CHAPTER 424: STORM AT THE KEEP

"By the way... how did you do it?" Sigfred’s gaze lingered on Lazira, the sharpest tongue among the four women. He knew they had skill—yes—but how could four unassuming maids topple twenty hardened men without so much as a wound? It gnawed at him.

"Well, my lord..." Lazira hesitated, her eyes darting helplessly toward Aryana and Veronica. Neither met her gaze. She turned to Marjan, who only shrugged.

Lazira released a deep sigh. "It is because they were thinking with their lower half and not their brains. They had also underestimated us." Lazira paused and then she smiled slyly. "Veronica lit an incense that weakened and put them to sleep for a few minutes. It was enough for the four of us to tie them up before their senses could come back. There were six of them who recovered fast, but Aryana and Veronica subdued them without difficulty."

Sigfred mulled this over, the weight of it pressing on him. Knights would have bled for such a fight. It would need at least ten of them to subdue those men. Some would have died. And yet—these women...

From the shadows, Galahad watched. His gaze lingered on the plain-faced women, and a chill ran down his spine. He thought only his sister and the Gabriella Guild were exceptions, but here stood four more. Weapons in disguise. His lips curved as the thought took shape. He should tell his sister to recruit these four as their talents seemed wasted in servitude.

Galahad and Sigred’s gazes locked. The Silverstone’s heir caught that glimmer in Galahad’s eyes—scheming, covetous—and his own hardened.

Galahad’s gaze flicked to the four women, and the corner of his lips curled up.

"Don’t even think about it," Sigfred warned.

...

Later, the captured men were thrown into the side chamber, which was also a tea room, and they were locked inside. They were in so much pain and were weak that even if the door was left open, they still could not escape.

The great hall quieted, its silence like the stillness before a storm.

Then an innocent voice of a child drifted into the air.

"Mother, you were right. Wishing on a falling star do make it come true." Sigfred’s eldest daughter, who just turned nine, tugged at her mother’s sleeve. "I saw one tonight. I wished Father would come and save us... and he did."

Her words seemed to wash the hall in fragile light. Asael, tending a servant’s wound, followed her pointing finger toward the night sky. His chest tightened. That was the same direction Berlin had sent the signal.

For a heartbeat, Asael studied her innocent eyes—untouched by fear, full of wonder. He shook his head faintly. Let her keep her illusions a little longer.

...

The hall seemed to exhale. For a fleeting moment, there was peace.

And then—

BOOM.

The doors at the far end of the great hall shuddered under a heavy impact. Dust rained from the ceiling. A second crash followed, louder/

The children froze. The women clutched each other. Even the bound men inside the chamber flinched. Then the children cried out in fear.

Asael’s hand went to his blade, his voice low and grim. The enemy knew. "Sigfred, take your family and the others. Lead them to safety." His gaze sought Galahad and Gideon and they nodded in understanding. "We will hold them off to buy you time. This is a fortress. It will take them time to destroy the door."

Sigfred did not wait another second. He herded his family into another section of the great hall. A secondary exit, with bigger and more convenient stairs than the ones they used to enter.

Sigfred’s sisters were calm. They were trained by their fathers to be always calm in situations like that. They helped the children and their sisters-in-law enter through the door in a calm manner.

BOOM.

There was another strike at the door. The door held and did not budge.

But panic spread like fire. Lady Maldita and her mother, Countess Donalton, shoved children aside in their frantic rush to reach safety.

"Do not push. Keep the line in order." Galahad shouted.

Sigfred was leading at the front because he had the torch and did not know what happened at the back."

Countess Donalton and Lady Maldita froze. They realized they did not act appropriately. But when they hear another banging at the door, they throw all nobility and surge forward, not minding if they step or push on someone else.

Marjan and Veronica struck them down with cold fury. "You dare harm his daughter?"

"How dare you? You lowly servant," The Countess shrieked from the floor, humiliated, but no one moved to help her.

The strikes on the door continued and it shuddered again. The thundering blows grew closer, faster.

But the people from the hall continued to thin, until only the Norse sibling and the four women were left.

The four maids—Aryana, Veronica, Lazira, and Marjan—stepped forward, their eyes burned with the same fire that had carried them through the night.

"We fight," Lazira said, her voice sharp as a bell. "With you, my lord."

"Go after them. Sigfred would not be able to defend all of them. You are needed there more than we need you."

Three obeyed, slipping through the hidden exit. Only Aryana lingered, torn with doubt. "Three against a hundred? You’ll be slaughtered—"

"Go!" Galahad shoved her through and slammed the stone door. A hidden mechanism clicked—the wall swallowed the passage whole. The entry was sealed and there was no sign of the door.

The pounding on the main gates reached a fever pitch.

The fifteenth strike nearly tore the door from its hinges. From beyond came a voice—deep, cruel, and mocking.

"Enough games. Open this hall... or we burn it with all of you inside."

The women’s victory had lasted but a breath. The true storm was at their doorstep.

On the sixteenth blow, the iron lock gave way, and the double doors of the great hall exploded inward as though struck by a thunderbolt. The sudden gust of night air extinguished several torches, plunging half the chamber into shadow.

Through the open door, a man stepped whose presence filled the room like poison. Broad shoulders swathed in red furs. His face was half-hidden beneath a helm shaped like a snarling fox. The glint of his eyes beneath the visor was enough to silence the hostages’ cries. His armor was mismatched, pieced together from the spoils of plunder, and yet he wore it as though he were a king.

They called him Red Fox.

Beside him, a scarred giant—his lieutenant, Scarface.

Behind them poured a few dozen fresh men, their armor real this time, not stolen costumes. These were no impostors—these were hardened raiders, disciplined in formation, blades already slick with old blood.

But there were no hostages. No one cried. Instead, they were greeted with silence.

"Where are they?" the fox-helmed man drawled, surveying the empty hall.

Then they heard muffled moans from the chamber at the right and some more from the left chamber.

Red Fox and Scarface looked at each other, and as if they had a tacit understanding, one went to the chamber to the right and the other to the left. The few dozen men following them also split into two groups.

When Red Fox tried to open the door, it was locked from the inside or something was blocking it from the inside.

It took a long time before the door finally gave way, and what greeted him were trussed bandits on the floor.

His voice was rough, scarred by years of battle, but carried an unmistakable amusement. "What the hell happened?"

The bound captors wriggled and moaned, their eyes gleaming with hate and desperate hope—their masters had come.

Red Fox stepped forward, commanding his men to remove the gag from their mouths.

"Boss, those women, they tricked us. They are not ordinary servants. They were trained female knights."

Red Fox glared at them. "Where are the hostages?"

The men who were still bound were confused. Aren’t they outside? Why is Red Fox looking for them?

"Damn It! Hurry up and look for them." Red Fox screamed. He gestured with a gloved hand. His men fanned out, blades raised as they looked behind every corner of the chamber. When they found nothing, they returned to the hall and looked behind every pillar.

But there was no one.

Scarface returned from the left wing, confusion etched in his scars. Red Fox’s snarl split the air.

The two leaders, one an ex-human trafficker and the other an ex-bandit leader, met at the center of the great hall.

"We’ve been played like fools." Red Fox snarled.

Then—BANG!

The doors of the great hall slammed shut behind them. Heavy objects dragged into place on the other side. The sound of iron bolts locking echoed through the chamber.

"Damn it!

Then the fox-helmed man tore the helm from his head, revealing a scarred face twisted by cruelty. His lips curved into a feral grin as he leveled his blade.

"Burn the hall if you must," he growled. "But kill them all."

The hall erupted into chaos, and then everyone paused.

If they burn the hall, wouldn’t they fall victim to their own fire?