The warlord

The murky dome of night cast a shadowy veil over the sky. The torches and lanterns of the castle flared to life, their light carving flickering shadows across the stone walls. The night guards trudged along their designated paths, yawning between steps. When no one was looking, they would sometimes slip into a corner for a quick nap.

The sky hung heavy and desolate, void of stars. A chill breeze swept through, carrying with it a nauseating stench from the village below—a village that lay cold and lifeless, like a plague-stricken graveyard, sprawled across the dead plains.

From his room, Harold Golden Shrine stared at the desolate scene through the window. The mournful howls of wolves echoed across the plains, their cries slicing through the stillness.

"All right," Harold muttered, his voice low. "Time to take a closer look."

He exchanged his heavy armor for lighter clothing and concealed his face beneath a hood. Standing by the window, he channeled mana to reinforce his legs. His eyes glowed faintly, and as his gaze pierced through the forest, he spotted a group of knights. Their polished armor clinked noisily as they ventured deeper into the woods.

"Oh? Baron, what are you planning?"

With a powerful leap, Harold vaulted from the castle and landed among the trees without a sound. Using mana, he cloaked his presence and trailed the knights silently.

[Could this just be a routine patrol?]

Harold narrowed his eyes at the group. They were far too noisy for anything covert.

One knight swung his torch angrily through the air. "To hell with these damn werewolves! I have to wander this cursed forest hoping to catch a glimpse of that beast? Why don't we just burn these trees and be done with it?"

Another knight, visibly irritated, snapped back. "Brilliant idea, you idiot. Why not use your brain as kindling while you're at it?"

"Shut up, bastard! You think I'm enjoying this? Wandering the forest in the dead of night?"

"Keep your mouth shut!"

"What? Am I wrong? Everyone knows you sneak off to see those forest nymphs. What's the matter? Looking for a chance to run away?"

"Forest nymphs, my ass! I've been stuck babysitting morons like you all night, hunting werewolves no less."

"Oh? Is that so?"

"What? You think I'm as corrupt as you?"

"Ha! You got me. So, what do you say? This patrol's already over."

"Nah, I'm not in the mood for the girls in the village tonight."

"Come on… Drinks are on me. No fun drinking alone."

"Oh? Scared those harlot girls will eat you alive? Hah!"

"Bah! Those wenches sure know their stuff. I swear, if they could, they'd suck the marrow from your bones."

The group erupted into crude laughter as they made their way toward the thicket behind the village.

[So, the girls in tattered clothes are the village prostitutes serving the knights. But how does the Baron not know this? Or does he truly have no hand in it?]

Harold followed them as they veered onto less-traveled paths, eventually arriving at an underground cavern.

He hid behind a tree, his senses sharpening as the foul stench of rot grew stronger. His jaw tightened, and his gaze turned icy as he watched the knights descend into the cavern.

For a moment, he let his killing intent slip.

One of the knights froze, trembling as he turned toward the forest. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, sweat dripping from his brow.

"W-who's there?"

The others unsheathed their swords, signaling to each other with subtle nods. They crept toward the source of the overwhelming aura, only to find a thicket of blackberry bushes.

After a quick search, they found nothing.

Did I imagine it? No, that killing intent was real. So strong it felt like it could sever my neck in an instant.

Convinced the area was safe, they sighed in relief and disappeared into the cavern.

High above them, perched in the boughs of an ancient tree, Harold observed the faint red glow emanating from the cavern's depths. His expression remained cold and unreadable.

"The mystery of the girls is solved. Now for the next step: finding out why they claim to remember nothing. That's enough for tonight. Time to head back," Harold murmured.

---

In the Baron's chamber, smoke coiled lazily from his pipe, swirling into the air of the dimly lit room. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling it into the stillness.

His desk was cluttered with papers—some crumpled, others fresh, and a few scrawled over with dark ink. At the center of the chaos lay a single piece of aged parchment that had captured his attention for days.

The Baron picked it up, his brow furrowing as he read:

"Notice: Missing student of the Magic Tower. Return dead or alive to the Council of Magic representatives. Reward upon delivery."

—Alias Franter—

The Baron clenched his fist. "Why must all the kingdom's misfortunes land in my domain?"

Knock, knock.

"My lord, may I enter?"

"Come in," the Baron replied weakly.

The soldier stepped inside and saluted. "My lord, as you ordered, we kept Sir Golden Shrine under surveillance. He hasn't left his quarters all night."

"Is that so? Very well, you may go."

[If Golden Shrine finds out what's happening in this cursed domain, rivers of blood will flow. But the fact he hasn't left his room is strange. I thought he'd investigate by now, but maybe the soldier was right.]

The Baron leaned back, the weight of his thoughts bearing down on him.

[I can't ask a holy knight for help. Someone like Golden Shrine wouldn't keep quiet about the truth. If only I could find that wizard… If I could bring him to my side, I might strike a deal with the Tower and end this coup.]

A sudden chill crept up his spine, breaking his train of thought. He spun around, staring into the shadows, but there was nothing—only the dark clouds rolling across the night sky.

Unbeknownst to him, a figure stood silently on the rooftop, shrouded in darkness. Listening to his mutterings, Harold allowed a trace of his presence to slip, just for a moment.

Then, with a faint smirk, he whispered, "Looks like I'm getting old."