The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 49 Complications of a lover boy

"And you talked enough too, you dumb fatass bitch," Jolthar said calmly, walking towards Baron.

Eran's expression changed when he watched Jolthar. Maena's lips curled into a smile.

"You wouldn't dare," Baron said, his voice faltering.

The whisper of steel filled the air as Jolthar's blade cleared its scabbard. "I wouldn't? I think you'll find I can. And I will." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "For the children in your mines."

The sword moved like lightning, its arc perfect and precise. Baron's eyes widened in shock as the blade opened a shallow cut across his chest – deep enough to kill.

For a moment, he stood frozen, mouth agape in a silent scream, before crumpling to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The smell of blood filled the air.

Then, stillness. The mighty Baron, who had terrorised so many, lay dead at their feet.

The gathered witnesses stood in stunned silence until Maena stepped forward, her eyes fixed not on the corpse but on Jolthar. Her weathered face softened with an expression caught between pride and remembrance. "For a moment, I felt like I was watching your mother, Jolthar," she said, her voice carrying both warmth and a hint of old pain. "She was also brave like you, never standing for any injustice."

Jolthar met her gaze with a small smile, saying nothing but acknowledging the weight of the comparison. He didn't really know her, but it was the first time anyone mentioned her to him.

Maena's father was the patriarch's uncle, making her Jolthar's aunt. And she grew up along with Jolthar's mother and knew her very well. It was also one of the reasons she accepted Jolthar into her unit.

Maena's practical nature quickly reasserted itself. "Don't worry about what's to come," she declared, her voice carrying the authority of someone used to command. "That family he mentioned? We'll deal with them when they appear."

She turned to address the Baron's widow, who stood trembling but straight-backed near her husband's body. "Now then, with your husband dead, you're the head, Baroness. I don't care what you've done before this day.

What my nephew said is true—I cannot tolerate such acts towards children. About the matter that comes next, perhaps we should discuss matters somewhere more... Appropriate."

Avelora, Cleora's daughter's name, didn't even flinch when her father was killed right in front of her; she just helped her mother and followed her to the meeting hall.

They relocated to the meeting hall, its grand wooden tables and tapestried walls a stark contrast to the scene of death they'd left behind.

Once seated, Maena leaned forward, her eyes intent. "Tell me about your missing son."

The Baroness's composure finally cracked. She was very composed and opened her mouth to speak. "I cannot thank you enough for what you've done today."

Maena raised a hand, cutting off further expressions of gratitude. "Save your thanks. We're not doing this out of charity.

From now on, we'll be taking thirty percent of the mine's profit. Not more, not less, and its final." Her lips curled in a predatory smile. "In exchange, you'll have our protection. I think you'll find it's a fair arrangement."

The Baroness fell silent; her eyes turned to her daughter, who nodded. "Thank you. Your protection is worth far more than thirty percent."

Jolthar was leaning to the door at the hall's entrance, watching the mother and daughter closely. How the daughter seemed so composed for a 14 year old girl who just saw her father die right in front of her eyes. He was sure that she wasn't just a kid.

Then Cleora said, "About my son, I think we need to talk to Oteys."

At Maena's signal, guards brought in Oteys, the Baron's brother. The man looked considerably less confident than he had in previous encounters, his eyes darting between the dead Baron's widow and his captors.

A weak laugh bubbled from Oteys's bloody lips. "The boy? Oh, that's the best part." He coughed, spitting blood onto the expensive carpet. "He came to me, begging for help to disappear. Said he'd found love in Seragilo and wanted to escape this gilded prison."

Another wet laugh. "I just gave him what he wanted. But I wanted this to turn in my favour."

He looked at Cleora and said, "I desired you; I craved for your touch; that's why I used your boy as your weakness and wanted bed you, but you insisted that you wanted the boy. So I came up with a plan; I could say that he was kidnapped and demand more coin from you. That's why I sent out word that your son was kidnapped."

"But I dropped the ransom the moment you started to give in. Watching you fall right into my hands was... intoxicating," he said, his laughter a chilling whisper that echoed with twisted delight.

The revelation sent shockwaves through the hall. Servants gasped, knights murmured among themselves, and Lady Maena's eyes narrowed as she processed this new information.

But it was Baroness Cleora's reaction that caught all attention.

For the first time, her perfect composure cracked. A tremor ran through her hand as she touched it to her throat. "Seragilo," she whispered, and in that single word was a wealth of emotion that none had expected from the seemingly cold-hearted woman.

The pieces began to fall into place—the complex web of manipulation and counter-manipulation, the hidden motives, the tragic irony of a son unknowingly disrupting his mother's careful plans.

The baroness had orchestrated a delicate game of political chess, only to find that her own son had flipped the board in pursuit of love.

As Oteys spoke, Jolthar's mind suddenly flashed to a recent memory – Katheryn, the woman he'd encountered just days before. She went to seragilo.

The day's events had set multiple wheels in motion.

The Baron was dead; justice of a sort had been served, but the mystery of the missing son had only grown more complex.

As servants began lighting the evening candles in the meeting hall, Jolthar knew their work was far from finished.

Maena seemed to read his thoughts. "One thing at a time, nephew," she said quietly. "We've dealt with the immediate threat. Now we can focus on finding the boy."

Jolthar scratched his head, all of sudden she started calling him nephew and it was knew to him. Her demeanour hadn't changed, but the way she talked was in contrast to her actions.

The baroness, watching their exchange with keen eyes, straightened in her chair. "Whatever you need from me to find my son, you shall have it. Resources, information, anything."

"Good," Maena replied, her tone returning to its businesslike edge. "Because this mission turned out to be more of a fiasco than anticipated, and the promised amount for the mission had increased ten times."

The candles flickered as night began to fall outside the meeting hall windows, casting long shadows across the faces of those gathered.

Jolthar couldn't hide his surprise at Maena's declaration to pursue this matter further. From what he has observed so far, she isn't a woman who would jump to conclusions or make rash decisions.

The Blue Rose was neither—they were shadows within shadows, whispers that made even hardened criminals nervous.

As if reading the doubt in his expression, Maena's lips curved into a knowing smile. "This barony is in our control now; shouldn't we take care of it?" Her voice carried the same practical tone she used when discussing business ledgers as if protecting their new interests from a legendary organisation was simply another day's work.

Jolthar nodded slowly, but the furrow in his brow deepened. "But isn't Blue Rose a powerful and very secretive group?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice despite the privacy of the meeting hall.

"How in the hell did he meet the daughter of the head of Blue Rose seraglio?" The question hung in the air, heavy with implications.

The Baroness cleared her throat, drawing their attention. "The Blue Rose isn't as far from here as you might think," she offered, her fingers nervously tracing patterns on the wooden table. "If I remember correctly..." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "There was an incident, perhaps six months ago. The daughter—she came to the barony to negotiate ore prices personally."

"I believe that's when they met. When it happened."

Before anyone could respond to this revelation, a disturbance in the air caught their attention.

A black pigeon, its feathers gleaming with an unnatural iridescence that marked it as a magical messenger, materialised seemingly from nowhere. It circled the room once before landing with precise grace on the table directly in front of the Baroness.

The room fell silent.

Magical messenger birds were rare and expensive—used only for the most urgent communications by those wealthy enough to afford such services. The pigeon's presence here now could not be a coincidence.

With trembling fingers, the Baroness carefully untied the small scroll from the bird's leg. The seal was unmarked, but the paper itself seemed to shimmer faintly in the candlelight, another sign of its magical nature. As she unrolled it, the pigeon remained perfectly still, its unnaturally intelligent eyes scanning the room's inhabitants.

Colour drained from the Baroness's face as she read, her hands shaking so violently that Maena reached out to steady them. "It's from my son," she whispered, her voice cracking. She swallowed hard before continuing. "He... he needs help. The daughter of the matriarch of Blue Rose..." She looked up, terror plain in her eyes. "She's trying to kill him."