The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 184

Chapter 184: Plans for future
Late January,1825,

The battle had left its scars, but life had a way of pushing forward.

In the aftermath of destruction, the people of the barony slowly returned, their resilience shining through as they worked to rebuild their homes and livelihoods. One side of the town, which was destroyed, was now being renewed.

The streets, once filled with the sounds of battle, were now alive with the hammering of nails, the creaking of carts, and the voices of merchants setting up their stalls once more.

Trade resumed, and with it, the pulse of the barony grew stronger. The fear that had gripped the town during the siege began to fade, replaced by a renewed determination.

Jolthar stood upon an open plain, his sharp gaze scanning the land before him. Beside him stood Cleora, her posture poised yet thoughtful as she observed the area.

“This is it,” Jolthar murmured, crossing his arms.

Before them, stretched several acres of land, a vast open space positioned strategically near the mines. The earth was solid, the terrain level, and the location ideal—far enough from the town to prevent accidents, yet close enough for easy transportation of materials.

Jolthar had scouted the area thoroughly before making his decision. Here, he would build his forge—no, not just any forge, but a massive smithy that would become the heart of weapon production in the empire. He had aimed to make it happen, and he will.

The mines had enormous deposits of dratium ores, keeping a steady supply.

A place where the finest blades, armour, and siege weapons would be crafted.

A forge of war.

Cleora studied him for a moment, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Are you certain about this?”

Jolthar nodded, his eyes gleaming with great interest. It had been a while since he had done any smithing. He can’t wait to get back into it again, and he needs to attend to his long-blade Knashii too.

“We already have funds, and we just need to start building, and it would be up and about in no time,” Jolthar said, his tone casual.

Cleora then said, “You have my support to do anything here. And the funds, I have to say, I was a bit sceptical when he said he would send them.

I was surprised when the gold arrived in two days; that too, he had it sent through the airway.”

She looked at the horizon and said, “I think he values you to that extent.”

Jolthar remained silent.

–

A while back, a conversation with Prince Milan

After General Remin had departed, Prince Milan and Arvant sought out Jolthar for a private discussion. Jolthar took the drake to the mansion and ensured it was attended to before meeting Milan.

They met in Cleora’s hall, away from prying ears.

Milan leaned forward, his fingers interlocked as he regarded Jolthar with curiosity. “So… what exactly do you mean by a forge?”

Jolthar met his gaze evenly. “I’m starting a forge—weapons of all kinds. Not just swords, but lances, shields, and even enchanted armaments if possible.”

Arvant was baffled. A forge of that scale would need a lot of resources and manpower, not to say a lot of gold too.

Milan’s brows furrowed. “And you need…?”

Jolthar grinned. “Gold. Maybe not just some. A lot more.”

Milan stared at him in disbelief.

Beside him, Arvant let out a sharp exhale and shook his head. “Do you even know what you’re asking for? Even if you saved the prince’s life, this…”

He gestured vaguely. “This is beyond his highness’s capabilities. Funding something of this scale isn’t a simple matter. The crown itself doesn’t throw gold around for private projects.”

Jolthar leaned back in his chair, unbothered. He had expected resistance.

Milan, however, fell silent, his fingers tapping against the table as he thought deeply.

There was something about Jolthar that intrigued him. He wasn’t just a man with skill—he was an individual who attracted people, who commanded situations with ease. Even Cleora had spoken about him in ways that suggested he was someone to keep close to. Though his presence here in the barony raised questions, he never asked him about it.

And Jolthar’s reluctance to talk about the Kaezhlar clan, he intends to find out all about Jolthar.

Jolthar’s presence in the barony was no coincidence, and Milan knew that much. He didn’t know the full circumstances of Jolthar’s past, but one thing had become clear—this was a man you wanted as an ally, not an enemy.

Milan glanced at Arvant, then back at Jolthar.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I’ll send the necessary gold soon. You and the baroness were of great help to me.”

Jolthar smirked, extending a hand.

“Smart choice,” he said.

Milan chuckled, shaking his hand. “I hope we remain good friends, then.”

“As long as you keep the gold flowing,” Jolthar quipped.

Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he gestured with his fingers, rubbing his thumb and index together—a silent hint for more gold in the future.

Arvant groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is madness…”

Milan only smiled. He had a feeling that this investment would yield something far greater than just weapons.

–

The land stretched out before them, vast and untamed, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. Rolling plains merged with the distant tree line, where the dense forest whispered in the breeze, carrying with it the crisp scent of pine and earth.

The winds were gentle but steady, rustling the dry grass and sending stray leaves tumbling across the dirt road leading from the town. It was a land of promise, one that would soon become something greater—a place where fire would burn, steel would be forged, and weapons of war would be crafted.

Jolthar stood with his arms folded, his sharp eyes surveying the open field. The chosen site for the forge lay close to the mines, ensuring a steady supply of iron and other necessary ores.

A nearby stream provided the water they would need for cooling metal and maintaining the heat of the forges.

It was, in all ways, an ideal location.

Beside him, Cleora stood, silent yet watchful. Her long hair caught in the breeze, strands dancing with the wind before settling over her shoulder.

Unlike earlier in the day, when she had been at the heart of battle, issuing commands and fighting alongside her people, she seemed almost at peace now—though a sharpness remained in her eyes, a constant alertness that never faded.

Behind them, two horses stood tethered to a wooden post, their ears flicking every so often.

Maelruth was back at the mansion.

The drake had been resting up, recovering from the poison that had nearly claimed its life. Though Wymar’s potion had done its work, the drake was not fully healed. Jolthar had seen the way it flinched now and then, muscles twitching from residual pain. The wound along its left flank had stopped festering, but the darkened veins around it showed that the venom had been strong—too strong for any normal creature to survive.

The sight of his drake like this made something in Jolthar tighten.

Seeing it so weak, so vulnerable, set his teeth on edge. He would make whoever had done this pay. But that was a thought for another day.

He had learnt the name of that assassin group from Arvant.

For now, there were more immediate matters at hand.

He turned to Cleora.

“Lady Cleora,” he began, but before he could continue, she interrupted him.

“You can call me Cleora,” she said, turning to him fully. Her voice was soft but firm, her gaze steady.

“You’ve already called me by name once before, so do so from now on. I would like that.”

During the battle, he shouted her name, ignoring the honorifics.

Jolthar was momentarily caught off guard—not by her words but by the way she smiled as she spoke. It was a rare, genuine expression unburdened by the weight of leadership or battle. Her smile made any hardened warrior’s heart swell, and her gaze could make his legs turn to jelly.

A smile so beautiful, it draws you in like a dream you never wish to wake from.

For a brief second, he was silent, staring at her, as if trying to figure out how someone like her—someone hardened by war and politics—could still smile like that.

Then, realizing he had been staring for too long, he cleared his throat and turned away slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered.

Then he added, grumbling, “Just stop smiling at me like that.”

Cleora raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t want me to smile?”

Jolthar exhaled sharply through his nose, his lips curving into an involuntary smirk. “No, just… don’t smile at me like that.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Ah, fuck. You really are a one fiery lady.”

Cleora let out a soft chuckle, her smile widening to tease him further.

Jolthar shook his head again, turning his gaze back toward the open land. “You’re impossible,” he muttered under his breath.

Cleora only crossed her arms, watching him with amusement. “And yet, here you are, standing beside me.”