CHAPTER 46: MAD PHILOSOPHER

After completing his mission, Frejlurd returned to the palace and immediately knelt before Baron Estefan, who was lounging comfortably on his couch.

"I’ve heard," Estefan said as he noticed Frejlurd kneeling before him. "You did well. The people are finally beginning to support both you and the City Guard unlike before, when they wouldn’t even compare you favorably to human waste."

Though the words stung, Frejlurd kept his composure. He refused to show any reaction that might offend the Baron, knowing well how dangerous that could be. Despite the years he had dedicated to the Guard although he was also forced to accept the corruption, he still swallowed his pride of being a City Guard.

"I’m grateful for the chance you gave me to prove the Guard’s worth," Frejlurd replied with humility.

Estefan took a leisurely sip from a cup filled with freshly squeezed fruit juice. "Good... This shift in public perception benefits both of us. If we can solidify this influence, we could even use the people themselves to rise up against the criminals... all we would need is to give them the word."

"You believe the people would do that?" Frejlurd asked, doubtful. For years, the populace had willingly submitted to gang rule, paralyzed by fear.

Estefan leaned back, placing his cup down. "You underestimate the power of belief. The common people hold more potential than any government or petty gang. Given the right spark, they’ll rise up and even serve as human wave attacks, crushing any enemy through sheer numbers."

Frejlurd looked amazed. "But they have always appeared weak. I have never once seen them resist, not even when we turned our backs on them."

"That’s because they knew no one would support them," Estefan explained. "If a single person rebels, they are crushed instantly. But what if a hundred thousand people stormed, say, Zorthar’s mansion? Do you really think a handful of mercenaries could stop that?"

Frejlurd pondered for a moment before responding. "They might get overwhelmed... but the mercenaries use aura. They could cut people down like grass."

"True," Estefan acknowledged, "but for how long? Do you think they possess unlimited stamina to constantly swing their swords? Unlimited energy from their soul to fuel their aura? Can they fight endlessly against thousands?"

Estefan also included that, "they are also intermediate aura users, so they won’t be able to be that effective to kill thousands with ease."

Frejlurd squinted, curious. "My lord... how do you know they are only intermediate aura users? We have never even clashed with them."

Estefan smirked. "It’s obvious. Do you truly believe the strongest mercenaries in the world would waste their talents guarding some lowlife crime family?"

"Well... they are paid handsomely," Frejlurd reasoned.

Estefan tapped his thigh thoughtfully. "Money has its limits. The top mercenaries prefer short term yet high risk jobs such as wars, dungeon raids or even expeditions into uncharted territory but guarding a mansion day and night for decades? That’s not their style."

Frejlurd nodded slowly. "So your theory is that Zorthar’s men are low tier, relying only on basic aura techniques."

"Exactly," Estefan replied. "They are likely a minor mercenary guild from the mercenary association trying to secure a stable base of operations. Not strong enough for major contracts, so they settle for guarding criminal bosses in exchange for steady pay."

"But still," Frejlurd countered, "even intermediate aura users are dangerous. We don’t have aura users among our Guards. That puts us at a disadvantage."

Estefan rose and began walking toward the courtyard, with Frejlurd following closely behind. "That doesn’t matter," he said, brushing aside the concern.

"My lord, perhaps you don’t realize how potent intermediate aura really is against a non aura user like ourselves," Frejlurd insisted. "Even a basic aura blade can cut down a skilled soldier who is well armed in seconds."

Estefan laughed. "Oh, I agree. If you fought one of them now, you would die horribly. They will probably sever your limbs and torment you as revenge for disrupting their operations."

Frejlurd trembled slightly at the thought but masked it. As the Guard Commander, he couldn’t afford to show fear in front of the man who had entrusted him with power. Any sign of weakness might cost him everything.

"I won’t let it come to that," Frejlurd declared. "If ever I fall into enemy hands, I’d rather end my life myself. I know they won’t give me a swift or painless death."

"You think yourself that important?" Estefan scoffed, still walking.

Frejlurd shook his head. "No, not me. It’s the position I hold. As Commander of the City Guard, my capture would be symbolic. It would mean hope for our enemies and despair for the rest of the City Guard."

Estefan, sensing the pessimistic thoughts weighing on him, offered a touch of reassurance. "Don’t worry. That won’t happen unless, of course, you disobey my orders. But if you are ever captured, I will definitely dispatch the entire Guard to retrieve you."

Frejlurd shook his head again. "Even if you did... they will kill me before the rescue succeeds as my escape would also mean that they have lost their only chance to win so they might as well never allow me to escape alive."

He spoke with a grim tone. He knew he had spilled too much blood in service of Estefan but this was just the beginning, and as Estefan’s vanguard, he knew death awaited them all eventually.

If his men were to kill, then he, as their commander, would bear the burden. The blood would be on his hands, not theirs.

Sensing the heaviness in Frejlurd’s words, Estefan offered some words of optimism in his own ways. "The funny thing about death is that it’s inevitable. No matter what you do, it will come. What’s worse is that you rarely get to choose how you die. Maybe you will be tortured. Maybe you will fall on a battlefield or maybe you will die peacefully at a hundred."

Frejlurd stared in surprise. For the first time, he saw a different side of Estefan, a man who usually seemed nothing more than cruel and calculating was now speaking like a man shaped by pain.

"One day, you will understand," Estefan continued. "The true value of life only becomes clear in those final moments before it slips away. Don’t leave too much unfinished. Make sure your desires and goals are met before the end comes."

Frejlurd asked quietly, "How did you come to speak like this, with such depth, while also being so merciless toward your enemies?"

They reached the courtyard. Estefan paused, staring over the open stretch of grass.

"When you spend a decade training in isolation, sharpening your strength in solitude... your mind wanders," he answered. "You start to think about death, life and worse. It turns anyone into a kind of mad philosopher."

Frejlurd was taken aback by the honesty. He had seen Estefan’s cruelty first hand and now began to understand that it wasn’t born from nothing, instead it came from deep within.

"Life is uncertain. Death is absolute," Estefan murmured. "I just want to fulfill my ambition. Achieve something meaningful after. Etch my name into history but not as someone who lived and vanished, but as someone who left a strong legacy like a true victor of life."

[To be Continued]