CHAPTER 115: WELCOME BACK TO BLACKTHORN [1]

Chapter: - Welcome Back to Blackthorn [1]

---------------------------------

The captain drew steel. "Arrest this old fool for obstruction."

Two guards moved toward Fredrick.

They didn’t make it far.

The old knight moved with economy of motion, no wasted energy, just devastating efficiency.

First guard down, clutching his wrist where Fredrick’s pommel had shattered it.

Second guard stumbling back, blood streaming from a broken nose.

"Arrest them both!" The captain lunged forward.

Alaric sighed and dismounted.

Should have stayed on the horse.

He intercepted a guard heading for Fredrick’s blind spot, his practice sword ringing against the man’s blade.

A quick feint, a shift of weight, and the guard was on the ground, gasping from a strike to the solar plexus.

The captain backed away, suddenly alone. "You’ve assaulted the order! You’ll hang for this!"

"Will we?" Fredrick’s sword point rested against the captain’s throat.

"Or will you explain to your superiors why you were beating children for papers they couldn’t possibly have yet?"

The captain’s eyes darted between them, calculating odds that weren’t in his favor.

"This isn’t over," he snarled, then raised his voice.

"Guards! Come to me! Criminals attacking the Watch!"

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Footsteps echoed from nearby streets, reinforcements coming fast.

The girl grabbed her brother, helping him stand.

"Hurry up, we need to go—"

"Stay behind us," Fredrick ordered, not lowering his blade.

More guards appeared at the square’s entrances.

A dozen, then twenty. Crossbows raised.

"Drop your weapons!" A new voice, younger but authoritative. "By order of—"

"Wait!" The young girl, her brown hairs loosened from the bun as she stepped forward desperately.

"They were protecting us! The guards were—"

"Silence!"

A young man in finer armor pushed through the guards.

He seemed to be a higher officer judging from his insignia.

"I see injured guardsmen and two armed suspects. That’s all I need to know."

The situation spiraled.

Twenty guards, crossbows aimed, crowds scattering.

"You think you guys can just barge in and cause trouble here, while this hold is under capital’s protection?" The officer said.

"The only trouble here—" Fredrick began.

"Save it for the magistrate." The officer gestured.

"Take them."

Steel pressed against Alaric’s spine.

"Weapons down. Now."

He let his sword fall, the clatter echoing across suddenly silent stones.

Welcome to Blackthorn indeed.

After Alaric’s sword clattered against cobblestones, few more footsteps echoed through the square.

The crowd parted.

And three young men pushed through, followed by two women.

Wearing fine silk clothes that caught the sunlight.

Jeweled hilts gleamed in.

Four-armed professional spread out behind them, probably their guards.

"What’s all this noise?" The leading man with carefully styled auburn hair, stepped forward and spoke, voice carrying practiced authority.

Then his eyes found the officer.

"You said you’re handling the collection."

Then man bowed low. "Lord Risvolk! These strangers attacked lawful guardsmen without provocation. Caused a disturbance in our duty."

"Strangers?" Lord Risvolk studied Fredrick and Alaric with obvious contempt.

"And who are you to think you can cause trouble in Blackthorn Hold?"

"We stopped guards from beating children," Fredrick said evenly.

"Children?" One of the women laughed sharply.

"Look at them. Street rats and thieves."

"The guards were maintaining order," a stocky one added, rings glinting as he gestured. "They were just collecting legal debts. You guys are the one who created a provocation here."

"The law says what we tell it to say," the blonde woman spoke next.

"Three hundred gold marks. Plus interest."

The boy’s eyes widened, as he nearly stumbled back hearing the amount.

"T-That’s triple what father actually borrowed!"

The tall man from the group shrugged.

"Interest included. Guards were just explaining that to you, weren’t they?"

"With their fists," Fredrick said coldly.

Risvolk then turned to him. "And you are?"

"Someone who doesn’t watch children get beaten over manufactured debts."

"Manufactured?" Lord Risvolk laughed. "We have documents. Legal contracts."

"Forged after their father died, no doubt."

The blonde woman gasped theatrically.

"The old man accuses us of forgery? Those were legal debts. How dare a commoner—"

"Legal debts my ass," Alaric said quietly.

Risvolk’s attention now focused on him fully, with predatory interest.

"The servant speaks without permission?"

Servant. Alaric’s lips twitched.

He had enough for the day.

"What did you call me?" He spoke in a low, cool tone.

"Servant. Retainer. Hired sword." Risvolk gestured dismissively.

"Whatever term you prefer for someone clearly beneath notice."

"You spoiled little prick."

The words came out conversational, almost friendly. But they cut through the nobles’ amusement like a blade through silk.

The square went silent.

Risvolk’s face darkened. "What did you say?"

Alaric stepped forward, slowly, until he was few paces away from him.

"I said you’re a. Spoiled. Little. Prick, who only knows how to run his mouth and run behind his daddy’s back, when things go south."

"You dare speak to your betters like that?"

"Betters?" Alaric’s laugh was harsh, almost ugly.

"What makes you think you’re better than me, you ignorant piece of shit?"

Silence stretched taut as a bowstring.

The gathered nobles stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Risvolk’s face twisted in disbelief, then rage, then wounded pride flashing in rapid succession.

"You bastard—"

His fist lashed out, wild and furious.

But, Alaric caught it with ease, fingers tightening until bone groaned under the pressure.

Then his other hand snapped forward, driving into Risvolk’s jaw with surgical precision.

Crack!

Thud!

Lord Risvolk hit cobblestones like a sack of grain, blood streaming from his broken nose.

"Capture them!"

The stocky one shouted.

Chaos erupted in the square.

The armed guards that had be fawning them rushed forward, steel singing free from their sheath.

The local guards, seeing violence against nobility, charged in as well. Raising their swords high.

Fredrick’s blade was already moving, catching the first strike and redirecting it.

"Stay close!"

Alaric ducked a swing, grabbed the attacker’s arm, used his momentum to throw him into two others.

Their bodies crashed down.

A blade whistled past his ear. He spun, driving an elbow into someone’s solar plexus.

"Behind you!"

Alaric dropped, leg sweeping under the attacker, who stumbled and dropped down on the ground.

But there were too many. A circle of steel closing in.

The siblings duo pressed against a wall, terrified.

Alaric sidestepped the next attacker’s blade, seized his wrist, and wrenched the weapon free in one smooth motion.

A brutal kick to the stomach sent the man sprawling across the cobblestone.

The remaining guards closed in, circling him like wolves.

Alaric gauged their movements, then sank into a low stance.

The stolen blade angled slightly as he raised it to chest level.

His crimson eyes gleamed with razor focus.

"Scorchblade Arts."

He whispered the words, and the steel shuddered, heat rippling along its edge until a faint red glow bled from the metal like a caged fire.

"Third Form."

The guards lunged forward.

Alaric moved too.

His slash carved through the air, leaving a fleeting trail of searing light, too fast to follow, too sharp to defend.

[Blazing Mirage!]

------------------

Chapter End

{A/N}

You guys, thanks for reading. And yeah, sorry about a bit late updating, too.

And if you’re enjoying the book, don’t forget to give Golden Tickets and Power Stones too. Bye, Bye, see you guys soon.