Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Unpredictability was unsettling to Benedict. Situations beyond his control were sometimes even repulsive. But the worst part was this headache. Experience told him it would likely plague him all day.
‘Of all days, why today?’
But then again, when did it ever choose a convenient time? The headache would strike suddenly, without warning, and then vanish just as abruptly. Without reason, without pattern.
“Commander.” The voice of Moritz, his adjutant and the Duke’s aide, called from outside. “Your Grace.” The second call was laced with a hint of concern, as his lord’s rising was later than usual. He typically left the tent before the first c*ck crowed.
“It’s Moritz. May I enter?”
“Wait.”
Benedict threw off the blanket from his cot and rose. He never let his guard down, even when resting in his tent, so he was never fully undressed. He was quickly ready.
As soon as Benedict, clad in his armor and gauntlets, gave his permission, Moritz entered and knelt on one knee. “Your Grace.”
The loyal subordinate looked up at his lord, unable to conceal his awe.
The lord of the rich and fertile Bertolph territory. The pillar of the Empire. The undefeated knight, Duke Benedict Oaklien. Looking into the man’s captivating golden eyes always evoked admiration.
Even among the nobility, renowned for their noble features, his golden eyes were uniquely vivid.
“You have something to report, haven’t you?” The cold question from above snapped Moritz back to attention as if doused with ice water.
“My apologies, Your Grace.” Realizing his lapse, Moritz hurriedly replied. The Duke despised any waste of his time. “The scouts we sent to the Holy Kingdom have just returned.” He quickly delivered his report before his lord’s patience ran out. “They report that the border crossing we intend to use is lightly guarded. According to our calculations, we should be able to seize the Marquisate’s territory by tonight.”
“Ah, is that so?”
His full lips curved into a slanted smile, as sensual as a fallen angel.
“We’ll soon find out if the Holy King’s blood runs white or not.” But his monotonous tone betrayed no curiosity. He spoke with the detachment of someone merely stating an inevitable fact.
The inhuman detachment of the man with the flawless shell sent a chill down Moritz’s spine.
‘Inhuman.’
Yes, something was missing from Benedict Oaklien. Something crucial.
Moritz watched as Benedict, his brow slightly furrowed in apparent discomfort from the throbbing pain, took a drink of water from the table. A faint blue vein throbbed at his temple.
‘Ah, that d*mned headache has returned to plague him,’ Moritz sighed silently. ‘It all started that day, didn’t it…?’
His lord had always been arrogant and haughty. His inscrutability was sometimes chilling. But at least in the past, he hadn’t possessed this unsettling aura.
Moritz vividly remembered the day the terrible headaches first afflicted his lord. The memory still sent shivers down his spine. He would never forget the sight of the Duke, riding his horse, suddenly gasping, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“My Lord!”
“Because you keep dying!” The man, his eyes showing only white, had roared before clutching his head and crying out in agony. The horse, startled, had reared and bucked wildly. In that perilous moment, when the Duke was about to be thrown, his eyes had suddenly focused.
He had managed to regain control of the reins, narrowly avoiding a fall. But the headaches that started that day had never ceased. And the lord, who had already been somewhat twisted, had become even more so after that day, like a cart gaining speed on a downhill slope.
His obsessive nature drove him to achieve his goals by any means necessary. He showed no hesitation in making ruthless and cruel choices. It was often chilling to witness him casually trample on someone’s life, devoid of even malice.
‘Sometimes, he seems like a man without feelings…’
As Moritz was lost in his worried thoughts, Benedict, his brow furrowed against the irritating throbbing, turned to him and commanded, “We cross the border in one hour.” His grip on his sword was unusually fierce. Moritz swallowed nervously, a chilling premonition washing over him. Within a few days, the Holy Kingdom of Crozeta would be erased from the map.
Discussion
0 CommentsReactions
No comments yet.