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  Vladimir Estate – The Duke’s Wrath

  The grand halls of the Vladimir estate trembled under the weight of Duke Valdemar Vladimir’s fury. His piercing gaze bore into the trembling maid kneeling before him. The morning sun had barely risen, yet the entire household was already suffocating under the oppressive storm of his anger.

  “You’re telling me,” the Duke’s voice was a deadly whisper, laced with the promise of retribution, “that the boy did not return last night?”

  The maid swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the hem of her apron. “Y-yes, my Lord. When we went to clean his chamber at dawn, we found it untouched. The bed remained as it was yesterday morning, and n-none of his things were disturbed.”

  The Duke’s gloved hand slammed against the armrest of his ornate chair, a deafening sound that made everyone in the room flinch. The other servants dared not meet his gaze, their heads bowed low, lest they become the next target of his ire.

  “Where is his servant?” the Duke demanded.

  A young servant, standing rigidly before the Duke, lifted his head slightly, his expression calm despite the scrutiny. “I do not know, my Lord. My master did not inform me of his whereabouts.” His voice was steady, unwavering.

  The Duke narrowed his eyes at him, searching for any sign of deception. Yet, the boy’s face remained impassive, unreadable. After a moment of silence, the Duke waved a hand in dismissal. “Useless,” he spat. “Leave.”

  The servant bowed, hiding the smirk threatening to form. Enjoy yourself outside, young master, he thought before turning on his heel and departing.

  As the heavy doors closed behind him, murmurs spread among the maids who remained. Those who held respect for Kael exchanged uneasy glances.

  “Why is the Duke so furious?” one whispered under her breath.

  Another shook her head, her voice barely audible. “He never cared for the young master’s well-being before. The boy was always left to fend for himself. Why does it matter if he’s not here?”

  A third, clutching her duster tightly, murmured, “Perhaps… it’s not that he’s missing that angers him, but the fact that he left of his own will.”

  A heavy silence fell over them as they pondered that possibility.

  “Do you think he’ll be punished when he returns?”

  One of the older maids sighed. “Of course. But perhaps… it’s better that he left. At least for a while.”

  Ashen Vilebane’s Perspective

  The bustling streets of town did little to distract Ashen from the gnawing irritation clawing at the back of his mind. He had been unable to shake the discomfort ever since his unexpected encounter at the inn.

  “Just some blind person,” he muttered under his breath, scowling as he adjusted his gloves. Yet, the moment he had bumped into the cloaked figure, a strange unease had stirred within him, something inexplicable.

  He clenched his jaw, recalling the moment their eyes—no, Kael’s covered gaze—had met his own. There had been nothing visible, nothing but darkness beneath the hood, yet it felt as though something had seen him.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  His fingers twitched involuntarily.

  “Tch.” He clicked his tongue, irritated with himself. “Why am I thinking about this?”

  And yet, despite his attempts to dismiss it, the feeling remained. The unease lingered, curling around him like a shadow refusing to be cast aside.

  Something about that blind man was off.

  He just didn’t know what yet.

  The journey to the town went smoothly, the rhythmic sound of horse hooves and the gentle creaking of the wooden carriage blending with the occasional chirping of birds. The afternoon sun bathed the surroundings in a golden hue, casting soft shadows over the dirt road lined with lush greenery.

  After what felt like an hour of travel, Quin's voice rang from the driver's seat, a hint of enthusiasm laced in his tone. "We've arrived at the town."

  The carriage gradually slowed until it came to a complete halt. Inside, Kael, who had unknowingly dozed off during the ride, remained still, his breath soft and even. Wallz, seated beside him, hesitated for a moment before gently calling his name.

  "Sir Kael…" he spoke softly. "Sir Kael."

  Kael stirred slightly before his eyes, though covered, fluttered open. The carriage door creaked as Quin pulled it open, his voice warm yet playful. "We're here, young master."

  Kael nodded slightly, pushing himself upright. His hand instinctively reached to his side, feeling for his guiding pole, but Wallz, ever attentive, had already picked it up and placed it gently into his grasp. Carefully, Kael stepped down from the carriage with Quin's support. Wallz followed, shutting the carriage door behind him with a firm yet quiet motion.

  A gentle breeze greeted them, rustling Kael’s cloak and causing his hood to shift slightly. For a brief moment, his delicate features were exposed to the afternoon light. His pale skin, striking against his dark attire, caught the attention of a few nearby passersby. Some paused mid-step, their gazes lingering in awe at his almost ethereal beauty, while others murmured among themselves, captivated by his presence.

  Kael, sensing the stares, instinctively pulled his hood lower, a faint frown ghosting his lips. A fleeting memory surfaced—Asael. The past self he had buried. He didn't wish to stand out, not like before.

  Quin, perceptive as ever, noticed Kael’s unease. With an understanding smirk, he positioned himself closer, shielding his young master from prying eyes. Wallz, oblivious to the deeper meaning behind Kael’s discomfort, took the opportunity to chat. "Sir Kael, you should see the stalls here. They have wonderful trinkets and some nice daggers."

  Kael merely nodded, allowing Wallz to lead the way as Quin walked protectively beside him. The town was bustling with life, a blend of traders calling out their wares, children laughing as they weaved through the crowd, and the distinct aroma of freshly baked bread mixed with the tang of iron and leather. Various stalls lined the stone-paved streets, their colorful canopies fluttering under the soft wind. Merchants displayed an array of goods—spices, fabrics, jewelry, and weapons.

  "Here!" Wallz suddenly announced, excitement clear in his tone. "This blacksmith shop has some of the best sword collections."

  Quin, always eager when it came to weapons, nearly bounced in excitement, his eyes scanning the displayed swords with great interest. Meanwhile, Kael stood still, his hands resting lightly on his pole as if sensing something. His head tilted slightly as he turned toward the blacksmith.

  "Sir, may I touch that sword?" Kael inquired, his voice calm yet polite. "Only if you allow it."

  The blacksmith, a burly man with a thick beard and strong arms, raised a brow in curiosity but nodded. "Of course, lad. Here."

  Quin wordlessly took Kael’s pole, his attention fixed on his young master as Kael's pale fingers traced the scabbard before firmly grasping the hilt. With a smooth motion, Kael unsheathed the sword, its polished steel gleaming under the sunlight. The blacksmith watched in awe as Kael ran his fingers along the blade’s surface, as if reading its very essence. The faintest glow seemed to pulse from within Kael’s covered eyes, unseen by those around him.

  After a moment, Kael carefully placed the scabbard back onto the table before returning the sword to the blacksmith with a composed expression.

  "You seem to know your way around a blade," the blacksmith noted, impressed. "Why don’t you buy it?"

  Wallz stiffened, immediately regretting bringing Kael here. Quin, on the other hand, barely resisted the urge to groan. He had a feeling his young master would put on an act again.

  Kael smiled faintly. "I am blind. A sword is useless to me."

  The blacksmith blinked, his mouth slightly open before his expression turned apologetic. "I—Forgive me, lad. I didn’t realize."

  Kael merely shook his head. "There is nothing to forgive. But… how much is the sword?"

  "Five gold coins," the blacksmith replied, though guilt flickered in his gaze.

  "I will buy it."

  A pause. Then—

  "WHAT?!" Quin and Wallz exclaimed in unison. Kael eardrum almost explode from both sides of his ears.

  The blacksmith himself was taken aback. "Lad, you just said—"

  Kael remained unfazed, his composed demeanor unshaken. The blacksmith, touched by his sincerity, hesitated before reaching beneath his stall. "Here," he said, pulling out a beautifully crafted dagger with an intricate accessory dangling from its hilt. "Consider this a gift."

  Kael frowned slightly. "I cannot accept it without proper payment."

  "It would ease my conscience," the blacksmith admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Take it. No charge."

  Kael sighed softly before placing two gold coins on the table. "Then, at least accept this. Otherwise, I must decline."

  The blacksmith chuckled. "You're a stubborn one, lad. Alright, alright."

  With that settled, Quin returned the pole to Kael before picking up both the sword and the dagger. He turned to his young master, confused. "What do you plan to do with a sword, young master?"

  Kael turned slightly toward him, his voice calm yet firm. "It is for you, Quin."

  Quin nearly choked. His grip on the sword tightened as he gawked at Kael, who remained composed. "Y-young master—"

  Kael merely continued walking, leaving Quin in stunned silence while Wallz smirked knowingly. "Heh. You better take care of it, Sir Quin."

  The bustling town continued around them, but for Quin, nothing felt as heavy as the sword now in his hands.

  To be continued.