission was simple: pursue the suspected servant and uncover his whereabouts. But the servant was no ordinary target; he was cunning and swift as a fox, and Kristofer had underestimated his prey.

"I did what I could," Kristofer retorted, his voice hoarse. "The servant was smarter than I anticipated. He spotted me, and we fought. I had no choice."

Jakob laughed bitterly. "Choice? There's always a choice, Kristofer. You chose poorly, and now the servant is dead. And what will happen when the Duke finds out? You nearly botched everything!"

Kristofer felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He looked at Jakob, seeing the ill will in his colleague's eyes. It was as if Jakob was waiting for his downfall.

Jakob raised his chin, his face consumed by fury. "You'd better find a way to fix this, Kristofer. Because if you don't, it'll be your head that rolls. I don't intend to be dragged into the abyss with you." His voice carried a palpable threat.

The air in the room seemed to freeze as the door swung open, revealing an old, thin man whom everyone knew as Darren, the Duke's loyal personal servant. His eyes, deep and weathered by decades of service, surveyed the scene with an intensity that made the two knights shrink. Kristofer and Jakob, once at odds, now quieted like scolded children.

Darren closed the door behind him, the hinges creaking like a silent warning. He made his way to the lone chair in the corner of the room, his hunched figure radiating an aura of menace, as if he were a predator lying in wait. He sat with the dignity of one who had witnessed decades of change and turmoil, his posture conveying a sense of relentless power and an inherent capacity for destruction.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Kristofer, Jakob," Darren said, his voice as soft as the whisper of wind through autumn leaves. "Explain to me what happened."

Kristofer felt his heart hammering in his chest. He knew there was no escape. Darren was more than a servant; he was a guardian of the Duke's secrets. Every word that came out of his mouth would be weighed, measured, judged.

Jakob, on the other hand, seemed at ease. He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Kristofer. "I sent Kristofer to follow a suspected servant who left Count Murdo's house, a simple mission, but during the pursuit, he was noticed by the servant he was following. They fought, and the servant ended up dead. The body was left in the middle of the street and found by the guard."

Jakob's words were like daggers, each syllable sharp as a blade. Kristofer felt sweat break out on his forehead. He needed to explain, to justify, but the words seemed to elude him.

Jakob continued, "Shortly after Kristofer returned to his post and explained what happened to me, I noticed some commotion at Count Murdo's mansion; it was the city guards who must have gone to report the servant's corpse. I decided we shouldn't linger there, as the guard..."

Darren interrupted him with the same soft tone of voice. "I am well aware of the guards' extravagant movements this dawn." Darren studied Kristofer with a gaze that pierced the soul and then spoke. "This servant must have been important to the prince; Count Murdo doesn't have the power to influence the guard to such an extent." He paused briefly and continued, "Did you manage to glean any information from the servant before killing him?"

Kristofer, still nervous, replied that he hadn't been able to extract any information from the servant. "I... I couldn't do anything," he began, his wavering voice betraying his anxiety. "As soon as he saw me, everything happened so fast... I didn't have time to interrogate him. He resisted and... and the fight began."

He paused, feeling Jakob's disapproving gaze weighing on him. A chill ran down his spine as he braced himself for the reprimand to come.

But before Jakob could speak, Kristofer continued, his words tumbling out quickly in a desperate attempt to explain his situation.

"But still, I managed to grab some items from the servant's corpse!" he exclaimed, his hands trembling as he produced the objects. "I found these... these..." He retrieved the sealed letter and the small leather pouch that tinkled with the sound of coins.

Darren, with a smooth movement, took the small leather pouch containing shimmering gold coins. He inspected the contents with a keen eye, but his expression remained unchanged, except for a slight comment: "Interesting...". However, upon picking up the sealed wax letter, his calm gaze quickly turned into a sharp, penetrating expression. He then redirected his attention to Kristofer and asked with a firm voice, "Did you find anything else on the servant's body?"

The environment around them seemed to vibrate with invisible energy. Darren remained motionless, like a statue, but the aura around him was anything but static. It was a pulsating force, a living energy that seemed to move and dance around him, as if he had become the epicenter of a hurricane of pure energy, and Kristofer found himself right in the eye of the storm.

Kristofer could feel the pressure of Darren's aura. It was an overwhelming force weighing on him, making him break out in a cold sweat. He could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead, his hands trembling slightly. He tried to maintain composure, but the feeling of inferiority was overwhelming.

He took a step back, lowering his head, recoiling slightly under the pressure of Darren's aura. He could feel fear creeping into his heart, but he refused to let it dominate him. He tried to speak, but his body wouldn't obey.

Darren's aura was like a blazing sun, bright and overpowering. His own, in comparison, was like a weak candle, struggling to stay lit in the presence of the sun.

However, just as his instinct saved him in his last fight during the servant's stealthy attack, somehow Kristofer felt he must manipulate his body's energy to speak. With great difficulty, he managed to say, "No, my lord, that was all I found. I swear it on my life."

When he finally finished speaking those few words, the aura that had been pressing so hard ceased. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. When he finally raised his head, he saw Darren looking pensive, the letter already open in his hand. Looking to the side, Kristofer also saw Jakob, who was at the back of the room with wide eyes and sweating profusely. It was then that he heard Darren's voice.

"You've done well, especially you, Kristofer," Darren said with the same calm tone as before, as if nothing had happened. "Rest, you're dismissed," he said as he walked out of the room.