The morning sun bled over the horizon like a fresh wound, marking the second day of Baron Estefan's rule. The crimson sky hung above Rammstein, silent, watching, as if the city itself was still unsure whether to kneel or run.
Frejlurd stepped into the Palace, his boots stained with mud and soot, remnants of the brutal night he and his men had given the traitors.
The marble floors inside were pristine, glistening under the morning light that pierced through the high windows. The scent of citrus polish and lavender oils hung in the air, fragrance meant to cover blood since the commander walked in and was spreading odor.
He noticed the servants already hard at work, scrubbing the stone, brushing away dust, wiping unseen smudges. Their movements were precise, practiced as though they cleaned the same stains every day.
Frejlurd stood near the luxurious couch in the grand hall, arms crossed. He tapped his foot against the marble floor, impatient. His face was tight with frustration.
The weight of his new title as the Commander of the City Guard was heavy, but the delay in reporting to his lord grated against him as many minutes passed after his arrival to the Palace.
Galliard entered from the kitchen corridor, looking composed as always, dressed in an immaculate black butler uniform with silver embroidery and House Angeras's crest glimmering faintly on his lapel.
"Where is he?" Frejlurd asked, his voice too loud for the otherwise quiet hall.
Galliard cast a glance around, noting the startled servants who paused their tasks. He frowned, approaching the commander calmly but firmly. "Mind your manners."
"I've been waiting here for some time." Frejlurd replied, ignoring the reprimand. "Where is he?"
Galliard sighed. "The Lord was awake the entire night, Commander. Your... delayed hunting operation extended far beyond expectations. He explicitly requested to not be disturbed. He needed at least an hour of sleep."
Frejlurd clenched his jaw. He and his men had hunted through the dark, executing former comrades who turned traitors by not following the will of the Baron. Now he was expected to wait because someone was sleeping while he didn't receive any ounce of sleep?
"I understand you wish to complain." Galliard added coldly, "But make sure to remember your place. You followed the Baron's command. It is your duty, not a favor. You chose this path when you killed your own comrades."
"They were traitors." Frejlurd snapped. "Not comrades. They became traitors the moment they stood against the will of their ruler."
Galliard scoffed, turning slightly. "If that's what you believe, so be it." He didn't want to waste his time on a bickering debate.
There was silence for a moment. Frejlurd crossed his arms again, staring at the stairs where Estefan was supposed to descend. Then, almost reluctantly, he asked, "What kind of person is he, really?"
Galliard blinked, surprised. "You've seen him. Heard him speak. You followed his orders."
"I've seen what he can do." Frejlurd admitted. "But I want to know what kind of man he truly is since you have been with him longer after his arrival here and people say even the Duke doesn't support him."
Galliard's expression shifted as it rather became unreadable. "That part is true. The Knights were pulled from Rammstein before his arrival. It was very deliberate or seems to be since the Duke left him here with no support, no official protection. You and your men are all he has."
"That doesn't make sense." Frejlurd muttered, running a hand through his hair. "He executed the entire Council and that Guard Commander. Even if he's strong, how can one man butcher that many without help? No weapons… No backup… No Knights."
"I was there." Galliard said flatly. "He walked into the Council chamber alone. The Knights of Angeras were never known for stealth, especially considering those bulky armours would have rattled against the walls if they climbed through windows so he definitely did it alone."
Frejlurd looked shaken. "Could he be a battle magister? Or something more?"
"That's a good theory." Galliard replied.
"It is indeed." A voice came from the stairs.
Both men turned, startled. Estefan descended the staircase, dressed in a dark embroidered robe, his eyes sharp despite the claimed lack of sleep.
His brown skin glowed faintly in the golden light, and the signature ring of House Angeras rested like a threat on his finger albeit symbolising his status as the Baron instead of the Duke.
Both Frejlurd and Galliard knelt when they saw him approaching them from the stairs.
"Keep kneeling." Estefan ordered, walking past them and sinking into the couch. He didn't even look at them at first.
Then, he asked Frejlurd, "So what happened? Why did it take so long? I wanted to tour the city yesterday… I had big plans but because of your delays, I couldn't."
Frejlurd pressed his forehead to the floor. "I apologize, my lord."
"Your apology is irrelevant." Estefan said, picking up a newspaper from the table. "Had the results been excellent, I wouldn't care. But you dragged it, made yourself look sloppy and now this."
He tossed the paper toward Frejlurd. "look at the front page… They're attacking you and indirectly attacking me."
Frejlurd dared to glance at the headline. It spoke of "Baron's Brutality" and "Midnight Massacres." Twisted accounts of events. Lies mixed with enough truth to be dangerous enough for the people to see the Government in a negative light.
"My lord." Frejlurd protested. "These are falsehoods. We targeted no civilians, only traitors."
"So what?" Estefan raised an eyebrow. "Do you think truth matters more than perception?"
He leaned forward, placing the newspaper aside. "It doesn't matter how clean your kill is if the people think you're a butcher. They'll fear you, yes. But when fear turns to hate, you won't survive the storm that follows."
Frejlurd remained silent, taking in the words because he couldn't find an excuse to justify his blunders.
Estefan continued, "You can be cruel and be vicious, even. But look good while doing it and smile while cutting… Wrap your blade in silk and call it salvation... If you look like a criminal scum, people will treat you like one and then our enemies will win."
He glanced down at Frejlurd. "You want to keep your power? Then make the people believe you're their hero, even when you slit throats in front of them as they would cheer for you then. Do you understand, Commander?"
"Yes, my lord." Frejlurd replied. "I will remember that."
Estefan reclined again, eyes closing for a moment. "Good. Now go. Clean the mess you made and next time, bleed smarter."
Frejlurd stood up, bowed once more, and left the hall in silence. Galliard remained.
Estefan opened one eye and sighed. "Get me a proper coffee this time, Galliard and don't let it be cold."
Galliard bowed, "At once, my lord."
[To be Continued]