“Battalion Commander Anton, everyone is assembled.”
I nodded at my subordinate’s voice and turned my gaze toward the villa.
Small flickers of light were visible through the gaps in the trees. The villa stood deep in the forest, a silhouette in the darkness before dawn. It was a place that woman favored—one hidden far from prying eyes.
I looked over the men lined up behind me. Not a single one of them wore anything that could identify their rank or status. We had stripped off our armor and insignias, donning only the leather vests of bandits and carrying crude, common weapons.
“Final confirmation,” I said, my voice low. My breath melted into the cold night air.
“House Laufen is providing a diversion at the border. Lady Katia, who practically begged to participate in this rescue, is carrying it out with terrifying enthusiasm. We couldn’t exactly bring the Margrave’s daughter into enemy territory, but her efforts have ensured the enemy's attention is fixed firmly on the border.”
I paused, looking each man in the eye.
“Lookouts have been posted along the highway. The local villagers are too terrified of that woman to come anywhere near here. Even the main House of Count Stade treats her like a pariah and has cut off all contact. We can assume there will be no interference from the outside.”
I tightened my grip on my weapon.
“As far as the world is concerned, we are nothing more than bandits with a grudge against Elizabeth. If any of you are captured, you will be hanged as such. I trust you all understand the risks.”
“Leave no survivors. If this operation is exposed, it will ignite an international incident. To minimize that risk, do not let a single person—be they servant or guard—escape.”
No one spoke. Everyone simply nodded. Not a single soul among us lacked the necessary resolve.
I was no different.
Three years ago, my younger brother, Paul, was one of the five guards protecting Lord Rein. He was slaughtered.
Lord Rein was the boy I had personally tutored in the way of the sword. Back then, he was so small he could barely swing a blade. I taught him the basics of Physical Enhancement and guided his form through every practice swing. He was a bright child, a quick learner who never shirked his training.
And for three years, that child had been in that woman’s clutches.
It was mercenaries who killed Paul. It was mercenaries who killed his fellow guards. It wasn't that woman who pulled the trigger. I knew that directing my hatred for the loss of my brother and colleagues toward her was, in a sense, merely venting my rage.
But the one who had spent three long years tormenting Lord Rein was unmistakably that woman. That alone was reason enough.
“Move out,” I commanded.
The villa’s guards numbered fewer than twenty, exactly as reported.
Two of my men moved ahead and silently dispatched the lookouts at the entrance. We kicked the doors open and stormed the building.
A guard rushed into the foyer, his hand flying to his sword. Before he could draw, a thin flash of silver light pierced his throat.
A throwing needle. It had been launched by Mira as she sprinted past me. She wore a plain, unassuming maid’s uniform—likely to lower their guard—the same as the servants who worked here. Yet, as she glided across the floor without the slightest rustle of her skirts, she looked less like a maid and more like a cold-blooded assassin.
The guard collapsed without a sound. Without breaking her stride, Mira pulled another needle from her cuff and vanished into the inner rooms.
Klaus had trained her well. Over the last three years, the Head of the Guard had forged her into a lethal blade.
A short scream erupted from the back hallway, only to be cut abruptly short.
My subordinates moved with practiced efficiency, suppressing room after room. They cut down those who resisted and hunted down those who tried to flee. Everything went according to plan. There were a few knights among the staff, but we caught them while they were relaxing; they didn’t even have time to don their armor. We overwhelmed them through surprise and sheer numbers. The rest were nothing more than washed-up mercenaries hired for gold. It wasn't even a fight.
“Battalion Commander. Suppression complete. No escapees.”
“And the woman?”
“We found her in the rear living room. We have her secured.”
When I stepped into the room, I saw two of my men pinning a woman down by her arms.
She was middle-aged, with a face that looked permanently etched with malice. Her eyes were sharp, her mouth twisted in fury. Having been dragged out of bed in her nightgown, her hair was a disheveled mess.
Elizabeth Stade.
This was the monster who had spent three years breaking that boy.
“What is the meaning of this?!” the woman shrieked. Her voice was thick with arrogance, clearly under the impression she was being raided by mere common bandits. “Do you have any idea who I am?!”
I crouched down in front of her.
“Elizabeth Stade. Oh, I know you. I know exactly what you’ve been doing in that basement.”
Her eyes wavered for a split second.
“Kidnapping maids and slaves, snatching people off the streets just to hack them apart and bathe in their blood... How many people do you think hold a grudge against you? Don’t expect a quick death.”
“Wait! I’ll give you money! I’ll give you as much as you want, just—!”
Her voice cracked, the arrogance vanishing in an instant. She began to wail pathetically, flailing her pinned arms in a desperate, ugly struggle.
I took the knife my subordinate offered.
“Volunteering for this job was quite popular, you know. I had to fight tooth and nail to be the one to do this. Your destination is already decided. I’m going to return everything you’ve done, tit for tat. Don’t worry, we have all the time in the world. No one will come looking for you—they’re all too terrified to come near.”
I couldn't help but narrow my eyes and offer her a bright, thin smile.
The woman’s scream echoed through the villa.
“Mira! You’re getting too far ahead!”
I ignored the shout from behind me. The contents of the leather trunk rattled slightly with every step I took. From the moment we breached the villa, my eyes had been searching for only one thing.
The entrance to the basement.
Our intelligence had confirmed that this villa had a subterranean level. That woman had a habit of locking her "favorites" in dungeons, whether she was at the castle or her private estate. I had read the reports from the maid who risked her life to infiltrate this place so many times I had memorized them.
I sprinted down the hallway. The villa was almost entirely under our control. I drove a throwing needle into the neck of a servant who lunged at me and kept running without looking back.
At the end of the corridor, I found the stone stairs leading down.
The air changed immediately.
It was damp and heavy, thick with the smell of iron. And beneath that—something far worse. A nauseating stench of filth and old, rotting blood.
In a place like this. She kept Lord Rein in a place like this...
I hurried down the stairs. It was pitch black, saved only by the torch in my hand. The flickering flames illuminated dark, encrusted stains on the stone walls.
At the bottom of the stairs, I reached a heavy iron door.
It was locked.
I pressed my hands against the cold metal. My master was on the other side.
“Lord Rein! Lord Rein! Are you there?!”
I screamed his name, my voice bouncing off the stone and echoing through the depths.
There was no answer.
I screamed again. And again. I hammered my fists against the door until they bled, but I felt no pain.
Silence. I couldn't hear a thing. He’s alive. He has to be alive. If he isn’t—
“Over here! There’s a door in the basement!” I shrieked toward the stairs.
Heavy footsteps thundered down the stone steps.
“Open it! Break it down!”
The soldiers slammed their weapons into the door. The air filled with the screech of metal on metal and the shouts of men. They focused their strikes on the hinges. With a groan of tortured iron, the frame began to buckle.
Hurry! Please, hurry!
The door finally gave way.
The hinges snapped, and the massive iron slab toppled forward with a heavy thud.
Torchlight flooded into the suffocating darkness.
It was a cramped stone cell. Chains dangled from the walls, and a massive, dark stain covered most of the floor.
And there—in the corner of the room.
The first thing I saw was white hair.
It was pure white. The soft, chestnut hair he used to have was gone.
He looked so small. Three years had passed, yet he hadn't grown at all. If anything, he had withered away, becoming thin and frail... and then the rest of the horror came into focus.
His left hand was gone.
Both of his legs were gone.
His right eye... it was crushed.
His remaining left eye squinted at us, shielding himself from the sudden, painful intrusion of the torchlight.
His right hand—the only limb he had left—was reaching out toward me.
“...Lord Rein.”
The words left my throat as a hoarse, broken whisper. I didn't even recognize my own voice.
The strength vanished from my legs. I collapsed onto the stone floor, my eyes locked onto him.
How? How could they do this?
My bright, kind, adorable master—my precious Lord Rein.
Tears blurred my vision. I couldn't stop them. A ragged sob tore from my throat, and my entire body began to shake uncontrollably.
I crawled toward him. I wanted to touch him, but I was terrified. I was afraid that if I reached out, his fragile body would simply crumble into dust.
Lord Rein’s left eye focused on me. Perhaps his vision had adjusted to the light, for his eye opened just a fraction more.
His lips trembled.
No sound came out at first—only the faint, rasping whistle of air through a damaged throat.
But I saw the shape of the words.
“...Mi... ra...”
Lord Rein had called my name.
I lunged forward and pulled him into my arms. I gathered his tiny, weightless body against me, cradling him as if he might break, vowing to never, ever let go again.
“Why... how could they...!”
I couldn't stop sobbing. I didn't even try to hide the sound. My cries were the only thing that filled the silence of that dark, cold basement.