The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 210

Chapter 210: Attacked by the beasts
The castle of Count Hamen was silent, save for the faint echo of footsteps as the shadowy figure made his way through the dimly lit corridors. His movements were swift and deliberate, his presence unnoticed by the guards and servants who went about their duties.

He had seen what he needed to see, and now it was time to report to his master.

Count Hamen stood on the balcony of his private chambers, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out over the city of Godeylet. The lights of the city flickered like distant stars, the sounds of life and activity drifting up to him on the cool night air. His expression was as unreadable as ever, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for something—or someone.

The figure emerged from the shadows, his head bowed in deference as he approached Hamen. “My lord,” he said, his voice low and respectful. “I have news.”

Hamen didn’t turn; his gaze was still fixed on the city below.

“Speak,” he said, his tone calm but commanding.

The man hesitated for a moment, then began to recount what he had seen and heard. He told Hamen of Evelyne’s meeting with Inadrys by the riverbank, of her grief and anger, and of the offer Inadrys had made to her. He described the mountain sanctuary and how Inadrys had taken Evelyne there, promising her safety and comfort.

The man’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of unease in his tone as he finished his report.

Hamen listened in silence, his expression never changing.

When the man was done, there was a long pause, the only sound the faint rustling of the wind. He had been keeping an eye on Evelyne for a while, spying on her. Who was she talking to? Who was she meeting? He had been delivering reports to Hamen for a while. He had been discreet about his movements and his presence even in the castle.

Hamen turned to the man and walked to him, “Thank you for what you’ve done until now. You may rest now.”

Then he swung his hand horizontally; a bluish aura blade formed on his hand and slit his throat.

His movement was swift and precise, a single, fluid motion that ended with the man collapsing to the ground, lifeless. Hamen was at a level where he could form the blade just by using his aura.

The man didn’t expect it as he stared at Hamen with shock in his eyes, his body quivering as his life slipped away slowly.

Hamen didn’t spare him a second glance, his face as calm and unreadable as ever.

He walked to the edge of the balcony, his hands resting on the stone railing as he looked out over the city once more.

The lights of Godeylet seemed to blur as his mind raced, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel.

Evelyne had betrayed him. She had chosen Inadrys over him, over their life together. And while he had always known that her loyalty was tenuous, the reality of her departure still stung. He would have taken her back if she had stopped seeing Inadrys; after all, he loved her. She had been with him from the moment he started as the Count of Godeyet. He thought that she was just having some fun, and that she would eventually come back to him. But now, as he stood on the balcony overlooking the city, he knew that their relationship was truly over.

“Oh, Evelyne,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret and something else—something darker.

Hamen had always been a man of control, of calculated decisions and unyielding resolve. He had built Godeylet into a fortress, a place where he could rule without interference, where he could protect what was his. But now, that control was slipping. Inadrys had taken Evelyne, and with her, a piece of Hamen’s carefully constructed world.

For a moment, Hamen allowed himself to feel the weight of it all—the betrayal, the loss, the anger. But only for a moment.

Then, like a shadow passing over the sun, his expression hardened, and the emotions were gone, buried beneath layers of cold, unyielding resolve.

He turned away from the balcony, his steps measured and deliberate as he walked back into his chambers. The city of Godeylet continued to pulse with life below, unaware of the storm brewing within its ruler. Hamen had always been a man who played the long game, who thought three steps ahead of everyone else.

Inadrys shouldn’t have taken her, and he made the mistake of underestimating Hamen. And Evelyne, he would get her back, eventually.

—

The moon cast eerie shadows across the devastated campsite as Jolthar approached. His drake’s claws left deep impressions in the blood-soaked earth as they picked their way through the carnage.

Jolthar had reached the campsite where Wymar was supposed to have been staying, but when he reached the place, the scene before him was completely different from what he had expected.

What should have been an orderly military encampment had been transformed into a scene of nightmare—burning tents casting flickering orange light across scattered bodies, equipment strewn about like children’s toys discarded by a giant’s hand.

The smell hit him first—blood, smoke, and something else, something bestial that made his drake’s nostrils flare with agitation.

Deep gouges in the earth told of a fierce battle, and the carcasses of strange beasts lay among the fallen soldiers. The ground itself bore witness to the violence, torn and cratered as if by supernatural force.

Few survivors moved among the wreckage, those still standing bearing wounds and haunted expressions.

The main tent still stood, though its canvas was slashed and stained. There sat Wymar, his robes covered in blood, speaking in low tones to a group of shell-shocked soldiers.

“What happened here?” Jolthar’s voice carried across the ruined camp.

One of the soldiers turned to face him, taking in Jolthar and his drake with weary eyes.

“We are not sure ourselves.”

“We were resting, and suddenly, as the night started, we were attacked by beasts.” His voice was hoarse, as if from screaming. “Lord Wymar tried to save us, but he couldn’t save us all. Someone appeared, and Lord Wymar fought with him.”

“Jolthar!” Wymar’s voice cut through the night air. “Why are you late? If you had come earlier, we could have used your help.” He gestured at the devastation around them. “See, a lot of the soldiers have died.”

“I was attacked by some beasts too,” Jolthar replied, his hand unconsciously moving to his knashii’s hilt as he recalled the battle at the stables.

Wymar’s brow furrowed at this information, but before he could respond, a sound emerged from the forest that made everyone freeze. It started as a low growl, building in volume and multiplying—not an echo, but many voices joining the first.

The darkness between the trees seemed to writhe with movement.

The sounds stopped for a minute as everybody turned in the direction of the sounds.

Jolthar frowned as he watched the dark forest before them. He could feel a presence, not sure who or what it was, but it was giving him a very terrible sensation. He couldn’t quite tell, but it was strangely eerie and vile.

And the next second, the strange noises erupted once again, and this time they didn’t stop. It was like something was coming for them, and it was coming slowly; they could tell that much.

Everyone froze when they heard the bizarre sounds, and they were fear-struck. The noises were creepy and unsettling, sending shivers down their spines.

“Everyone, fall back!” Wymar’s command cut through the growing tension. He could tell the soldiers had already lost it, judging by their pale faces and expressions, and they would die if they fought in such a situation.

“What are you doing!!?? Move your damn legs!” Wymar ordered them.

The surviving soldiers began a hasty retreat, helping their wounded comrades. Wymar didn’t want any more death. They already have hundreds, and the war hasn’t even started yet.

Earlier, he had fought with a man, and he was sure that whoever he was wasn’t from Chittera. He was able to defend himself while controlling the beasts and making them rampage against the soldiers. Wymar looked around to see if he was here again.

But Wymar himself stood his ground, ready to fight. “Jolthar, prepare yourself. You and I will face whatever comes. We cannot let them pursue the wounded.”

He knew Jolthar was strong, and it might be better for him if he fought with him. They could retreat on his drake if the situation seems dire.

Jolthar, having no choice, nodded his head.

The drake shifted its weight, sensing the approaching danger.

Jolthar’s knashii hummed with void energy as he drew it. The runes along its length began to glow with their characteristic dark light.

Together, they stood facing the treeline as the sounds of approaching creatures grew ever louder.

The night was about to become really messy.