A RETAINER'S BLOODLUST

❝

MEANWHILE, in the faraway land of Normaine, a man with blonde hair rushed down a hall towards his private study, his footsteps reverberating off the hard, wooden floor and creating a cacophonous echo. 

Alongside him, a second man with gray hair and spectacles followed closely behind, his head swiveled back and forth in an attempt to keep up with the rapid pace of his companion. "Damn it, how much longer will this torture last?" the man with blonde hair shouted in a furious and distraught tone, his voice tinged with distress.

The man, who appeared to be in a state of anguish and exasperation, proceeded to throw a wig down onto a couch, uttering a frustrated exclamation as he did so. "I've reached my limit with this!" he declared, his tone full of vehemence and fury. 

His companion, who was attempting to maintain a calm and subdued demeanor, made a gentle attempt to soothe him. "Master, please be more patient," the man said calmly, his face neutral despite the tense atmosphere surrounding them.

As if consumed by a deep frustration and ire, the man flung himself onto his chair, raking his fingers through the back of his hair in an attempt to soothe his agitated state. "First came that man, then Charlotte and now this asinine meeting with those other nobles," he declared, his tone rising with each word, despite his attempt to remain calm. His frustration was palpable, his anger towards the situation seemingly impossible to contain within the confines of the chair itself.

"Master Desmond, we shall undoubtedly discover a resolution for this predicament," Zephyrl Landice y Knox, a man attired in refined clothing, proclaimed in a formal manner, attempting to instill calmness and clarity to the situation. Desmond, in turn, took a deep breath, his expression still heavy with concern and anxiety. After exhaling, he addressed Zephyrl once more. "I would appreciate an update on the state of my father," he inquired.

Zephyrl, standing beside Desmond with a formal and reserved demeanor, responded to his questions with a calm, composed manner. "Your father is still bedridden, my lord." He stated, placing his right hand upon his left chest, as if to emphasize the weight of his words. Desmond, who was seated behind his desk and seemingly taking a break from his work by lighting a cigarette, posed another query, his curiosity piqued. "And what about Dominique's retainer?" he inquired, his tone suggesting a sense of impatience at the wait for an answer to his questions.

"The retainer of Dominique is currently incarcerated, bearing an abundance of bruises upon his face," he stated, his tone neutral yet formal. Desmond, who was sitting behind his desk and had lit a cigarette, replied with a single word that indicated his satisfaction at the news. "Good," he simply stated, his tone conveying his apparent approval at the outcome of the situation surrounding Dominique's retainer.

Still maintaining his formal and reserved demeanor, he responded to Desmond's question with an air of caution and reserve. "There is no current news regarding the woman in the cloak who decimated our men and abducted Lady Charlotte," he answered, providing a blunt and swift response. 

He then added a further comment to explain the reason behind the lack of updates. "The family of Chief Servalez, to whom the Chief had previously vowed his fealty, had been immersed in sorrow and mourning until this moment," he continued, his tone conveying a sense of respect and empathy towards the grieving family.

Desmond, after contemplating on the incident for a duration of approximately a week, decided he would personally attend the funeral ceremony of the Chief Servalez. "It has been a week since the incident took place. I shall personally attend his funeral ceremony," he declared, looking up from the papers on his desk and speaking in a firm and resolute tone. His determination to honor the Chief's memory and pay his respects was evident, as was his desire to uncover further details regarding the incident and the mysterious woman of the cloak.

"Yes Mas—" A loud knock erupted from the front door, interrupting Zephyrl, who was on the verge of providing a response to Desmond's previous statement. I'll go get it," he stated, he then opened the door and was met with a face of three men.

The man hurried towards the entrance and shoved Zephyrl away, his face displaying a smirk as his eyes locked with Desmond's. "Your Majesty," he greeted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Desmond, however, maintained a stern expression, and simply addressed the man by his name, "Montallé." He kept his words concise and to the point, showing no sign of friendliness towards the man. Instead, he simply allowed the man's greeting to hang in the air for a moment, as his eyes held a subtle hint of warning and caution towards Montallé.

Montallé, with a self-satisfied expression painted upon his face, inquired about the recompense he was expecting from Desmond. "It has been two weeks without a sign of the reward," he stated smugly, as if the reward was something that was owed to him.

Desmond, on the other hand, remained unfazed by Montallé's apparent sense of entitlement. He responded with a hint of exasperation in his voice, as if he had already made himself clear on the matter. "Your reward? What reward?" Desmond questioned curtly, as if the notion of a reward was something he knew nothing about.

Montallé, maintaining his smug demeanor, made a remark to Desmond, seemingly frustrated at the king's apparent ignorance about the agreed-upon reward. "Why must you turn a blind eye, Your Majesty?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Desmond, despite his apparent irritation at Montallé, remained calm and collected.

"Did you only come here in order to retrieve a reward? For what purpose, so that you can go back to Ivalor?" he inquired, his words laced with an overtone of hostility and contempt as he utters it with smugness in his face. Montallé, who had seemingly been pushed to his limit, responded with an aggressive maneuver, grabbing Desmond's collar, and glaring at him with hatred in his eyes.

Yet, he remained unperturbed by Montallé's act of aggression, responding with a daring statement that fueled the tense atmosphere of the scene. 

"Proceed to fulfill your desires, and I shall watch with great interest," he commanded, his words overflowing with confidence and a sense of boldness.

Montallé's grip on Desmond's collar tightened slightly, but his gaze remained unchanged, giving the impression that he was more than prepared to handle the situation should Montallé's fury escalate further.

As the tension in the room continued to intensify, Montallé released his grasp on Desmond's collar and turned away from him, seemingly attempting to disengage from the escalating conflict. Desmond, however, had other ideas in mind, as he swiftly and violently grabbed both of Montallé's arms, twisting them behind his back and causing him to scream in pain. 

Desmond continued to maintain his grip on the arms despite Montallé's screams, twisting them until blood began to flow, as he spoke with a deranged smile on his lips, "This is your reward," he proclaimed, causing the two other men to flee in fear.

Montallé continued to thrash and scream in pain, and the two other men in the room, who had thus far remained on the outskirts of the altercation, suddenly became overwhelmed with fear and panic. Without warning, both of them quickly sprinted towards the exit door, their faces filled with terror at the sight of the violent scene that had unfolded before them. 

In contrast, Desmond remained calm and collected, his eyes filled with bloodlust and the smile on his lips growing ever wider as he continued to twist Montallé's arms behind his back, seeming indifferent to the increasing levels of pain and distress that he was causing.

A sudden, unexpected twist to the scene played out before Desmond's eyes as he witnessed two men, who had been standing in front of the doorway, fall to the ground in agony as their flesh and joints were cut, their screams cut short, leaving only the faint whimpers of pain to fill the air. 

As this carnage unfolded before his eyes, Zephyrl, who was donning a pair of spectacles, spoke up, his voice devoid of any surprise or emotion. "These men are nothing more than insignificant pests to you, Master," he declared calmly, the sword in his hand dripping with blood.

With Montallé still whimpering in pain, Desmond stepped back and grasped him by the hair, forcing his attention onto his own face as he stared him down with a frightening expression. "Is this what you consider to be a suitable reward, Montallé?" he questioned angrily, his tone dripping with disdain and bitterness. Further still, he addressed both Montallé and the other men, his rage and fury palpable in his voice as he spoke. "You all deserve this, considering what I heard in the report regarding Dominique's body went missing rather than being discovered in a state of decay and death."

Desmond, finally releasing his grip on Montallé's hair, spoke up and addressed his retainer, who was standing nearby. "Zephyrl." he uttered, with a quiet but commanding tone. Zephyrl, who had remained relatively silent and reserved up to this point, responded with a hint of respect and obedience in his voice. "Yes, Master?" he asked, his face remaining emotionless and detached. Desmond, satisfied with his composure and prompt answer, followed up with an order. 

"Clean up this mess immediately, and make sure to leave no spot." he stated emphatically, his tone reflecting his desire for a prompt and efficient resolution to the situation.

A quiet voice, filled with a mixture of apprehension and respect, echoed through the air when Zephyrl bowed before his master, his right hand placed on his left chest. The closing of the door in front of him marked his departure, but the faint sound of a slash and subsequent scream came from behind the closed door, immediately filling the study room with its ominous presence. 

The dreadful sound of blood and flesh, splattered across the walls, and floor of the room, lingered in the air, creating a haunting atmosphere that cast a dark shadow over the otherwise tranquil study room.

It took only a moment after the bloodshed had been completed before Zephyrl proceeded to wash his hands thoroughly, presumably to rid them of the gruesome remnants of the previous events. With the oil lamp now in his grasp, he proceeded to journey downwards to the basement.

Upon entering the basement, which turned out to be a prison, he stopped in front of a cell and raised his oil lamp, allowing the light to shine brightly on the man who was behind the bars. The man, who was covered in bruises on his face, looked up at Zephyrl, who greeted him in an emotionless manner. He stated plainly to the man,

"It's been a while... Leonard."