Chapter 29

The air crackled with tension as Lord Ferdin, trapped in Aleric's relentless grip, thrashed like a wounded animal. His aristocratic composure had shattered, replaced by a desperate, silent scream. Each strangled gasp for air was a testament to Aleric's unwavering pressure. Lilah's sigh was a heavy, burdened sound, a contrast to the rising crescendo of fear in the town square. She knew Aleric wouldn't relent until the nobleman was insensible, perhaps even dead.

"As much as I'd relish watching this insufferable lord suffer,"

Lilah said, her voice low and strained, her hand a desperate plea on Aleric's arm, "they'll return him to Weswos as a corpse if you don't release him now. The consequences will be far worse than anything you can inflict."

Aleric's eyes, cold and unwavering, met hers.

"And what consequences are those, Lilah? Will King Quilter truly avenge this...insignificant lord?" His voice was a low, dangerous murmur, each word a carefully placed stone in a wall of escalating threat.

"Infact, his corpse would be lovely gift to him, don't you agree?"

Lord Ferdin's face, now a horrifying shade of purple, contorted in a silent plea. He shook his head frantically, his gurgled attempts at speech swallowed by the tightening grip at his throat.

"Aleric...please..."

Lilah's voice was a thread of desperation against the growing cacophony of fear. The townspeople, their whispers a rising tide of anxiety, edged closer, their faces pale and drawn.

A sudden, sharp intake of breath rippled through the crowd. Aleric's grip, for a heartbeat, seemed to intensify. Then, as swiftly as it came, the pressure eased. Lord Ferdin crumpled to the cobblestones, his body convulsing with ragged breaths, his face the color of death.

"Thank you,"

Lilah breathed, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her own heart. But Aleric's next words cut through the tense silence like shards of ice.

"The merchant didn't arrive," Aleric said, his voice a chilling monotone, his gaze fixed on the struggling nobleman. "Instead, we have Lord Ferdin of Wesmos. And I intend to extract the truth, one way or another." The threat hung unspoken, heavy and suffocating in the air.

"The king of Weswos received word that… rouges from the west are expanding their operations into the east,"

Lord Ferdin managed to croak, his voice a rasping whisper.

"He ordered me to investigate this… forsaken place."

"Rouges?"

Hector's voice was a low growl, a lethal undercurrent to his words. He moved closer, his presence a palpable threat. "The people of Vahlkiro are not rouges, you worm." Lord Ferdin's weak smirk was a pathetic attempt at defiance.

"Vahlkiro... is no more," Lord Ferdin gasped, his voice choked with pain and terror. "And neither are its people-"

Before he could finish, a heavy boot descended, crushing his chest, silencing his words. He looked up, his eyes wide with a primal terror as the glint of Aleric's sword, bathed in the harsh sunlight, hovered mere inches from his heart. The silence was absolute, broken only by the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

"You are looking at the people of Vahlkiro,"

Aleric said, his voice cold and measured, each word a carefully weighted blow.

"Bind him,"

Aleric commanded, his voice devoid of all emotion, a terrifying calm in the eye of the storm.

"And make certain this lord fool receives the full measure of the dungeon's hospitality. Let him reflect on his arrogance."

Lord Ferdin's shriek of terror was swallowed by the grim efficiency of the Aleric's men as they dragged him away. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken dread.

"Perhaps it's time to pay Wesmos a visit and return the courtesy," Aleric's voice a low purr that held a dangerous undercurrent.