CHAPTER 117: ELINA GLIMOR

Alaric spun, his flaming blade meeting the curved sword in a shower of sparks.

Steel locked against steel for a moment before Alaric twisted his wrist, sending the other weapon spinning away.

His pommel strike to the man’s temple ended the fight.

Fredrick’s opponents were wavering now.

The old knight had taken more punishment, cuts on his arms, a gash across his forehead that painted half his face red, but his technique remained flawless. One of his attackers was already down, clutching a sword wound in his thigh.

The other backed away, pride warring with survival instinct.

Alaric’s blade found the last standing guard’s ribs with surgical precision.

The man’s eyes went wide, mouth opening in a soundless gasp before he crumpled to the cobblestones. Blood pooled beneath him, dark against gray stone.

Silence fell over the square like a blanket.

Then the crowd erupted. Whispers rippled outward like stones thrown in still water.

Some onlookers shuffled backward, dragging wide-eyed children away from the carnage.

Others pressed closer, hungry for details they could share in taverns tonight.

Fredrick also lowered his sword, his breath came in ragged gasps, eyes following Alaric’s moment.

Alaric straightened slowly, the stolen blade hanging loose in his grip. Blood seeped through his shirt where the curved sword had found him. His breathing came harder than he’d like, but he was still standing.

He turned toward Lord Risvolk and his cluster of silk-clad companions, a mocking smirk spreading across his dust-streaked face.

"If these are your best dogs, my lord, then I wonder how safe your kennel really is."

Risvolk’s face flushed purple above his blood-crusted nose.

"You dare mock me? After assaulting my guards?"

"Your guards assaulted children." Alaric’s voice carried across the square, ensuring the watching crowd heard every word.

"I just returned the favor."

The stocky noble with gold rings stepped forward, jowls quivering with indignation.

"This insolence cannot stand! We’ll have you hanged for this!"

"Will you now?" Alaric tilted his head, that infuriating smile never wavering. "And who exactly will do the hanging?"

"My father controls this hold!" Risvolk snarled. "His word is law here!"

"His word, maybe. But I don’t see him, do you?"

The blonde woman beside Risvolk whispered urgently in his ear, but he shook her off with violent gesture.

"Guards!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his split lips.

"More guards! I want these bastards in chains—"

But the sudden sound of hoofbeats echoed off cobblestones, cutting through the noise like a blade.

"What the hell happened here?"

Every head turned toward the new voice, clear, sharp, carrying irritation more than authority.

From the street came a rider flanked by armed retainers.

A woman rounded the corner at full gallop, scarlet hair streaming behind her. Her dress was midnight black with subtle red embroidery that caught the eye without shouting for attention.

Alaric quickly recognized the armored men flanking her bore the familiar crest of House Glimor on their breastplates.

Her golden eyes took in the carnage, broken guards, the cloaked figures standing amid the destruction, the furious nobles with their wounded pride and bleeding faces.

A genuine shock—surprise flickered across her features.

She dismounted in one fluid motion. Her retainers followed, hands already moving to sword hilts.

"Lord Risvolk!" She looked at his bloodied face and then the others beside him. "What happened to you?"

"These criminals attacked my guards and then us!" Risvolk pointed at Alaric with a blood-stained finger. "Unprovoked assault on lawful authority!"

Her gaze shifted to Alaric and Fredrick, taking in their drawn weapons and the bodies around them.

"Is that so?"

"They interfered with legal debt collection," the blonde woman added quickly.

"And also dared to use illegal essence techniques against properly appointed guards."

The scarlet-haired woman’s expression hardened.

"Essence in the streets. Violence against lawful authority." She looked directly at Alaric.

"That’s hanging offense territory."

Alaric opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"Seize them," she said to her guards.

And they moved immediately, hands on weapon hilts as they approached. Professional, efficient, showing no interest in debate.

"Wait—" Fredrick started.

"No waiting." Her voice carried steel now. "Attacking lawful guards, then nobility, this clearly looks like banditry to me."

Alaric’s hand tightened on his sword.

"Drop the weapons," one of the Glimor guards commanded.

"Now."

The crowd watched with renewed interest. The tables had turned completely, from rescue to capture in moments.

Risvolk’s then turned to the scarlet haired woman and grunted. "Lady Elina. These dogs need to learn what happens when they bite their betters."

Elina nodded curtly. "They will, My lord. I promise you that on the name of House Glimor."

Steel sang as the guards drew their blades, forming a circle around Alaric and Fredrick.

Just before Alaric could respond to the encircling guards, a cyan screen popped in front of his eyes.

[Side Quest Available]

[Objective: Expose House Risvolk’s corruption.]

[Reward: 500 DP, Skill Enhancement Token]

Alaric blinked at the floating panel. A slow smile spread across his face.

He let the stolen sword fall from his fingers.

Which clattered against cobblestones, the sound sharp in the tense silence.

Fredrick shot him a questioning look. Alaric gave the slightest nod.

The old knight sighed and dropped his own blade.

"If you insist."

"Smart choice." One of the Glimor guards stepped forward with iron shackles.

"Hands out, now."

Both of them stretched their bare hands out.

The guards wasted no time and put the shackles on them.

The metal was cold against Alaric’s wrists as the shackles clicked shut.

As similar restraints closed around Fredrick’s hands, the old knight leaned closer.

"Are you sure about this?"

Alaric’s smirk was an enough answer.

"Let’s enjoy some drama. These past months have been boring anyway."

Fredrick shook his head but said nothing more.

Meanwhile Elina had turned away, addressing Lord Risvolk and his companions.

"You’ll want those wounds looked at properly my lord," she was saying to the bloodied young man.

"My men will escort you to your lodgings." She gestured to two of her guards. "Make sure they have everything they need."

"Thank you." Risvolk dabbed at his broken nose with a silk handkerchief already soaked red.

"Though I expect you’ll put those thugs in their place."

"I’ll ensure these criminals are properly dealt with." Her golden eyes flicked toward the shackled prisoners.

"I promise you that."

"See that you do," Risvolk said, still dabbing at his broken nose. "My father will want a full report."

Then the nobles departed with their escort, Risvolk shooting one last venomous glare at Alaric before disappearing around a corner.

The crowd began to disperse now that the entertainment was ending.

Elina then returned her attention to the captives, sneering as she looked them up and down.

"You’ll explain yourselves at the garrison."

"The garrison?" Alaric asked mildly.

Her eyes narrowed, "The garrison jail is perfectly adequate for criminals like you."

"As you say." Alaric just shrugged.

She studied him for a moment, clearly puzzled by his casual tone.

Then she turned around and mounted her horse with fluid grace, settling into the saddle like she’d been born there.

Her chin lifted as she looked down at them.

"Bring them. If they try anything, break their legs."

The procession began moving through Bramwell’s winding streets.

Elina rode at the front, scarlet hair catching afternoon sunlight. The prisoners walked behind under heavy guard, iron chains clinking with each step.

Alaric hummed softly under his breath, some tune he’d heard in a tavern months ago. Though the sound seemed absurdly out of place given their circumstances.

But to him? The situation was genuinely amusing. Being shackled and arrested by his own house’s forces, led by someone who had no idea who he was.

Fredrick walked beside him in stoic silence, playing his part.

One of the guards, a grizzled veteran with graying beard, was moving closer to them.

His eyes kept darting to Alaric’s profile, something flickering in his expression. Recognition?

Then he shifted near Alaric and began in a low tone.

"My lord—"

"Shh!" Alaric cut him off with a sharp gesture, subtle but clear. Keep quiet.

The guard’s eyes widened, then he straightened immediately, falling back into formation like nothing had happened.

But Alaric caught the way the man’s posture had shifted—less captor, more... protector?

Interesting.

Up ahead, Elina was conversing with her guard, their voices too low to catch.

But she glanced back frequently, and each time her golden eyes lingered on the prisoners with growing suspicion.

These men are too calm, she thought.

The old one has military bearing, and the younger one... he acts like this is entertainment.

Then she faced forward ahead again, mind racing.

Could they be spies? Testing our defenses? Mother needs to know immediately.

Then she looked back again, her gaze locked with Alaric’s across the distance.

He was watching her with that same infuriating smirk, like this was all some grand joke only he understood.

Is he mocking me?