And Now The Kales Hang o’er Their Halls For All The World To Fear.

Warning: this chapter is very dark, with characters committing truly horrendous acts. I recommend skipping this chapter if you don't want to read things. I will summarise the critical events in the next chapter without all the grisly details.

This will be your only warning.

For those who don't care about such things, enjoy the chapter and House Aurellion putting the fear of god into the noble class.

….

"People should either be caressed or crushed."

"If you do them minor damage, they will get their revenge; but if you cripple them, there is nothing they can do."

"If you are going to injure someone, do it in such a way that you do not have to fear their vengeance."

Nikolai Machiavelli.

….

So shocked was the viscount that he did not notice the old soldier coming to his side with a bloodstained dagger drawn that was immediately plunged into the unsuspecting man's wrist, who screamed out in pain as his blood ran down the blade and onto the wooden desk.

Calling out for guards who had long since died, choking on their blood, their bodies slumped against the wall outside the door of the solar.

"You have no idea who you tried to kill, do you?"

The old man said coldly, slowly removing the dagger that had pinned Karstan's hand to the table, ensuring the cut through the noble's veins.

"Who, that fucking little girl!"

"You commit such an atrocity for that lowly street rat!"

Karstan whizzed out through the pain as blood gushed out of his wrist like a river.

" 'That lowly street rat', it's as if she's not a sentient being at all in your eyes."

"But then again, I am not surprised as to most nobles commoners are more akin to dirt beneath their boots than human."

The old man mocked the Nathian noble before continuing his explanation like a villain does before killing the hero.

The only difference is that, in this case, the hero will not be getting away. 

"But no, I couldn't care less about her."

"She is but a pawn in our hands, a very useful pawn but a pawn nonetheless."

"It's my lord who you have threatened."

"My son in all but name whose life you tried to end."

"And we care not whether you intended to kill him."

"All that matters to us is that your actions could have killed him even if he was just collateral damage in your eyes."

"And you would not imagine the lengths we would go to or the atrocities we would commit to protect our beloved young lord."

"Our last hope for an honourable existence".

The old soldier said, his voice staying as cold as ice laced with a raging, fiery anger. The only fondness was reserved for when he talked about his mysterious young master, his vice-like grip keeping Karstan in his luxurious leather seat, unable to move an inch.

'Wait, his young master! That must be Quinten, then. But who the hell could he be to warrant such an out-of-proportion response from his subordinates?

Karsten thought, still confused, though now, at death's door, he finally came to the realisation that it was not the crown prince behind that company.

No, it was someone far more dangerous.

Because, unlike the crown prince, this person cared not for rules.

He cared not for guilt, evidence or justice like the crown prince who did everything above board and through official channels.

If they thought you were guilty, then you were guilty. If you were judged to be wanting, they would decide the punishment.

And it was clear that there was only one punishment for what he did in their eyes.

Death.

But not just death. This man wanted to kill him and dance on his grave.

His attack on the man's young master had turned this revenge and retaliation into something deeply personal for his captor.

"Tychon!"

"Tychon!"

 Viscount Kale called out in a pained, hoarse voice, trying to call for one of his two master fighters, his most stalwart protectors.

The men who were his last hope, his last lease on life.

Tychon was also a quasi-grandmaster, a man few can contend with, as the following words the old soldier said made his blood run cold, seeming to dash Karstans last hope for survival.

"Let's visit Tychon then, shall we? Let's see what fate has befallen your most gallant protector. If I recall, he should be in the courtyard hanging around with the rest of your family."

The old man said with an evil, knowing grin, enjoying the pain his words had caused and the look of unadulterated fear that appeared on his captive face.

'This was not a man! This was the devil! A demon from hell!'

'A god of death that was sent to punish Karstan and his family for their supposed sins.'

Karsten thought despair slowly seeping into his heart, sapping him of whatever little strength he may have had left.

They left the solar, the old soldier dragging Karstan along as he walked through the bloodstained corridors. The stench of death and decay filled the air, though Lord Kale's captor seemed entirely unaffected by it.

As a man who had roamed some of the bloodiest battlefields in recent history, such a stench was nothing new.

No, the stench was business as usual. 

Highborn guests, guards, and servants all were dead. Not a living soul could be seen or heard from throughout the entirety of the castle. There was not one man, woman or child breathing as their footsteps echoed through the silent, blood-stained halls of the castle, passing by deceased body after deceased body.

At one point, in a desperate attempt to free himself, Karstan had tried to grab for a dagger he had hidden in his boot by pretending to trip and fall over, only for the weapon to immediately fly into the old man's hand magically as if returning to the hand of its true master.

In his pain and shock, he had not even noticed that the castle and town's antimagic crystals had been destroyed or disabled, the castle being far enough away from town that only the loudest of disturbances would be heard by the townspeople meaning no help was coming until the morning.

Seeing the dagger that he had summoned into his hand, the old man only tutted as if he was more amused by his resistance instead of angered by it.

"Is that all you have, a single dagger and a heart full of despair?"

"Where is the legendary Nathian pride and internal fire?"

"The determination to fight to the death?"

"Is one old man truly all that is needed to break such spirit? If it is, then I am disappointed, for I expected much more from a man of such noble decent as yourself."

Hearing the mocking words of the old man lit a fire of resistance within Karstan as he began to struggle in vain against his ageing captor. Each kick and punch met steel armour, hurting Karstan far more than the old man, but despite this, Karstan didn't stop.

His misguided highborn pride wouldn't allow it.

It took only a minute for the Nathian noble's knuckles to become bloodied and bruised, but Karstan never relented in his useless attacks as if, by some miracle, his persistence would be rewarded in some way by the gods who could not give shits problems affecting such ant-like mortals.

"That's better. It's no fun if you just give up."

"For there is still so much more despair to come."

"So much of your mind to break."

"I want to see the regret in your eyes, your agonised cries when you finally realise what your scheming has wrought onto you and your house."

"And maybe after others see it, they won't make the same stupid mistakes you did."

The old soldier said, uncaring at his captive's attacks, which he didn't even feel as they came to the castle's courtyard; stepping through the keeps wooden gates, twenty men were in the castle cloaked in black, calmly waiting and it was then that Karstan saw it.

The Nathian noble let out an agonised scream of despair as he crumpled to the ground, which might as well have been the most soothing music to the ears of this old man and his comrades, who each had seen the horrors of war but were still more than happy to tag along on this incredibly personal mission with no pity in their gazes as the nathian nobles clenched fists repeatedly smashed into the paved castle courtyard.

Hanging from the gates of his castle was the source of his despair.

Swaying in the darkness of the winter night's breeze were 5 lifeless figures. Two were smaller than the others.

On the walls, two of the black-cloaked men stood next to them with bright, fiery torches which illuminated the faces of the five hanging figures.

No, not hanging figures, hanging corpses.

One was a woman, her throat slit with blood still staining her skin and clothes from where it had freely flowed from her neck. Two more were of children no older than 10 years old whose faces looked at least peaceful, having likely died painlessly.

The other two hanging corpses were of his master fighters, destroying any hope Karstan had for living through the night.

The quick deaths of the innocent children was a small mercy from these ruthless black-cloaked men who had slaughtered everyone within the castle in a single night.

The only mercy he was given and it was for the sake of the children, not for the sake of Karstan himself.

One can only imagine what the reaction in the morning will be from the castle's daytime staff, those servants and guards who were currently peacefully sleeping in the nearby castle town while the lord they served and his family were being unceremoniously executed.

Tears now flowed freely from Karstans face as his gaze was locked on the women and children hanging from the gatehouse, a place which until now had been reserved only for the worst of criminals.

They were his wife and children.

The only people who ever brought him true joy in this ruthless world he lived in, where the only thing that mattered was power.

Two little bundles of joy that had brought him comfort every day were now lifelessly staring at him, their vacant, bright blue eyes devoid of the light and life they once held.

They were dead, and their lives prematurely ended.

All because he had foolishly ordered the attack on a merchant group's convoy, thinking that his position and social status protected him.

A mistake he would never get to make again.

Anyone who heard this would think it was a joke, as no merchant group would have the balls or the capability to massacre an entire castle in retaliation.

But the reality before him was no joke but a ruthless reality.

An unbelievable reality that broke every conventional societal rule

There were 300 men at arms, and 2 master fighters always garrisoned in his castle no matter whether it was day or night.

Yet this old man, alongside his 20 men, had infiltrated his castle and killed them all within a single night.

One single night.

Worse, Karstan wasn't even aware until it had all already happened, until he was delivered his envoy's severed head in a box.

Just the thought of such a thing being possible would send shivers down the spine of any man.

Let alone when it was happening before your very eyes.

Karstan was slowly dragged to the gatehouse in silence. Any thought of resistance had left him as soon as he saw his family's lifeless corpses hanging for all to see. His expression was vacant and dull as if all happiness had left, a macabre sight for the person who would see it in the morning.

And a warning.

A terrible warning that would quickly disseminate throughout the noble circles within Nathia and even the world.

A warning carrying but one clear message that everyone would receive.

Don't fuck with Quintens Quality Goods.

As he made his slow journey to certain death, the old man disguised as one of his soldiers continued to talk to him.

"You think this is unfair, don't you?"

The old soldier asked the rhetorical question in an ice-cold voice devoid of emotion, for it was one he did not want an answer, for he just wanted his captive to think.

Think about how many people were in terrible situations just like this because of his actions.

This was no justice that the cloaked men were dishing out, though; this was revenge, plain and simple. It's just that this noble was far from innocent of any wrongdoing himself.

"Why kill innocent children who have done no wrong?

"Why commit such an atrocity, such a despicable and unjust act?"

"But have you ever thought of the countless innocents that have died and suffered as a result of your own schemes?"

"How many countless innocents die or become enslaved because of the nobilities selfish power plays and endless need to dominate others?"

"How many hopes and dreams were destroyed, never to appear in the world again because of you?"

"And yet you think the world should show you mercy when you showed none."

Showed no pity for the poor or the desperate, some of whom have to steal to survive."

The old man said before they stopped as a noose was quickly tightened around Karstans neck by the old man who spoke one last sentence before the Nathian noble's send-off to the halls of hell.

"Railius Aurellion sends his regards."

Karstan's eyes widened in surprise, wanting to say or shout something that would give any clues to any potential people watching in the shadows, but as soon as the last word was spoken, he was kicked off the gatehouse, his throat restricted by the thick rope was unable to speak.

Not that the soon-to-be-late Lord Kale had much lifeforce left after bleeding out for over a quarter of an hour and so barely struggled or twitched as he slowly choked to death.

Hoping that he may at least be able to reunite with his family if there was an afterlife in this world.

Leon Mantalon walked out of the silent castle courtyard, its stone walls now a beacon of blood, pain and despair, with a spring in his step.

For they have avenged their lord and put fear into the hearts of any men, peasant, noble or king, showing everyone clearly the price that must be paid for conspiring against him from the shadows.

A price few would ever consider paying, and those that did anyway would assume that they never would, that their army and martial arts experts would protect them.

But that was the same thing House Kale had thought.

And just what fate had befallen then.

Leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake that would shock the world, Leon began to sing a song.

A foreboding symphony of fear and dread in tune to a song that he had heard his lord sing when he was younger, though he changed the words.

After all, he had no idea who the Reynes of Castermere were, for there was no house of that name that Leon or even Malwin had heard or known about.

"And who are you, the proud lord said."

"That I must bow so low."

"Only a man of a different coat."

"That's all the truth, I know."

"In a coat of gold or no coat at all."

"A man still has claws."

"And mine are long and sharp, my lord."

"As long and sharp as yours."

"And so he schemed, and so he schemed."

"That lord of Raebershire."

"And now the Cale's hang o'er their halls."

"For all the world to fear."

"Yes, now the Cale's hang o'er their halls.

"For all the world to fear."