CHAPTER 66: MUST RECLAIM WHAT WAS LOST

"Then what about Lutis?" Frejlurd asked after a thoughtful pause. "How do we deal with them, and bring their business empire into the fold of our strategy?"

Estefan gave a faint, knowing smirk. "Lutis thrives on the business of pleasure. Their operations are technically legal, which makes direct action against them problematic. But legality is only one layer, and every layer has its weaknesses." His voice carried the tone of someone who had already devised a plan long before speaking of it.

Frejlurd tilted his head with curiosity, eager to understand where this was leading. "And what kind of weakness do you see, my lord?"

"Think for a moment," Estefan replied, his tone calm but edged with sharp intelligence. "When the men enter Lutis owned brothels, what do you suppose they desire above all else?"

Frejlurd did not want to offer a shallow guess. He pondered, considering carefully before answering. "Good service, I imagine," he said, believing that would at least be part of the truth.

Estefan nodded, conceding the point. "Yes, that is true. But service is not the essence of it."

Frejlurd frowned slightly, his mind racing through other possibilities. People went to brothels for pleasure, for indulgence, to feel satisfied. But Estefan’s words suggested something deeper, something that underpinned the very structure of those businesses owned by Lutis.

Sensing Frejlurd’s struggle, Estefan raised a hand. "Don’t overthink it. The answer is simpler than you believe. What their customers truly crave is anonymity."

Frejlurd’s eyes widened slightly at the realisation. Estefan continued, his voice steady and deliberate. "You see, many who enter those brothels are not bold. Some do not care if others see them there, but most are desperate to keep their visits hidden. Their positions, their titles, their reputations demand secrecy. A noble, a wealthy merchant, maybe even a cleric as none of them can afford exposure."

"And that," Frejlurd said slowly, "is the weakness we can exploit. But how, my lord, do we weaponise their need for anonymity?"

Estefan’s smirk returned. "We dismantle it. We make anonymity impossible within those walls."

The commander blinked, surprised. "You would strip away the veil that protects their customers?"

"Precisely." Estefan leaned forward slightly, painting the image with his words. "Picture yourself as a client. You enter a brothel quietly, confident your identity is hidden. Then, without warning, a team enters and starts to check every room, recording names. How exposed would you feel? How much dread would it stir to know your secret might be revealed at any moment?"

Frejlurd straightened in his chair, startled. "Are you suggesting we raid the brothels outright?"

Estefan shook his head firmly. "Not raids. That word implies recklessness. I want routine inspections. Send a team to each establishment, daily, under lawful pretext. They won’t storm the place like thugs but instead they will investigate, inquire, and write down names. Making it a routine and normal procedure."

Frejlurd narrowed his eyes. "But on what grounds? Surely people of Lutis would protest such constant intrusions."

"Drugs," Estefan replied simply. "There are already reports, whispers that narcotics flow through their brothels. That is our justification. You search under suspicion of drugs and when your men step in day after day, documenting identities, the customers themselves will begin to vanish. Fear will strangle the profits Lutis gains from the brothels."

The realisation hit Frejlurd like a spark. He exhaled slowly, nodding. "Yes... yes, I see it now. Their greatest strength turned against them. With anonymity gone, their revenue collapses. If that happens, they will either lash out in desperation and by that giving us a reason to strike them down or they will abandon the city entirely."

"Exactly," Estefan said.

"But if they choose to fight," Frejlurd asked with hesitation, "can we endure it? Their forces are... dangerous. Fanatics, trained since childhood, willing to die without hesitation. Their influence is not only in the strength of arms but in the sway they hold over the communities where they are rooted."

Estefan did not flinch. "Yes, their numbers are larger. But numbers alone do not win wars. Steel cannot be broken by a stick of wood. Lutis trains their orphans to fight fiercely, but they are unarmed zealots who throw away their lives as though worthless. Your guards, however, are equipped, armored, and disciplined. One clean strike from your steel will tear them apart. Do not let their fanaticism unnerve you, they are dangerous, yes, but far from invincible."

Forces belonging to Lutis were organised into three main categories. Their foundation was the countless orphans they had gathered from the streets. Children with no families, no one to care for them, were offered food, clothing, and shelter. Even if meager, these offerings created a bond of loyalty. Lutis exploited this desperation, giving small rewards for obedience, gradually shaping them into tools.

These children were trained relentlessly in hand-to-hand combat, with constant indoctrination, and the mantra that to kill or die for Lutis was their highest purpose.

Because Lutis gave them what no one else had, they grew to believe Lutis was their savior. That illusion bound them tighter than chains, making them willing to die on command.

From this foundation emerged a second tier, the elites. These were orphans who displayed exceptional potential during training. Unlike the expendable masses, the elites were given greater care, better resources, and more demanding missions.

Their survival was prioritized and their talents too valuable to squander. Not every child possessed the aptitude to reach this level, which made their numbers limited.

Above even these elites stood the most trusted of warriors belonging to Lutis which were three specialised female squads, crafted by the Violet Matriarch herself.

These women were trained with precision in numerous weapons and tactics. Their loyalty was absolute, their skill unmatched. They served as guardians of the brothels, particularly the central one where the Matriarch resided. Some functioned as personal bodyguards, entrusted with the faction’s highest security.

But their fanaticism had already proven a double-edged sword. When the Duke dispatched his knights to cleanse the city’s criminal underworld, Lutis bled more heavily than Zorthar.

Where Zorthar withdrew strategically, Lutis’s orphans hurled themselves into suicidal battles. They charged headlong at armored knights, dying in droves.

None who faced the knights survived, and eventually the Violet Matriarch herself had to forcefully recall those who remained. Even then, many resisted the retreat, obsessed with dying for the cause.

The result was catastrophic. Their blind loyalty turned into weakness. They would not stop fighting until death claimed them, making mercy impossible. It became standard practice for opponents to kill them outright, lest the orphans rise again in unyielding defiance.

Compared to Zorthar, whose strength lay in tactical retreats, mercenaries, and wealth, Lutis’s forces were weaker in terms of actual effectiveness.

Yet their strength persisted in other ways which were their iron grip on information, their blackmail networks, and the secrets of their high-profile clients.

Their influence over civilians stemmed not only from providing pleasure, but also from the leverage they held over those desperate to keep their identities hidden. They never outright exposed their customers but kept the threat of exposure ever-present, a leash tugged whenever compliance was needed.

Estefan’s voice cut through these thoughts. "I am not my father, Frejlurd. He could never see the larger design. His reliance on brute strength was his greatest weakness. He is one of the most physically powerful men in this kingdom, yes, but brawn alone cannot govern. Leadership requires more. Strategy. Vision. The ability to see beyond the immediate battlefield. Rammstein is proof of this truth."

Frejlurd inclined his head in agreement. "You speak rightly, my lord. Pure strength may win battles, but it cannot win peace. At best, it buys time. A moment of weakness, a single lapse in vigilance, and they will rise again. The conflict will reignite, endlessly repeating itself."

"Precisely," Estefan said firmly. "That is why we must use both strength and strategy. Every move must be final, leaving no openings for resurgence. When we act, it must be absolute—no second chances, no narrow escapes. Either they flee the city forever with no path back... or they are destroyed entirely."

Frejlurd straightened, his voice resolute. "I stand with you, my lord. They deserve no mercy. Zorthar may flee like the cowards they are, but Lutis will never run. Their fanatics will fight to the last breath. Yet Zorthar’s wealth... if only we could claim it. With their riches, we could rebuild the areas of the city they ruined."

"Perhaps we should," Estefan mused. "After all, their wealth was stolen from this city. It would be unjust to let them escape with fortunes built on exploitation and blood."

"Yes," Frejlurd agreed vehemently. "They do not deserve even a single coin. Their greed has destroyed families, driven men and women to despair. Many took their own lives under the weight of debts forced upon them. Their wealth belongs to the city and so it must be reclaimed."

[To be Continued]