Lord of Caldera - Chapter 305

Chapter 305: Chapter 305 Baron Anton Marlosi
It wasn’t surprising that someone like this had lost in the competition for succession. No lord in their right mind would make someone so inept an heir.

The baron hadn’t even provided a resting room or a moment of respite. Instead, they were requested—though it felt more like a demand—to attend a meal in their current travel clothes.

“The baron seems impatient,” Sylas observed.

“That’s just the way he is,” a servant replied curtly, a hint of irritation slipping into their tone.

Normally, a servant would be outraged by an insult to their master. But this one didn’t seem to care, not even a fragment of anger in their demeanor. It wasn’t that they were indifferent to their master’s insult—they simply didn’t care about Sylas’s words.

“By the way, only the count and his knights are invited to the meal. Your attendants should remain here,” the servant added.

“They’re coming with me. They are my attendants and will serve me,” Sylas replied firmly.

“Our servants will attend to you, my lord,” the servant insisted.

“I said they’re coming with me,” Sylas repeated, his voice chillingly calm.

“But, my lord, that would be…” The servant’s words faltered as their gaze met Sylas’s eyes. A shiver ran down their spine, and cold sweat dripped down their back. An alarm blared in their instincts.

“One more word, and I’ll die.”

No one told them this explicitly, but they knew. Sylas’s cold stare bore into the servant as he spoke again.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you just say?”

“Y-yes, of course. Your attendants may accompany you. After all, who could know a master’s needs better than their own attendants?”

“Hm.”

Sylas looked down at the servant for a moment. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to the servant, who was drenched in sweat.

Only after Sylas’s gaze moved away did the servant feel like they could breathe again.

“Th-this way, my lord,” the servant stammered, leading the way to the banquet hall.

Sylas paused for a moment in front of the door before pushing it open and stepping inside with his knights. As soon as the door opened, a loud, boisterous voice erupted from within.

“Welcome, Count! We’ve been waiting for you!”

A man with plump cheeks jiggled as he laughed loudly, his face plastered with an insincere smile.

Sylas scanned the room. The baron sat at the center, with an older man seated beside him. The older man’s demeanor suggested he was more of an ally than a subordinate.

Around the hall, soldiers and knights lined up under the pretense of ensuring the guests’ safety, though the atmosphere was anything but fitting for a meal.

“So, you are the lord of Marlosi?” Sylas asked.

“Indeed! I am Anton Marlosi! Please remember my name well!” the baron replied in an exaggerated tone, bowing deeply. A sneer lingered at the corners of his mouth.

Sylas shifted his gaze from the baron to the man beside him.

“And you? Who might you be? You don’t seem to be one of the baron’s vassals.”

“I am merely another invited guest. Pay me no mind,” the man replied with a faint smile before turning his head away.

The baron, clearly annoyed at being ignored, frowned momentarily but quickly forced a bright smile again.

“Count, you cannot imagine how long I’ve waited to meet you,” the baron said.

“Is that so?”

“Indeed! To commemorate this meeting, I’ve prepared a fine wine. Please, have a taste!”

At the baron’s signal, a servant handed glasses of wine to Sylas’s knights, already filled and prepared. No one opened the bottle in their presence; the wine had been poured in advance.

“Where is your wine taster? Has the drink been tested for poison?” Sylas asked calmly.

“Why would a wine taster be necessary, my lord? Surely, you don’t think I would dare harm you!” The baron burst into laughter, as if he found the very suggestion amusing.

Sylas let out a deep sigh. He would bet his life that the wine was poisoned.

“I’m not thirsty right now. Would it be a problem if I declined the wine?”

“Ah, but that would be a shame! This wine was prepared especially for you, my lord.”

“And if I refuse to drink it? Will your soldiers stab me with their spears, or will your hidden crossbowmen fire arrows at me?”

“Surely not! Although, one can never rule out such possibilities!” The baron laughed again, his mirth grating. He was more clown than lord, his demeanor even irritating the older man beside him.

Sylas sighed deeply. “What a mess.”

He had expected some schemes, but he had also assumed there would be a basic level of decorum. Yet the baron was treating him like prey—a dead man walking.

With such blatant disregard for diplomacy, there was no room for a proper conversation. Sylas glanced at the older man again.

“Was this your doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the man replied calmly.

“Seeing the baron in person, he’s far more foolish than I imagined. If left to his own devices, he’d have sent soldiers rather than an invitation. Someone must have advised him to invite me instead.”

The baron’s face turned red with anger, but neither Sylas nor the older man paid him any attention.

“This baron likely has no idea what kind of repercussions his actions might have. He’s perfectly disposable,” Sylas remarked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the older man said flatly.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Sylas replied with a smirk. “You must remain uninvolved, after all.”

“I’m merely a guest at this gathering.”

Sylas fell silent at the man’s parroted response. After a moment of quiet, he let out a long sigh.

“How dull.”

Sylas had always enjoyed elaborate schemes, finding amusement in turning the tables while playing along. But this situation lacked even the pretense of sophistication.

“With such third-rate actors, even the fun is fading,” Sylas muttered.

He looked back at the older man briefly. While that man was sharp, the bumbling baron ruined any chance for an interesting interaction.

“Still, this will serve as a good example. Bloodshed was needed anyway.”

“Excuse me, my lord, but why are you mumbling to yourself…” the baron began, irritated.

“Toby, Ray, Isaac,” Sylas interrupted, ignoring the baron entirely.

Sensing something was amiss, Max instinctively moved closer to Sylas.

Sylas pushed the wine glass away from him and issued a chilling command.

“Kill everyone except the other guests.”