Chapter 68 68: a seductive night

------------------------------ If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know. Leave a comment; support is always appreciated. I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see. ------------------------------- POV of bodyguard of the baron events of chapters 67 Serving Baron Albrecht von Reinsfeld is no easy task. But it's a good job—and above all, a well-paid one. You earn triple what any local guard makes. A blessing, considering what most stingy nobles usually offer, preferring to spend their coin on banquets rather than on decent men to protect them. Of course, good pay comes with sweat. Unlike other nobles who spend their days hunting or drunk and laughing in their halls, the baron likes to work. And I don't mean stamping a few papers and pretending to command. No. That damned boy—because he's still young, even if he doesn't look it—works like he's possessed. From the moment the sun peeks out, he's already giving orders, organizing rations for the poor, or talking to artisans. And there I am, behind him, watching that no bastard gets too close with ill intent. Same thing in the afternoon. He inspects construction works, argues with architects, reviews accounts. Sometimes it seems the architects speak to him begrudgingly, especially with how busy they look in their tasks. My routine is to follow him all day: to meetings, to inspections, to his damned office where he combs through ledgers and production lists like his life depends on it. Whether it's checking if the shipment arrived, or if nails are missing, or if the furnace isn't smelting properly... I'm there, shadowing him, in case some idiot thinks he can stab him when no one's looking. The only break in that routine is training. Blessed Sigmar, how that boy trains. Who could understand him? Only twelve summers and already taller than some grown men. Shoulders like a bull, solid arms, and a way of fighting with a sword that seems straight out of a tale. And those damned kicks... he landed one right in my thigh once, and I limped for two days. It's not normal. But it seems Sigmar favors him. From time to time, we go out on horseback patrols, clearing roads of bandits or visiting mining villages. Not much changes. Only in the evenings do we get some respite, when he shuts himself away with his financial advisor to figure out how to increase revenue—without raising taxes. Yes, without raising taxes. Even that he does differently. The only real problem I see... is that he likes danger too much. He fears nothing. Throws himself into the front lines, gets into fights, puts himself in the middle when he should stay back. More than once I've stood with my sword drawn, defending him from bandits while he barked orders at the soldiers like nothing was happening. One day, he's going to get himself killed if he doesn't watch it. Other than that... he's a good lord. Harsh, demanding—but fair. One of the few you'd risk your skin for without much hesitation. The bastard wasn't even afraid of Hexenstag. While everyone else locked themselves in, blessed their doors, and avoided even peeking out the windows, he went about the day like any other. Distributing food, checking warehouses, speaking with foremen... he even wanted us to continue working as if nothing were wrong. Not a hint of fear in his eyes. If we hadn't begged him to at least let us protect him from within the castle walls, he probably would've gone out patrolling like a madman. Thankfully, he listened. We returned to the keep, shut the gates, lit the torches, and had some beer to calm our nerves. I thought I'd finally get to take off my armor and sleep a bit. But no. Just as I was loosening my doublet, the baron showed up. Armed to the teeth. Sword at his belt, face tense. He said he had a vision. That Sigmar had shown him a threat within the city and that we had to move immediately. I was one of the few idiots still in armor, so I had to go with him. My whole body was shaking as we stepped out into the cold under the moonlight. No sane man walks the roads that night—not even the bandits. But he walked with purpose. No hesitation. As if nothing could touch him. Dealing with the horses was another story. They didn't want to move. Snorting, whinnying, refusing to go forward. Even they sensed something—a pressure in the air that chilled the bones. As we neared the spot the baron said his vision had led him to, the animals panicked. All of them bolted—except for the bastard's horse, the only one that didn't flee. The others tore off like they'd been stabbed. After a while, we reached a clearing. The moment we stepped into it, something changed. I felt a strange warmth, as if fear had vanished. The air smelled sweet—of flowers, of fine wine. And then we saw them. Two women. The most beautiful I've ever seen. Voluptuous, with skin as smooth as ivory and hair so long it fell like veils over their bare shoulders. One was a redhead, her green eyes glowing like emeralds in the moonlight; the other, dark-haired, with full lips and a stunning smile. They wore robes as thin as smoke, barely hiding what lay beneath, and they laughed—softly, like they were caressing your soul with their voices. And then I saw the table. Long, covered in delicacies: roasted meats, goblets of wine, golden bread... and men. Sitting with them. Men from the town. One I swore I'd seen weeks ago in the plaza. They all ate, drank, and laughed as if nothing else mattered. One of the women approached us slowly, moving with unreal grace. Her steps were light, her hips swaying in a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm. She placed her hands beneath her breasts, lifting them naturally to accentuate her figure, and smiled—a smile that seemed to promise every dream a man could have. "Come now, don't be shy... join us," she said in a voice sweet as honey, slipping into the ears and straight to the heart. "By Sigmar... such beautiful women..." one of my companions murmured. He stepped forward, enchanted, as if under a spell. I almost followed. My whole body urged me to. There was warmth, an odd peace, a scent in the air that made me feel weightless. But then... something moved. Something moved—fast. Like lightning. It was the baron. Without a word, he drew his runic sword and shoved the soldier in front of him. The man fell to the ground with a grunt, and the baron charged straight at the redhead without hesitation. I didn't even have time to shout for him to stop. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, and in a single stroke, he took her head clean off. The woman fell to her knees. She wept. Completely clear tears ran down her cheeks while her blood—thick and red—spilled into the grass. Her body collapsed in silence. The other woman, the dark-haired one, lunged at the baron with a dry, furious shriek. "Why did you do it?! Why did you kill them?!" she screamed, her voice now harsh and broken, stripped of all sweetness. Her hands tried to wrench the sword from his grasp. The baron stepped back, feigning weakness—then, with the strength of his right arm, smashed the pommel of his sword straight into her face. I heard the dull crack of metal on bone. One of the quillons drove into her left eye. The woman let out a piercing scream, clutching her face with both hands. Blood poured in streams from the ruined socket. In that instant, the baron struck again. With an upward slash, he severed her right leg at the thigh. She fell to the ground howling like a beast. Even without a leg, she crawled with rage, trying to bite him. He didn't hesitate. One slash to her left arm. Another to the right. And as she shrieked like a damned soul, the baron finished it—beheading her with a clean, brutal stroke. The warmth vanished like someone had doused a fire. The sweet scent turned to a stench of rotten flesh. The table that once seemed laden with delicacies revealed its true nature: butchered human bodies, stacked limbs, gnawed bones, smiling faces swarming with flies. "By Sigmar..." I muttered, horrified.