Lord of Caldera - Chapter 278

Chapter 278: Chapter 278

The Emperor’s strategy might have seemed sound at first, but it had backfired spectacularly. The South’s constant strife had eventually given rise to the Drakenfels lineage, a power too great for even the Emperor to control.

Baron Harald froze for a moment, his expression faltering. The polite smile plastered on his face twitched awkwardly, as if he hadn’t anticipated Luke’s blunt response.

“B-but, Your Lordship, I assure you, there is no need for such—”

“Enough.”

Luke’s cold, firm tone cut through the air like a blade. His sharp gaze pierced Harald, leaving no room for further protest.

“This is the South, is it not? If I were to drink or eat anything without a taster here, I’d have to be as foolish as a newborn calf wandering into a wolf’s den.”

The baron’s face turned ashen at Luke’s biting words. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy, with even the servants standing at attention, afraid to make a sound.

“Well?” Sylas asked, his tone laced with subtle menace.

“O-of course, my lord. Please, allow me a moment to summon the taster.”

Harald bowed stiffly, his earlier smugness thoroughly deflated, and gestured for a servant to fetch someone. Moments later, a trembling servant was ushered in, and Harald, his voice shaking ever so slightly, instructed them to taste the food and wine before the guests.

The servant hesitated briefly but complied, taking a bite of each dish and sipping the wine. Everyone watched intently, waiting for any sign of distress. But after several moments, the servant remained unharmed, their expression neutral.

“Satisfied, Your Lordship?” Harald asked, attempting to maintain an air of composure, though his voice betrayed his irritation.

Sylas leaned back in his chair and smiled faintly.

“Oh, quite. You’ve done well, Baron.”

The response dripped with sarcasm, but Luke’s nonchalant demeanor gave it a veneer of civility.

As his companions began to eat, Sylas took a moment to observe the baron. Harald’s earlier bravado had evaporated, replaced by an uneasy stiffness.

“This fool thought he’d outwit me with such a petty trick,” Sylas mused.

The meal continued in strained silence. Harald made a few feeble attempts at small talk, but the tension in the room made every word feel hollow. Toby, Max, and Rey were all acutely aware of the undercurrent of hostility, their hands never straying far from their weapons.

As the meal drew to a close, Harald’s forced smile returned.

“I trust the meal was to your satisfaction, Your Lordship?”

“It was adequate,” Sylas replied curtly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

The baron’s smile twitched at the lukewarm response but held his composure.

“In that case, allow me to show you to your chambers for the night. I’ve prepared the finest accommodations in my humble domain for Your Lordship’s comfort.”

Luke’s lips curved into a faint smirk.

“How generous of you, Baron. But I’m afraid I must decline. My party and I will be leaving shortly.”

“L-leaving? At this hour?” Harald stammered, clearly taken aback.

“Indeed. The road ahead is long, and I see no reason to delay. Rest assured, your… hospitality will not go unremembered.”

The veiled threat in Luke’s words caused Harald’s face to pale. He quickly bowed deeply, hiding his trembling hands.

“Of course, my lord. Safe travels. Should you ever need anything, my humble barony is at your service.”

As the group departed from the baron’s estate, Toby couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

“You crushed that snake underfoot without even breaking a sweat, my lord.”

Sylas shrugged.

“He tried to play a game he wasn’t ready for. This is just the start, Toby. The South has many more waiting to test me.”

Rey, walking alongside them, glanced back at the now-distant barony.

“Do you think he’ll try something again?”

“He’d be a fool not to,” Sylas replied, his tone cool and matter-of-fact.

“But next time, he won’t get the chance to grovel his way out of it.”

The group continued down the road, the shadows of the South stretching long and dark before them. But to Luke, it wasn’t a path of danger—it was a stage waiting to be conquered.

…

Baron Harald’s lips curled into a sly grin as he leaned closer to the kneeling man, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Your target is not one of the knights. It’s the servant—their so-called steward. Dispose of him quietly. Make it look like an accident.”

John, the former member of the infamous Black Moon, didn’t flinch. His expression remained as neutral as ever, though his sharp eyes gleamed with a hint of interest.

“The steward? Seems manageable. Any specific reason why?”

“It’s simple,” Harald sneered. “Take away their support, their sense of normalcy. That steward is likely their eyes and ears for everything logistical—supplies, accommodations, contacts. Without him, they’ll be forced into disarray. And once they’re unbalanced, they’ll make mistakes.”

John nodded slowly, his fingers idly brushing the hilt of a dagger concealed beneath his cloak.

“Understood. Do you require a particular method, my lord?”

“Nothing too flashy. Poison, perhaps. Or an unfortunate tumble down the stairs. Make it subtle, but ensure the job is done cleanly. I’ll not have the rest of the household in an uproar.”

“As you wish, my lord. Consider it done.”

Baron Harald smirked, satisfaction spreading across his face. If Sylas had thought the baron’s earlier groveling was tiresome, he had no idea what was in store.

“Good. Don’t fail me, John. Remember, if you succeed, you’ll be rewarded handsomely. But if you fail…”

The unspoken threat lingered in the air like a noose.

“Failure isn’t an option,” John replied coolly. With a slight bow, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving the baron to his schemes.

Back in the guest quarters, Toby stood near the window, arms crossed as he gazed out at the dimming sky.

“This place reeks of trouble,” he muttered.

Max, seated by the door, polishing his blade, glanced up with a smirk.

“Doesn’t it always? What’s bothering you this time, Toby?”

“Everything,” Toby grumbled. “The baron, this overly convenient welcome, the way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes—it’s all wrong. The man’s up to something. I can feel it.”

Rey, perched on a nearby chair, set down the ledger she had been examining.

“The baron’s hospitality is obviously an act,” she agreed. “But we expected as much. This is the South, after all. It would be more surprising if he wasn’t scheming.”

“True,” Sylas interjected, entering the room. His relaxed demeanor contrasted sharply with the tension among his companions.

“But let him scheme. It’ll make what happens next all the more entertaining.”

…