A Barbaric Proposal Chapter 61

※The Torn Wedding Coat※

Elaroyden let out a strangled yelp and threw his weight against the gate, desperate to slam it shut.

CRASH!

It was a futile effort. The heavy wood didn't just stop; it recoiled with enough force to nearly take Elaroyden’s shoulder off.

[Black] "You have a remarkably loud voice."

The Tiwakan Commander let the words spill out in a slow, lethal drawl.

[Black] "I heard every word. Even from the street."

[Elaroyden] "Wha—what...? You... how?"

Black didn't bother with an explanation. Instead, he drove his boot into Elaroyden’s chest.

THUD!

[Elaroyden] "Gah... ack!"

A long, agonizing scream tore from Elaroyden’s throat as he collapsed. He writhed on the cobblestones, clutching his chest, but Black silenced him with a single, cool observation.

[Black] "I wouldn't move if I were you. A rib is definitely broken. Shift the wrong way, and the jagged edge will puncture your lung."

[Black] "Though, if you die, it certainly makes my afternoon simpler."

The scream died in Elaroyden’s throat instantly. He froze mid-convulsion, his eyes darting wildly in a mask of pure terror.

[Butler] "M-Master...! Oh, gods, what do we do...?"

The Rosadel butler hovered uselessly, trying to support his own master. Lord Rosadel, however, was so paralyzed with fear that his legs had turned to water.

[Rosadel] "Why... why are you... In my home? What... what do you want?"

Black turned his gaze toward the trembling nobleman, who was currently leaning his entire weight against his butler. Black began to walk toward him.

[Rosadel] "D-don't... stay back! Eeeek!"

Rosadel scrambled backward, tripped over his own feet, and went down in a tangled heap.

As the nobleman sprawled ignominiously on the ground, Black dropped into a casual crouch before him.

[Rosadel] "Why... why are you sitting...?"

The proximity was worse than the looming height. Being eye-to-eye with the 'Beast of Tiwakan' made Rosadel’s skin crawl with a cold sweat. He wanted to flee, but his muscles refused to obey.

Black watched his frantic, useless twitching with an expression of bored detachment.

[Black] "Two hundred and ten. Sixteen... no, fifteen are gone, so that leaves one hundred and ninety-five."

[Rosadel] "H-huh? Gasp! How... how could you possibly know that?"

Rosadel sounded as if he were on the verge of a heart attack.

The numbers Black had just recited were the exact count of the Rosadel private guard. He couldn't fathom how Tiwakan knew his forces down to the last man.

To Black, however, the nobleman’s shock was the only thing hard to believe.

Gathering intelligence on enemy troop strength was the most basic rule of engagement. He found their incompetence almost insulting.

[Black] "About twenty of them are worth being called knights. Four or five are likely on the premises at this time. Totaling... perhaps fifty men in this house."

[Rosadel] "How!"

The more Black spoke, the more Rosadel’s face resembled a mask of melting wax.

[Black] "Since you clearly know how to count, tell me. How many Tiwakan men came here today?"

[Rosadel] "W-what?"

[Black] "Don't ask questions. You are here to provide answers."

[Rosadel] "I... I... uh..."

He was too far gone to speak. The butler, sensing the impending doom, answered for him.

[Butler] "There are eight, My Lord."

[Rosadel] "E-eight..."

Black watched Rosadel repeat the number like a dazed parrot.

[Black] "Then do the math. There are eight men out there who can each take on sixteen of yours single-handedly. How long do you think it will take us to clear the fifty men in this house?"

[Rosadel] "I... uh... whimper."

The calculation was beyond him. He could only visualize a blur of steel and fifty severed heads hitting the floor in the blink of an eye.

Black tapped a finger against his cheek, looking like a man watching a particularly dull play.

[Black] "Done with the math? If you’re feeling brave, feel free to call them."

[Rosadel] "N-no..."

Rosadel shook his head weakly. There was no point. Even if he summoned every guard in the estate, they would only be fodder.

Even if he escaped while they died, the result would be the same. It was better to sit still and listen to what the monster wanted.

[Rosadel] "What... what do you want from me?"

[Black] "It’s simple. At the upcoming Grand Council Assembly, you and your peers will speak with... common sense."

[Rosadel] "C-common sense?"

[Black] "The obvious conclusion that anyone who harms a member of the Royal Family must be tried for high treason."

[Rosadel] "Hmph—urk."

His lips clamped shut as if they’d been glued together.

Black let out a small, deliberate sigh.

[Black] "You’re lucky. Today, I happen to be in a dangerously good mood."

[Black] "I’d rather not take any heads unnecessarily. Provided you give me the right answer."

[Rosadel] "A-and that is?"

[Black] "You may coordinate your stories. I am perfectly willing to be 'fooled' into believing that Kleinfelter acted entirely alone."

[Rosadel] "Oh!"

The realization finally dawned on him. Black was offering a scapegoat. He was giving them a way to sacrifice Kleinfelter and save their own skins. It was a bridge to survival.

[Rosadel] "I... I understand! It shall be done!"

[Elaroyden] "Lord Rosadel!"

Elaroyden shrieked in protest at the betrayal, but his outburst was short-lived. The pain in his ribs forced him to pant like a dying dog, his tongue practically hanging out from the exertion of breathing.

[Black] "Good."

Black nodded once. He reached out a hand to Rosadel as if to offer a polite shake to seal the deal.

Rosadel hesitated, then reached out and took it. It was Black’s left hand. He briefly wondered if the Commander was left-handed.

Then, with a sickeningly clean crack, Black snapped the nobleman’s wrist backward.

[Rosadel] "AGH!"

[Black] "I left your right hand intact because you have documents to sign. If you ever find yourself losing the urge to pick up a pen, take a moment to reflect on why that hand is still attached to your arm."

The threat was crystalline: fail to sign, and the right hand follows the left.

[Butler] "Oh, master...!"

Black turned his back on the sobbing Rosadel and focused his attention on Elaroyden.

[Black] "I’ve broken three of your bones."

Elaroyden swallowed hard as the shadow of the Commander fell over him.

[Black] "Keep your count accurate. If you break any more, you won't recover."

[Black] "It’s absurd that I’m even giving you this warning... but as I said, I’m in an excellent mood."

Elaroyden wanted to scream that a man in an "excellent mood" doesn't go around shattering ribs, but he valued his life too much to speak. The pain was blinding.

[Black] "I'll leave your right hand as well."

[Elaroyden] "...? N-no! Stop!"

Elaroyden clutched his left hand, shaking his head in terror. But Black wasn't interested in his hands. He glanced over his shoulder and signaled to a mercenary wielding a heavy axe.

[Black] "Ankle. Doesn't matter which. Make sure it can still heal."

[Mercenary] "Yes, Commander."

[Elaroyden] "My—my ankle? What are you—NO!"

Resistance was a memory. With a terrifyingly nonchalant air, the Tiwakan mercenary flipped his axe and brought the blunt poll down hard against Elaroyden’s ankle bone.

CRACK.

Elaroyden’s mouth flew open, spray flying as he let out a soundless scream of agony. His foot wasn't severed, nor was it permanently ruined, but to Elaroyden, that was the most terrifying part.

Tiwakan could have crippled him. They could have ended him. They chose not to simply because their leader was "happy." Elaroyden had no idea how to deal with such an unpredictable predator.

For Black, however—a man who had spent a decade perfecting the art of breaking human wills—handling men like Elaroyden was child's play.

Black looked at his men, his expression shifting to a look of strange, unnerving calm.

[Black] "Make sure they remember this when it comes time to sign. Remind them that they have many parts of their body that serve no purpose other than as a canvas for a pen."

The method was effective. Rosadel looked ready to sign a document selling himself into slavery if it meant Black would leave.

[Black] "Deliver the message to the other three families."

There was no verbal response, but the silence was an absolute submission.

His work done, Black turned and strode out of the Rosadel estate. As he began the walk back to the castle, his mood grew even lighter.

Liene would be there.

*****

[Flambard] "Come this way, Your Highness!"

She practically chirped with excitement as she ushered Liene along.

[Flambard] "It looks so magnificent on the hanger! You simply must see it for yourself."

She was vibrating with pride over the completed wedding coat for Black.

As Liene had predicted, the chance to work with such luxurious fabrics again had revitalized the older woman.

[Flambard] "Looking at it in my hands doesn't do it justice. It’s best seen worn, of course, but since that’s a challenge, the mannequin will have to do!"

Liene found the Madam’s haste both amusing and endearing.

She seemed to hate him more than I did at first.

But now... she looks more excited for this wedding than I am.

[Flambard] "Hurry, Your Highness! I’ve been dying to show you this all morning."

With a flushed, beaming face, the Madam threw open the door to her workroom.

[Flambard] "Eeeek!"

A sharp scream cut through the air. The room, which should have been empty, was occupied.

A woman stood there—thin, pale, and as translucent as a ghost.

The source of the scream was the heavy dressmaker’s shears clutched in the stranger's hand. The very shears Madam Flambard used for her finest work.

SNIP!

The woman didn't even flinch at the scream. She plunged the blades into the garment before her.

RIIIIIP!

The fabric tore with a violent, jarring sound. It was the wedding coat—the one the Madam had just finished with such joy.

[Flambard] "No! What are you doing!"

Finally snapping out of her shock, Madam Flambard lunged at the spectral woman.

[Flambard] "Do you have any idea what you've done? Who are you! Why are you doing this!"

Even as the Madam grabbed her, the woman continued to hack at the fabric, her movements desperate and jagged.

The struggle grew frantic, the two women tangling together.

[Liene] "Stop! It’s dangerous!"

Fearing the Madam would be cut, Liene rushed forward and seized the intruder’s wrist.

[Unknown] "Let go!"

The woman shrieked, a raw, guttural sound.

[Liene] "Drop the shears. Now!"

Liene twisted the woman’s wrist with all her strength. As the Madam shoved the stranger back, the shears finally slipped from her grasp.

CLANG.

The shears hit the floor at the same moment the woman collapsed into a heap.

[Unknown] "Huuu... sob..."

A muffled, broken sob escaped her. Despite her youthful features, her hair was unnaturally grey, as if bleached by stress.

Madam Flambard let out a frustrated wail.

[Flambard] "How dare you cry! I’m the one who should be weeping!"

The Madam looked ready to tear the woman's hair out.

Sensing the escalating violence, Liene stepped firmly between them.

[Liene] "Who are you?"

Liene’s voice was steady, but her mind was reeling. She stared at the ruined wedding clothes, unable to fully process the sight. It felt like a nonsensical dream one has during a feverish nap—devoid of reality.

[Liene] "How did you get into the castle? Who are you?"

[Liene] "Why did you do this to these clothes? Do you have any idea what they represent?"

[Liene] "Answer me. I am the one with the power to punish you."

[Unknown] "Then... do it."

The woman finally spoke.

[Liene] "...What did you say?"

[Unknown] "I said, cut my throat."

The woman snapped her head up, her gaze locking onto Liene’s.

[Unknown] "Kill me. I have nothing left to fear. This life—where I cannot even die when I want to—is finally over."

Madam Flambard stomped her foot behind Liene, fuming.

[Flambard] "Where did this lunatic come from? She’s clearly lost her mind, Your Highness. Don't waste your breath; call the guard and have her dragged to the dungeons."

[Liene] "I need to know the reason first. Why is it that you have nothing left to fear?"

Liene directed the question at the woman.

The intruder clamped her mouth shut and glared, her defiance enough to make the Madam faint from indignation.

But Liene... She felt a strange, nagging sensation.

The resemblance... It’s haunting.

The woman looked like Klima. She had those same large, brown eyes—eyes that looked gentle and fragile, yet fundamentally broken.

[Liene] "That implies you were afraid of something until now. What was it?"

The woman remained silent.

Liene decided to provide the answer for her.

[Liene] "Was it the Kleinfelters? Or were you afraid of what would happen to your son?"

[Unknown] "...? What?"

The woman, who looked as if she would never speak again, let out a dazed, hollow whisper.

Prev

Chapters

Next