Pretty and Competent Administrator (8)
Surprisingly, the man had twisted his head just slightly to dodge the quarrel by a hair's breadth. It was so close that the baron briefly mistook it for a clean penetration through the man's skull.
Dodged a crossbow bolt...? From this short distance, with just that simple movement? He barked orders at the soldiers atop the palisade.
"Fire everything! Turn him into a pincushion!"
At the baron's command, the lined-up soldiers unleashed their crossbows in unison. The man hoisted the gatekeeper he'd taken hostage and ducked behind him.
"Gahk...!"
The gatekeeper, riddled with quarrels in his gut and chest, let out a death rattle and slumped forward, head lolling.
"That mad bastard...!"
The soldiers hurriedly reloaded their crossbows. But unlike bows, crossbows took time to span, and in that gap, the man spoke up.
"Baron Benson. I'm here looking for a guest staying in your castle."
"A guest? What nonsense is this!"
"The glasses-wearing female official. Release her, and I'll leave peacefully."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
He played dumb to buy time. A sidelong glance showed the crossbows nearly ready.
"Who the hell are you!"
"Someone from Rosens."
Rosens—that direct-ruled territory in the Vurn mountain valleys. For someone to come all the way from a place on the brink of ruin meant he wasn't an official or guard. Or maybe not—best not take his word at face value. He could be a special operative hiding his identity to extract the kidnapped official. Sneaking in like this to avoid backlash from openly entering the territory.
Baron Benson realized he was in a dire spot. He'd planned to quietly kill the woman by mistake. Releasing her would only spread word that he'd touched a royal official—nothing good could come of it. With no witnesses, no one would ever know.
But now this man had shown up demanding her release. His identity was unclear, but he wasn't ordinary. Taking down all those gatekeepers in the dead of night? Definitely a special operative. That meant the capital already knew he'd kidnapped an official... Sending an operative instead of a formal protest suggested they wanted to handle it quietly too.
If he killed the man or refused to hand her over, the capital would take further action. The answer seemed obvious. But crafty Benson considered another angle: maybe the capital had no hard evidence, just suspicions, which was why they'd sent a stealthy operative.
It made sense—no proof meant no public outcry, so this probe. If it wasn't him, they'd back off. And even if he released her, no guarantee the capital wouldn't act later. Options: hope they let it slide and release her; play dumb to the end assuming no evidence; or kill them both assuming he wasn't elite.
The safest was the third. Even if elite, what could they do? Kill and erase the traces.
Benson was true to his bandit blood. He'd handle this the old way.
"Ambush him with soldiers. Lure him inside and finish him."
The butler rushed down from the palisade at the order. The baron glanced at the man once more, then retreated to the manor.
Using the dead gatekeeper as a shield, he waited briefly until the palisade gate creaked open. A knight emerged and beckoned him in. He shoved the corpse aside and followed.
"You must be pretty strong, huh."
The knight eyed the bodies.
"They came at me like they wanted to die, so I obliged."
The knight gave him an incredulous look at his reply. As they entered, the gate slammed shut and barred behind them.
The manor was a typical setup for minor lords: a central wooden keep for the lord's residence, surrounded by stables, smithy, warehouses, and such. Deep dawn still cloaked everything in shadow—no people in sight.
The knight led toward the keep.
"How far do you bandits usually raid?"
The knight ignored his question, silent. Midway, nearing the keep amid the buildings, he sensed something off. He stopped; the knight halted belatedly.
"Hm... Planning a quiet takedown, eh."
As if on cue, armed troops emerged from between structures. Cloaked knights and assorted soldiers surrounded and aimed at him.
"Predictable for bandit scum."
The hitherto silent knight drew his sword, turning.
"You walked in here to die? Fine by me."
"Sigh... If you're that desperate to die, who am I to stop you."
He lunged forward, grabbing the knight's wrist. Before a counter, he twisted it—snapping bone—and snatched the sword. A slash across the throat, and he shouted,
"Release the woman, and I'll go peacefully!"
But the numerically superior soldiers dismissed it as bluffing bluster. They roared and charged.
Fine, another brawl it was. Clothes were gonna get filthy...
Dodging incoming quarrels, he laid the blade horizontal and swung wide. Screams erupted as wrists, fingers, and limbs in the arc sprayed messily.
"Arghhh!!"
In moments, the area became a hellscape of spurting blood, screams, and tumbling soldiers. Four or five down in one stroke froze the rest—they hung back, terrified.
As sword-wielders retreated, crossbowmen kept distance and fired. He dove flat; bolts whistled overhead. Grabbing a rolling stone, he rose and hurled it upper-body style.
Splat—!
The crossbowman's face exploded; he toppled backward.
"Fuck. Shoot once more, and I'll smash your face like a potato."
Brushing off his chest and gut, he stood. The soldiers bolted every which way. Bandit stock through and through—even with the keep in sight, they fled.
The keep's doors were barred tight. He smashed through; ambushing soldiers leaped out. He dropped them easily, hunting stairs down to the basement.
Descending revealed a nose-assaulting stench and gloomy dungeon. Not stone walls and floors, but raw earthen digs. Dim torches flickered weakly on the walls; mysterious puddles pooled on the ground. A rice-slop-covered rat fled his footsteps; bugs crawled the dirt.
"Administrator Hildeva!"
A stir from deeper in. There she sat on straw matting in a cell—rising at his call.
"B-Bertrand...?!"
Hildeva looked a bit gaunt but otherwise unharmed.
"I'll get you out soon. Where's the key...?"
"How on earth did you get here?"
"We'll talk after we leave. This place is filthy."
"They fed me the worst slop, no blankets in this cold..."
Hildeva whined.
"No key? No guard?"
"Dunno. After locking me in, only the food guy shows."
He smashed the lock with a fist. Hildeva gawked wide-eyed at the shards.
"Your strength... it's insane..."
"Come on, quick."
Out of the cell, she grabbed his hand tight.
"Meeting you again like this—I'm so happy I could kiss you!"
"Kiss later. Let's go."
"We gotta take the coachman too!"
She pointed across. In the dark cell beyond torchlight, a man huddled asleep. He ripped the door off and shook him awake.
"Ughh! No! Don't wanna die!"
"Don't wanna die? Then get up and follow."
He led them up the stairs.
"Haa... fresh air..."
Hildeva breathed deep on the ground floor.
"Thought I was done for... Never dreamed you'd come here. What happened...?"
"Long story—not here. We'll talk on the way back to Rosens."
"Rosens?"
"Stay put a sec."
He left them, striding up the next stairs. Blocking soldiers tumbled down with assorted injuries.
Might as well finish what he started—leaving empty-handed felt wasteful. He had business with the baron.