CHAPTER 62: THE CITY IS ABOUT TO CHANGE

What happened within the walls of the fortress didn’t remain a secret for long. Word spread fast, first in whispers, then in loud bar chatter and street side gossip.

The City Guard, emboldened by the recent capture of the Red Serpents and their subsequent executive was now eager to bask in the newfound public approval as under the orders of the Commander began to let details slip.

In the dimly lit corners of taverns, among shared drinks and laughter, officers proudly recounted what had taken place, the execution of the Red Serpents, and more notably, how they were punished.

The city buzzed with stories. Some were exaggerated, others disturbingly close to the truth. According to the tales, the Red Serpents who were once feared criminals who used rape as a weapon finally got themselves subjected to the same cruelty.

Whether or not it was wholly accurate no longer mattered since it became fact in the minds of the people. And many laughed hearing it as to most, it was poetic justice while to others, it was humiliation worse than death.

A disgraceful end that stained the Red Serpents’ legacy as criminals. In a culture where dying in combat or resisting to the end was considered noble, the fate of the Serpents became a embarrassing end. No songs would be sung for them. No brotherhood would mourn them.

In the central districts, where local gangs maintained an uneasy coexistence, mockery ran rampant.

Despite truces and shared interests, animosity between gangs never truly died. Rivalries flared into occasional street fights, and despite not declaring an all out war on one another, they rarely missed a chance to deride or belittle.

The Red Serpents had long earned their share of resentment, particularly for crossing lines when it came to women connected to other groups.

Their predatory habits were well known, and when news of their downfall broke, even rival gang members sneered. Some even saw it as a warning, a grim reminder that no one, not even the most feared among them was safe in from of the Baron and the City Guard.

"I didn’t think the Baron had that kind of ruthlessness in him," a passerby muttered as he strolled down a busy alley.

His companion, a woman carrying a basket, replied, "Maybe now the rapists will finally learn. That kind of end might be what they need to fear."

The overall mood of the city shifted dramatically. People began to regard the Baron and his City Guard with wary respect, even admiration. Harsh though the punishments were, they had brought justice. Not just justice in name, but real, tangible consequences to those who broke the law.

There were no riots, no protests, and no outrage. If anything, citizens rallied behind Baron Estefan’s rule. Whispers of tyranny did surface, but they were voiced with a peculiar tone as if almost approving. "He may be a tyrant," they said, "but he’s our tyrant."

And more importantly, he gets results. That approval trickled down into action. More and more young men, and some women began to approach the Guard, eager to enlist.

The uniform, once a symbol of failure and corruption, had become something to aspire to. Recruitment numbers rose steadily. The Guard was growing stronger by the day.

Several days passed.

Inside his private study, Baron Estefan sat calmly at his desk, reading through documents detailing the city’s current finances. Gold flow, trade estimates, corruption expenses, Guard supply chains, he absorbed the data like a tactician sharpening his sword.

The door suddenly creaked open.

"My lord," came a soft voice.

It was Ericka. She entered the room holding a cleaning stick, dressed in a modified maid outfit that left little to the imagination. Her skirt was cut short, her top tight and revealing, clearly designed to draw attention. But Estefan didn’t lift his gaze from the papers.

"You’ve already cleaned this room earlier," he muttered, tone flat, eyes unmoving.

Ericka hesitated, then stammered, "I was instructed by Mr. Galliard to maintain cleanliness throughout the day, just to be sure." She smiled awkwardly, trying to appear innocent, harmless and even helpful.

She began to dust around the room, though her focus was never truly on her task. Her eyes flicked toward Estefan constantly, watching for any flicker of interest.

Getting none, she tried something more obvious. She walked to the bed positioned across from the desk and leaned down in a way for her back to be seen very vividly, as she purposefully presenting herself in a way that no man could ignore or so she believed but still nothing from him.

Baron Estefan remained unmoved, his expression unchanged. This wasn’t the first time either.

She had tried subtle approaches for weeks, each time increasing the boldness of her efforts. She had assisted during his bath time, offering towels as he emerged from the warm pool in the adjoining chamber. She had seen his bare body and yet, not a single glance from him lingered.

No reaction, no desire and slowly, Ericka came to a painful conclusion as her mission had failed.

The goal was to seduce him, to become his concubine, and from there influence him subtly in favor of Lutis. Yet, despite her beauty and dedication, she couldn’t even elicit basic interest from him.

"You should do your best," Estefan often told her, whenever he passed by. The words echoed in her mind. Somehow, she knew he didn’t mean cleaning.

Still, Ericka kept trying, though never crossing into acts of manipulation or force. She avoided aphrodisiacs or artificial allure. Her approach, while calculated, had its limits. She wanted to be chosen, not used. But in the end, it was all for naught.

That evening, Estefan sat in his reading chair, flipping through a thick tome, sipping a glass of warm water. The door opened again, this time, it was Commander Frejlurd.

He took his seat across from the Baron, pouring tea from a polished silver jar. Two cups steamed gently on the table between them.

"The woman," Estefan said, eyes on the book, "is from Lutis."

Frejlurd raised a brow, taking a sip from his cup. "You’re certain?" as he saw only one women on his way in the corridor and that was Ericka.

"It’s obvious," Estefan said, voice steady. "Lutis lost their grip here after I cut off their line to the Council. Bribes won’t work anymore. So they tried a softer angle, seduction. Send in a pretty girl, have her worm her way into my bed, maybe influence decisions from the pillow."

Frejlurd set the cup down. "How do you intend to handle her?"

"I won’t," Estefan replied plainly.

Surprised, the Commander asked, "You’re letting her stay? Even knowing she’s a spy?"

"Oh, she was a spy," Estefan corrected. "But she failed her mission the moment she entered the palace. She’s not clever, not dangerous. She’s already forgotten her assignment. Now she’s just... infatuated. A little toy that thinks it’s useful."

"You intend to keep her, then?" Frejlurd raised the cup again.

"Yes," Estefan said, finally closing the book and locking eyes with his subordinate. "I anticipate stress ahead. Wars, politics, betrayal so might as well have something pretty to help pass the time. You understand what I mean right..."

Frejlurd choked slightly on the tea, not expecting such bluntness. "Y - yes, my lord," he coughed. "It is... quite common for nobles to keep such companions."

Estefan chuckled softly, amused by the reaction. "Exactly. One must enjoy the perks of power, especially when they’ve earned them."

The laughter faded as both men returned to their thoughts. Both men finished their tea in silence. After setting his cup gently on the stone table, Frejlurd turned his attention to Estefan and asked, "My lord, now that the Serpents have been eliminated, what would you have us do next?"

Leaning back in his chair, Estefan’s gaze shifted to the vast, open courtyard outside the window.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting warm shades of pink and orange across the sky. A soft wind swept across the grass, as it entered the room through the window and began rustling their clothes as he replied calmly, "Finish what remains."

Frejlurd’s expression shifted, recognising the implication behind those words. "You’re referring to the smaller gangs operating in the central district?"

Estefan nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Exactly... You’ve surely realised by now just how troublesome even the lowliest of these street rats have been the people of this City."

Frejlurd lowered his head slightly in acknowledgment. "It was a lapse on our part. We allowed these groups to fester. Before your rule, we were expected to overlook them and only respond to the bigger syndicates. And after you assumed power, we thought focusing on Zorthar and Lutis took priority over rooting out the lesser gangs."

"That’s not a poor judgment," Estefan interrupted, his voice composed. "You lacked both the strength and the trust of the people back then to challenge those two factions. But even so, you failed to step on the insects crawling at your feet."

Frejlurd clenched his jaw, knowing the Baron spoke nothing but truth. Those minor gangs had been easy targets as they were weed like threats they could have uprooted even in their weakened state. But instead, their ambition led them to challenge the larger trees before they had the axe to bring them down.

Their recklessness had cost them dearly as three good women, lost to a gang they had dismissed as irrelevant.

Estefan let out a weary breath and continued, "Focus on reclaiming the areas you already have some influence over. Stabilise them... Once the people see law and order returned to their streets, they’ll start to believe in the City Guard again. From there, extend your reach to the contested zones. And only then, once you’ve cornered them, strike at the hearts of their strongholds."

"I’m not telling you to dawdle," he added, tone firmer now. "This needs to move swiftly. Within the next year, I want all of them gone. If we take too long, they’ll leave deeper scars on this city, and the burden of fixing those wounds will fall to us, not them."

Frejlurd straightened his posture, voice resolute. "There are around eight small-time gangs operating in the central region. We’ll begin hunting them down one by one. I’ll ensure your commands are fulfilled without fail."

"Good," Estefan said with a slight nod. "Don’t fail me again, Frejlurd, not like last time, when you let those women die." His gaze turned toward the recently restored palace gates. "I expect you to be merciless. I want this entire region scrubbed clean in a month. And before that month ends, double the number of City Guards. We’ll need every blade and boot on the ground."

He leaned forward slightly, voice low and foreboding, "The city’s about to change, and I intend to be ready."

[To be Continued]