CH418 Baron's Family I

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Alex stepped into the Fortress castle. To call it a castle was charitable. Aside from its size, the place lacked the grandeur, refinement, or architectural pride expected of a noble residence. If he were being honest, it felt more like an oversized manor awkwardly stapled onto a military fort.

Still, as Alex walked through the corridors, he noticed signs of skirmishes—scattered bodies, blood trails as well as broken arrows lodged into walls.

'Were there guards left behind inside, or did the castle staff take up arms themselves?' he wondered.

Whichever the case, the outcome was obvious. His expedition members had already dealt with the resistance.

"Sir!"

One of the crossbowmen jogged up to him and saluted crisply.

The soldier led Alex deeper into the building, toward a moderately large hall where the castle's occupants had been gathered and contained.

Against a group like his—Kavakan, Mogal, Silver, the Fury soldiers—this room might as well have been a cage. Should the civilians make even the slightest attempt at rebellion, the expedition members could end it instantly.

Inside were roughly thirty people—men and women, elderly, youths, even a few children. All were huddled together in a pitiful cluster, trembling as they stared at the blood-stained invaders who had just annihilated the fortress garrison.

The metallic scent of blood radiating from his people was so thick that several civilians visibly fought the urge to vomit.

Alex's gaze slid to Kavakan.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

Kavakan scratched the back of his head, tail flicking in agitation—an unusual gesture for someone usually so confident and boisterous.

"We can't find the castle's vault," he admitted. "We checked everywhere. It must be hidden. So we figured the commander's women and children would know something. But…"

He gestured helplessly at the crowd. "They won't tell us who's who. They're protecting each other. And we can't… uh… force them. Because of your orders."

Alex understood immediately.

He had issued strict instructions—no unnecessary harm to civilians. Yet now the civilians were shielding Baron Helton's family, intentionally or not, and that made it nearly impossible for Kavakan or the Fury soldiers to perform the practical task of locating the vault.

Normally, the weretiger would have used many different 'persuasive' methods to extract an answer from the crowd. But Alex's standing order had tied his hands.

Kavakan's eyes shifted to Alex, silently pleading for permission to use force—even if just a little. Alex responded with a slow shake of his head.

He would not allow brutality here. Not today.

Alex's eyes drifted around the room until he spotted a simple wooden chair against the wall.

He walked over to it unhurriedly, making sure every frightened gaze followed him. Then, gripping the backrest, he dragged the chair across the stone floor.

The scraping sound echoed sharply in the tense silence.

He set it down directly in front of the gathered civilians… and calmly took a seat.

Alex let his gaze drift slowly from one face to another, committing every flicker of fear, tension, guilt, or defiance to memory. Only after the room had gone deathly still did he finally speak.

"I've only been on your plane for a few days," he began calmly, "yet my people and I have already killed more than five hundred individuals. Perhaps close to a thousand if we count beasts. Even for me… that is a lot. I'm normally a very peaceful person."

He looked over his shoulder at his party members.

"Isn't that right?"

"Yes, that's true! Boss is a very generous and kind soul. A pacifist and a true saint," Kavakan declared with absolute confidence.

Every Fury soldier in the room turned to stare at the weretiger with the same expression—

'What in the seven realms are you talking about?'

'Kind and generous is believable,' they thought collectively, 'but pacifist? A Fury heir? Is that even possible?'

Even Mogal, whose face was usually carved from stone, twitched in embarrassment. The amount of blood Alex had personally spilled in this fortress alone was enough to qualify him as a one-man catastrophe, not a pacifist.

Alex himself paused and gave the weretiger a long, pointed look.

'Really? Pacifist?'

But years of developing thick social armour allowed him to keep a straight face.

He continued as if nothing had happened.

"I am in the mood to balance the scales and do a bit of good. So here is my offer.

"As long as anyone here points out Baron Helton's wives, concubines, or children… I will let everyone else go immediately."

He leaned back slightly and added, tone honey-smooth,

"And don't worry. I understand you don't want to be a traitor. You don't need to speak. Just gesture. Blink, shift your gaze... I will notice."

That did it.

The civilians tried to remain stoic, but fear betrayed them. Even the smallest, most instinctive flinch was enough.

A glance too long, a subtle shift of posture… Alex saw every one of them.

"You… you… you, and you," he said, pointing unerringly. "Stand up, please."

The Fury soldiers moved in and gently—but firmly—pulled the indicated individuals to their feet.

"You must be Baron Helton's family. A pleasure to finally meet you," Alex said politely.

"You serfs!" a middle-aged woman among them snapped at the crowd. "How dare you betray your lord's family?! Are you not afraid of the consequences?!"

Alex smiled faintly.

"You must be Lady Helton. Thank you for confirming my suspicions."

Her mouth fell open in shock.

"With a personality like that," he added mildly, "it's no wonder everyone pointed directly at you."

He paused, then delivered the killing blow with perfect nonchalance.

"Also, for the record—they only pointed you out. You were the one who revealed the others. Quite popular, aren't you?"

The woman froze, thunderstruck.

The five other individuals Alex had singled out consisted of three young women—Baron Helton's concubines—and two boys who were clearly his heirs.

Both boys resembled Lady Helton strongly, confirming they were her sons. But judging from how perpetually grumpy the lady looked… and how subtly irritated the three concubines appeared, the tension within the Baron's household all but announced itself.

If Alex had to hazard a guess; after attaining the rank of Baron, Leland Helton had been compelled to marry a noblewoman to solidify his status. Once she had produced heirs and fulfilled her required function, the Baron likely lost interest, choosing instead to spend his time with his younger, bountifully-rumped concubines.

One didn't need gossip or insider knowledge to see this.

One only needed to look.

The concubines, though not particularly beautiful by Alex's standards, were clearly in their twenties and shared one unmistakable feature—generously endowed hips.

Once is a chance, twice is a pattern… three is a preference/habit.

Baron Helton's tastes were painfully obvious.

By comparison, Lady Helton's beauty was more the polished product of noble grooming than natural allure. She was fine enough by ordinary standards—just not to a man who had evidently cultivated very specific 'sophisticated tastes'.

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