Chapter 93: Shaking Arms
In the dimly lit room, a fresh surge of hushed murmurs and startled gasps reverberated, their resonance intertwining with the already palpable tension that hung in the air. The audience’s collective distress seed to offer a peculiar release, further diffusing the weight that burdened the very walls of the chamber. Amidst this dramatic backdrop, a fusion of astonishnt and bewildernt painted each and every face, all eyes converging upon a figure who had masterfully wrested the spotlight from the aftermath of the preceding fight.
Within the unwavering clasp of Felix’s formidable hold, Lord Kaylen, his voice quivering yet maintaining its resonance, sought to beseech the duke with a compelling blend of trepidation and urgency, his words bearing the weight of his plea,
"Your Grace, I implore you, permit
the opportunity to explain the circumstances!"
However, Damien harbored no inclination for an explanation.
With swift determination, he seized the man by the moistened collar of his pristine white shirt, wrenching him free from Felix’s grasp. There, in the shadowed recesses of the chamber, their eyes locked in a fervent confrontation. Damien’s face contorted, consud by an unsettling semblance of madness, eliciting an imdiate pallor from Lord Kaylen, whose fear was starkly etched upon his white face.
After maintaining this piercing stare for a few long monts, Damien shoved the man to the floor, situating him in close proximity to the dead child. He then positioned himself imposingly above his captive, seizing a handful of the man’s thinning hair and drawing his face nearer to the frigid, pallid face of the lifeless kid. His voice, dripping with a maddened intensity, hissed fervently above their heads,
"Look carefully at this face. It bears the mark of a life you have shattered. The multitude of similar shattered lives, concealed in obscurity, I dare not even contemplate."
With a quick and decisive motion, Damien pushed Lord Kaylen onto the stage; he then swiftly pivoted, wresting the longsword from Felix’s grasp. The blade’s gleaming point, honed to a razor’s edge, found its mark at the fat man’s throat. Within Damien’s eyes, a fresh surge of wrath painted a new shade of fury. Leaning in, he hissed through clenched teeth,
"You, a lowly miscreant, a loathso piece of trash, are unworthy of even the touch of this unsullied blade. When Lord Kemrson pleaded for his life, I granted rcy, for death would be a facile release for the likes of you."
The duke cast a swift and discerning gaze about the stage, taking stock of the prevailing ambiance in the hall. He then redirected his intense, smoldering gaze back to Lord Kaylen who was still groveling beneath his feet. With deft and practiced finesse, he incapacitated Lord Kaylen by delivering a precise, asured blow to the man’s head, employing the sturdy hilt of the sword. Returning to an upright stance, he bestowed the assembled crowd with yet another manic stare and solemnly proclaid, his voice resonating with unwavering authority,
"Remain in your current positions, all of you. You stand accused of patronizing illicit gladiator contests. Resistance to this arrest shall be t with imdiate, irreversible consequences, enacted by my hand."
At this edict, the previously agitated audience fell into an abrupt hush. Irrespective of a nobleman’s station or influence, the Grand Duke, as the second in command after the Imperial Family and the sole Chief Prosecutor, lacked the inherent prerogative to summarily dispense life and death. However, should he wish to do so, the unwavering support of the Emperor himself lent weight to his intentions.
"Your Grace!"
Felix ventured a step forward, his intent to placate the Duke, but the searing intensity of Damien’s gaze swiftly prompted his retreat, compelling him to reconsider his inclination to speak further. Damien, finding solace in Felix’s response, shifted his frenzied gaze toward Laith, who had remained motionless in her original position, and finally spoke again,
"Felix, summon the Fourth Division of the Shadow Knights imdiately. Matters concerning both of you will be addressed in due course."
"...Yes, Your Grace."
With a curt nod of comprehension, Felix descended from the stage, hastening toward the exit. anwhile, the Duke signaled for Laith to draw near, enlisting her aid in managing the unfolding situation. As she obediently complied, the girl subtly turned her head to the right, taking a tentative step aside. In doing so, she revealed a small, emaciated child concealed behind her, the child’s tiny, blood-stained hands clutching the black folds of her cloak.
Laith found herself uncertain about how to handle the child’s predicant. It was at this juncture that Rosalie, in her wisdom, stepped forward to offer her assistance.
"Please do not worry, I will take care of him."
Lady Ashter reassured, her deanor suffused with kindness, her face aglow with a radiant smile that enhanced her already captivating countenance. However, the child remained wary, his tiny fra concealed behind the refuge of Laith’s cloak, evading the unfamiliar attention.
"Please, don’t be afraid. I promise we will not harm you. We are here to help."
Her soothing words seed to sway the boy’s apprehension, perhaps kindling within him a longing for genuine aid. Slowly, he peeled his face away from the sheltering cloak, causing Lady Ashter’s eyes to widen in sheer astonishnt.
His face, tender in years yet pallid to a disturbing degree, bore the cruel mark of a lengthy, unsightly scar, etched from his left temple to the opposite side of his chin.
’What in the world...’
A potent, distressing wave of overwhelming emotions surged through Rosalie’s being, rendering her physique quiver as though afflicted by physical malaise. In the turmoil of this emotional distress, she grappled with the conflicting impulses to weep or vanish from the very surface of the Earth. The heartache was profound, yet for the child’s sake, Rosalie made a wise decision to restrain her emotions.
With a slightly trembling but kind smile gracing her lips, she extended her hand once more. Her gaze remained fixed on the approaching boy, his erald eyes shimring with trepidation, his small fra quivering. Exhibiting her empathy, Rosalie slowly removed her coat and draped it tenderly around the child, cradling his tiny hand within her own, positioning herself protectively beside him.
anwhile, Damien, who had been an observer throughout, released a sowhat discontented sigh and continued,
"Lady Rosalie, once the Shadow Knights co here, please return to the mansion with Sir Logan and..."
He cast a final glance at the kid standing next to his fiancee and finished,
"Please take the kid with you, we will take care of him later."
Lady Ashter responded with a determined nod, her gaze descending to the boy, whose wide green eyes remained steadfastly fixed upon her countenance. Throughout this exchange, Laith had been covertly observing Rosalie’s actions, her thoughts consud by an unceasing maelstrom of unfamiliar sentints. Eventually, the resounding call of "Laith!" emanating from her lord’s lips prompted her swift departure, leaving the child in Rosalie’s compassionate care.
"Are you capable of walking?"
The lady posed a seemingly ordinary query to the boy, only to realize that he stood barefoot. In response, she executed a delicate maneuver, lifting the child into her embrace. Gently, she pressed his frail form against her chest, and the boy instinctively wrapped his shaking arms around her neck, seeking refuge by resting his head upon the girl’s shoulder.
’God... I once thought Rosalie was skinny, but this boy is nearly weightless.’
Upon reaching the dimly lit steps that led them to this concealed chamber, Lady Ashter encountered Sir Logan, whose eyes widened in astonishnt at her sowhat disheveled state, nearly springing forth to offer aid.
"My Lady! Are you unhard? Is there soone inside your coat? Please, allow
to assist!"
As these words escaped his lips, the boy’s arms tightened around Rosalie, his slight fra trembling like a leaf caught in an unforgiving gust. Perceiving the child’s palpable distress, Lady Ashter gently shook her head, responding with a composed deanor,
"No, there is no need, Sir Logan. Let us depart. Let us return ho."
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