The conversation between Frejlurd and Baron Estefan was drawing to a close when Frejlurd, burdened with unease, finally spoke the thought that had been gnawing at him.

"My lord… do you truly believe we can save this City?" he asked, his voice lined with hesitation.

The doubt came from deep within, for even after the purge of the corrupt former leadership, the City remained rotten at its core. Crime and decay had sunk their roots so far into its streets that even though Estefan had taken drastic measures, the shadow of corruption still hung heavily over everything.

They were working tirelessly, yes, but Frejlurd could not shake the gnawing suspicion that failure might still be waiting in the dark.

Estefan regarded him calmly, then replied, "It is no sin to think such things. Doubt can be useful. It's better to walk with caution than to drown in arrogance. Overconfidence blinds men and leaves them vulnerable. This is life, Frejlurd and you only get one chance at it. There are no resets, no second tries. If you fall, it's final. So, treat failure as though it were absolute death itself, and let that fear drive you. Pour every drop of your strength and every ounce of your will into ensuring that you do not stumble. That is how you survive."

The Commander nodded solemnly, touched by the weight of his lord's words. "I understand, my lord. I will put everything I have into this. I will fight to ensure our success. I only pray… that nothing unforeseen brings us ruin."

"No matter how precise or flawless a plan may appear," Estefan countered, leaning forward, "there is always the possibility of failure. That is the truth of this world that nothing forged by men is perfect. Every scheme, every stratagem carries within it a weakness, however small. A battle tactic may triumph for years, decades, perhaps even centuries… but eventually, someone clever enough will appear to exploit that tiny flaw no one else could see." His tone was not meant to inspire, but to remind Frejlurd of a reality he could not ignore, perfection was an illusion, and failure was always possible.

Frejlurd, wrestling with the heaviness of his own thoughts, suddenly voiced the question he had been hiding. "But, my lord… could you not simply end all this yourself? You have the Bloodhounds, do you not? Why call upon us when you possess such a terrifying force?"

The words came from his half-formed memory, the faint glimpse of those shadowy silhouettes he had once seen in passing, inhuman figures lurking at the edge of his vision, their eyes glowing crimson in the dark.

He could not hear them, could not sense them, yet he knew they were always there. Estefan was never truly unguarded.

The Bloodhounds, which was an unseen force capable of slaughtering thousands in a single night, shadowed him constantly and so Frejlurd could not help but wonder why his master did not simply unleash them upon the criminal factions and wipe Zorthar and Lutis from existence.

Estefan's eyes narrowed. "Ah. So you mean the Bloodhounds." He let out a quiet breath and continued with deliberate calm. "Yes, they could do it. They could finish this all in one sweep, if I ordered it… but tell me, Frejlurd, why should I?"

The Commander froze, stunned. He answered instinctively, "Because you are the Baron of this City, my lord. The City belongs to you. It is your right and your duty to cleanse it."

Estefan smirked faintly and leaned back. "The City is mine, yes. But is it truly my responsibility to do your job for you?" His words fell sharp and heavy.

Frejlurd tried again, floundering. "But… you have a force of shadows, warriors unlike any other. You could sweep the leaders away in a single night, and everything would be solved."

"No," Estefan cut in sharply, his tone like a blade. "I already told you, why should I? Why must I bear the burden that is yours? You are the Commander of the City Guard. Guarding the City is your task, not mine. Or have you become so weak, so unsure of yourself, that you would rather hand me your duty and hide in my shadow?" His gaze pierced Frejlurd like a spear. "Tell me, are you that lazy? Or is it that you lack the confidence to carry out the role entrusted to you? Because if that is true, then tell me now how could you ever hope to protect this City?"

Frejlurd's mouth went dry. He said nothing. He could not. Any excuse would sound hollow. Any protest would be cowardice.

Deep down he knew Estefan was right. It had been the failure of the City Guard, their negligence and weakness, that had allowed the criminal underworld to grow like a cancer.

Zorthar and Lutis had not simply appeared overnight as they had been permitted to thrive and the Guard, meant to be the City's shield, had allowed it.

Estefan chuckled darkly at his silence. "See? You cannot answer. You want me to clean your mess while you sit idle like some spectator. That is why I will not do it. I refuse to carry the weight you abandoned. Do you understand now? I do not let the Bloodhounds end this because you, Frejlurd, need to grow. All of you need to learn to stop being useless. For years you've been nothing but a pack of weaklings who are lazy, short-sighted, and incapable of anything without someone spoon-feeding you the answers. Do you have any idea how much of this City's rot is your fault?"

Frejlurd lowered his head, regret burning within him. He had brought this lecture upon himself, and now he could do nothing but endure it.

"I am disappointed," Estefan continued, voice cold. "I expected resistance, yes, but I also expected effort. And yet, you ask me to bear the brunt, as if you were no more than a bystander. You are not spectators, you are players in this game. I am not demanding you charge blindly into dragon's fire, nor that you march into the Asher Gate and cast yourselves into the Eternal Void. I am asking only that you do the job you were sworn to do. Guard the City."

He paused, his voice dropping into something quieter, more deliberate. "Look around you. Already the people have begun to shift. They are starting to see you not as ignorant bastards or bullies but as protectors again. That is your victory. If I simply sent the Bloodhounds and ended this in a night, the people would revere me, not you. And then, when I am gone, criminals will simply rise again, for they will always believe the Guard to be weak and useless. Do you see the difference now?"

Frejlurd bowed his head further, shame written across his face. "You are right, my lord. I… spoke foolishly. Forgive me. I should not have asked such a question."

Estefan tapped his fingers on the table, eyes still sharp. "I know it has been difficult. You doubt, you often lose sight of the bigger picture. But even with your flaws, you still know your place. You obey my words, and that alone will guide you to victory. If you follow my lead, then in time you and your men will be remembered not as weaklings or failures, but as defenders of order and justice."

The reassurance struck deep, and Frejlurd, still bowing, whispered, "Thank you, my lord. Thank you."

"You may thank me when every last one of these vermin is gone," Estefan replied, rising from his seat. "Until then, you will do your utmost. This month must be their darkest yet. Break them. Crush them. Hound them until they are cornered, and when that moment comes… kill them all."

"Yes, my lord," Frejlurd answered, determination in his voice though his head remained bowed.

Satisfied, Estefan departed. As he stepped outside into the City streets, he saw what his efforts had already begun to yield. Families stood in the sunlight.

Merchants selling their goods without fear. For once, the heart of the City was free of gangs and cutthroats.

Estefan climbed into his carriage, gazing out with a faint smile. "The City is beginning to heal," he murmured to himself. "I love it already and it proves what I have always known, that I am greater than you, father."

The carriage rolled forward, carrying him away. Far to the south, in the Duchy's capital of Luso, Duke Gerin was receiving two very different streams of information. One set came from the official reports sent by Estefan and the City government. The other came from spies planted by the Angeras family and the Duke could already tell which was true and which was not.

"That cunning brat," Gerin muttered with a scowl, tossing aside the neat parchments Estefan had sent. "He thinks he can trick me with these fabricated tales."

The reports from Estefan painted a picture of progress and control, crime steadily declining, peace being restored.

The assassination of the corrupt Councillors, he claimed, had been the result of a sudden terrorist attack. The thousands of criminals executed had been presented as captured terrorists as well, it was all neatly tied together to justify the mass killings in the eyes of the Duchy.

But Gerin knew better. He knew Estefan's hand was behind it all. And though his son's cunning irritated him, it also forced him to acknowledge something uncomfortable. "At this rate… he may very well finish his task"

As he walked down the corridor of his palace, flanked by the armored Angeras Knights, one of them spoke. "My lord, shall we send our own men to destabilize the City? With the right push, we could undo his work."

Gerin shook his head, his answer immediate. "No. We need not lift a finger."

"But if we leave him unchecked, he might truly succeed," another Knight argued cautiously.

The Duke gave a short laugh. "You misunderstand. My son is clever, yes, but his schemes will be his undoing. He faces not shadows, but two factions far more dangerous than he realises. Zorthar and Lutis will not lie down easily. They will fight, they will adapt, and in the end… he will choke on his own ambition. His plotting will destroy him. That is the fate he has chosen."

Even so, Mason, the Grandmaster of the Angeras Knights, pressed the matter. "Perhaps, my lord, we should intervene at least enough to ensure that fate comes to pass. A precaution, to secure the outcome."

The Duke considered, then finally gave a nod. "Perhaps you are right. Send word to both Zorthar and Lutis. Tell them that whatever they do to Estefan will not be punished. They have nothing to fear from me."

"My lord…" Mason hesitated. "Would they truly believe such a promise?"

Gerin's lips curved into a cruel smile. "They will. They are desperate people, clinging to their last hopes and desperation makes fools believe anything that gives them a chance."

[To be Continued]

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.