The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 249

Chapter 249: Return to the barony
Jolthar’s journey to the barony passed swiftly, the leagues falling away beneath his crimson drake’s powerful wings. The beast’s scales caught the sunlight like polished rubies as they descended toward the sprawling construction site of the forge.

A subtle blue aura flickered momentarily around Jolthar’s hand as he guided the drake’s descent with practised ease.

Workers halted their labour as the drake touched down, its massive wings folding against its flanks.

As soon as the drake landed, it drew the attention of everyone. Eyes turned toward the rider—some wide with surprise, others narrowing in recognition.

Jolthar’s reputation had spread through the barony like wildfire since his departure weeks ago. The labourers knew him now not just as the Baroness’s mysterious ally but as something more—a man who commanded powers beyond ordinary comprehension.

Dried blood crusted his travel-worn clothes, evidence of encounters on the road that had tested his growing abilities. The silver tendrils of his voidwrath power had left faint, luminous traces along his fingertips that hadn’t fully faded—residual energy from battles he’d fought and won during his absence.

As he dismounted, the ground beneath his boots trembled slightly, responding to the unconscious pull of his telekinetic gift. It happened more frequently now, as his power had increased, the world around him subtly bending to his will. He steadied himself, drawing the power back inward with practised discipline.

Cleora emerged from the main tent. As she got out, she saw Jolthar coming towards the tent.

A smile spread on her lips as she walked to him.

“Welcome home, Jolthar,” she said.

Jolthar stopped for a moment, caught off guard by her words.

The words struck him with unexpected force, awakening memories he’d carefully buried.

Home.

Had he ever truly known such a place? The Kaezhlar estate with its crystalline spires and magical wards had been a prison as much as a sanctuary. In the previous world life, he wouldn’t even want to talk about it.

The word stirred something within him—a longing he couldn’t afford, not with the path that lay before him.

“When did you come?” he asked, pushing aside the unwelcome sentiment.

“Two days before,” Cleora replied, her eyes taking in his bloodstained appearance with a mixture of concern and understanding.

“You should have a bath first,” she said playfully.

“Go and take a rest for now. We will talk in the evening.”

Jolthar nodded, suddenly aware of his state.

The drake snorted behind him, sensing its master’s discomfort. The beast had grown more attuned to his moods since their bonding—another unexpected consequence of the beast king’s power flowing through his veins.

He mounted again and guided the drake toward the Baroness’s mansion, he rode on the drake, with her wings closed, and Maelruth simply walked towards the mansion.

In his absence, the forge had taken shape—massive stone foundations now reached skyward, awaiting the specialized equipment that would soon transform raw ore into weapons capable of channelling his unique energies.

The site was full of workers, tending to their work. It seemed like the work was going on smoothly.

He was worried that they might have stopped or something might have happened here. But it was coming along fine.

At the mansion, Roblan and Nora were absent. They were in the town, busy.

Jolthar delivered his drake to the stables, where handlers approached with cautious respect. The creature had grown more formidable under his ownership, reflecting aspects of its master’s power.

Inside, he instructed the servants to prepare a bath, then made his way to the balcony.

Standing at the rail, he gazed out at the town that had expanded dramatically since his last visit, buildings now reaching the very walls of the mansion grounds.

The silver energy of the void stirred within him as he contemplated the changes. His powers had grown too, in ways that would have terrified his former clan. The telekinesis that had once been a mere parlour trick now allowed him to move objects with devastating precision. The voidwrath could tear reality itself when fully unleashed. And the beast king’s power—the green energy that had found him deep in the wilderness—bound him to creatures in ways the old magical houses could never comprehend.

As he stood watching the town, Jolthar absently traced the scars of the battlefield which were still healing. The path ahead remained clear in his mind, unwavering despite the unexpected comfort he’d found in Cleora’s welcome.

The home was a luxury for men with simpler destinies. And his destiny, written in three colours of arcane power—blue, silver, and green—was anything but simple.

–

Roblan and Nora were busy with the new tavern work. It was named after Nora. She worked with extra diligence and was happy that it all worked out fine. She was worried since her mother took much time in the capital, and with Jolthar not present in the barony, she was left with her brother to take care of the construction.

But her mother returned, taking all her worries away. They could now work on the development of the barony without worrying about the ministers of law in the empire.

Nora and Roblan stood before the half-constructed tavern. They had multiple men working on the tavern, so it was getting done faster.

Nora folded her arms, standing beside Robaln. “It has been a couple of weeks already; do you think he is fine?”

Roblan looked at her and said, “Sister, you worry too much. Jolthar will be fine, and it is war. It will take time.”

Nora sighed, “The pace at which we are going. It should take a week to finish this tavern, and we can start serving. I have so many dishes I want to try.”

“I didn’t know you had such passion, sister.”

“What are you talking about? I am always passionate about food, especially meat.”

“All right, all right.”

The two siblings stood talking, unaware that Jolthar had returned.

–

The bath was a luxury Jolthar had forgotten—hot water enveloping his battle-worn body, steam rising to obscure the ornate ceiling of the chamber. He remained submerged until the water cooled, watching as dirt and blood swirled away, revealing the network of fresh scars across his chest and arms—trophies from the Chittera campaign.

Silver energy flickered beneath his skin when he closed his eyes, the voidwrath responding to his momentary peace.

His muscles, tense from weeks of combat, gradually surrendered to the warmth. The last time he’d bathed properly had been before the first Chittera engagement.

After drying himself, Jolthar wrapped a towel around his waist.

The mirror revealed a man transformed since his departure from Kaezhlar lands—leaner, harder, his eyes holding flickers of silver light that hadn’t been there before.

He stood before the mirror a while longer, running his fingers through his now wet silver hair.

A soft knock interrupted his contemplation.

“Enter,” he called, as he turned to the door.

Cleora stepped inside, carrying a silver tray with an ornate teapot and two delicate cups.

As she entered, her eyes quickly caught the sight of Jolthar standing half-naked. Her eyes lingered on his bare torso, tracing the path of a particular scar that ran from his collarbone to his ribs. The scars took their time to heal like they never existed. That scar was also slowly healing, but it looked more pronounced with the water on him.

Her gaze lingered longer, and Jolthar’s voice brought her back out of her reverie.

“Cleora.”

“The Empress’s personal blend,” she said, nodding toward the tea as she moved past him to the balcony.

“A gift for my success in the capital.”

Jolthar smiled, knowing that she succeeded. He believed she could do it, and she had done it.

Jolthar followed her outside, where the evening breeze carried the sounds of the rapid construction going on in the barony.

They sat across from each other at a small table of polished ebony, the setting sun casting long shadows across the mansion grounds.

Cleora poured the tea with practised grace. Steam rose from the cups, carrying an aroma of exotic spices and subtle magic—the kind reserved for imperial courts.

“Tell me of the barbarians,” she said, passing him a cup. “Nora nagged to me that you went alone instead of what they requested.”

Jolthar took the cup, his fingers brushing hers for a moment longer than necessary. “Well, we didn’t have that many to send. So I went alone and made up for it.”

Cleora smiled, nodding. “Sure, you are worth more than three hundred men.”

Cleora leaned forward, her gown shifting to reveal the subtle curve of her collarbone.

Jolthar briefed her about what happened, hiding the fact that a goddess was helping him. He told her how Raayani stood up for him. Cleora showed an amused expression the entire time he spoke about her.

“After Dagur died, the barbarians fell quickly, and that General Remin arrived along with Iorina.”

“And the empire only requested three hundred men from the barony,” Cleora said, shaking her head in disbelief. “While we sent something far more valuable.”

“General Iorina, Raayani of Blue Rose, you have got quite the attention, young Jolthar.”

“Well, what can I say,” he said, his tone laced with mock humility. “It seems I have a knack for drawing the eyes of powerful women.”