CHAPTER 44: CITY GUARD

A knock echoed through the afternoon air, sharp and insistent. The Inn’s manager stepped outside, his words ready to dismiss yet another unimportant customer.

"Sorry, the inn is filled," he began, his voice cutting through the cool air. But his words faltered when he saw who stood before him. It wasn’t the usual merchant or customer, but rather a row of armed City Guards, their faces stern and eyes unwavering.

"You are being evicted from this building," one of the guards said coldly. "Call your workers and get out."

The manager let out a forced laugh, his bravado not as convincing as it seemed. "Look, I know you have been doing some big things under the Baron, but this?" He waved his hand dismissively. "This inn is owned by Zorthar. If you don’t want your children and family to suffer, I suggest you think twice before pushing us."

His words only seemed to fuel the guards’ anger. Without hesitation, they grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him into the street. "Take them all out," the lead guard ordered, his sword already drawn and pointed at the manager’s chest. "No need to touch the guests."

The manager barely had time to comprehend before the guard declared, "For the crimes of berating the City Guard and the Baron, and for failing to follow the law... I hereby sentence you to death."

The words barely left the guard’s lips before the sword swung down with brutal force. The blade cleaved through the manager’s neck, severing his head from his body in a single and bloody arc. The head fell to the ground with a sickening thud, rolling to a stop as blood pooled beneath it.

The guards moved quickly, removing the workers from the inn and each one meeting the same fate as their manager. One by one, they were decapitated. It wasn’t just punishment but it was an example, an unflinching demonstration of the power now held by the City Guard under the Baron.

The people who witnessed it did not flinch in disgust. They watched in silence, many with a twisted sense of relief. For the first time, they were seeing justice being carried out, the kind they had been deprived of for so long.

"The law is absolute," the guard announced, his voice cold and unwavering, as he stood over the pile of decapitated bodies. More workers were forced into the street, their fates already sealed.

But not all were willing to submit as Inside another inn, Zorthar’s hired goons readied themselves for a fight.

These were no ordinary criminals, but men who had been trained to be fighters meant to protect Zorthar’s local businesses. They weren’t armed with fancy swords or armor, but they knew how to handle themselves in a brawl.

A fight quickly erupted, swords clashing against swords, the sharp ring of steel filling the air. But the City Guard had the upper hand. They were organized, disciplined, and had more numbers while their opposition held only one or two men at best. The goons fought back fiercely, but the guards were relentless.

One guard parried a goon’s strike, his counterattack swift and precise. He drove his sword into the man’s solar plexus, the force of the blow causing the man to crumple in agony before collapsing into a heap. "Victory," the guard exclaimed, his voice full of grim satisfaction.

The battle was brief, and the outcome inevitable. The goons were overwhelmed and systematically defeated.

The guards pushed forward, unyielding. As the last of Zorthar’s men fell, the citizens who had been watching from the sidelines began to emerge from their homes.

The air was thick with tension, but it quickly shifted to one of cautious optimism. The cheers from the crowd grew louder, some clapping, others shouting in joy. They had witnessed something they hadn’t dared hope for, justice in action.

As the people celebrated, the guards dragged the defeated criminals into the street, where they joined their fallen comrades. The heads of the fallen goons were placed inside boxes to be sent as a warning to Zorthar who dared to defy the Baron’s rule.

Meanwhile, Frejlurd, commander of the City Guard, led a team of twenty soldiers toward a brothel in the central part of the city. Unlike the Zorthar proxy owned inns, the brothels and pleasure houses were directly under the control of the Lutis clan.

Rumors of illicit activities such as drug trafficking, blackmail, and even rapes had been swirling for years.

The brothel was guarded by soldiers loyal to Lutis, a motley group of orphans and kidnapped children who had been raised from a young age to serve the faction.

These children had been manipulated, molded into loyal soldiers who would fight and die for their masters without question. They were unarmed, wearing only light clothes, and had been trained in hand to hand combat or using some random objects which they can get their hands on.

Frejlurd stood tall before them, his armour gleaming in the morning light. "Move, or be moved," he commanded, his voice deep and authoritative. His men stood behind him, each one with their swords drawn, ready for whatever came next.

The henchmen in front of him didn’t flinch. They were confident in their training, even if they were outnumbered. One of them sneered at Frejlurd. "You can try, but remember who you are, and your position." as they believed that Frejlurd along with the City Guard were still getting bribes and being the dogs of the criminals.

Frejlurd took a step forward, his imposing figure pushing the henchmen back. "You wanted to stop me, didn’t you?" he said, his voice casual but tinged with threat. "Go ahead. Try it."

He wasn’t backing down, not today. He had the Baron’s blessing to deal with the criminals in whatever way necessary and he was going to exercise that power without hesitation.

"We are here to search the premises," Frejlurd said, his eyes scanning the group of henchmen. "We are also evicting you for unpaid taxes. This city is no longer your personal asset."

Without warning, Frejlurd shoved one of the henchmen aside, using his strength to send the man stumbling back. The guards moved in, swords flashing as they attacked.

The henchmen fought back, but their efforts were in vain. The guards were armed properly along with wearing strong armour while these criminals were not wearing any protection.

The swords swung, and blood splattered across the cobbled streets. There was no mercy. It was a massacre.

The fight was over almost as soon as it started, the henchmen were either dead or incapacitated. Frejlurd’s men, covered in blood but victorious, marched into the brothel. The workers inside were the prostitutes, the clients, and the manager who had nowhere to run.

Frejlurd stood tall, his voice booming. "This brothel is now under the control of the City Guard as per the direct orders of Baron Estefan Angeras. You are all under arrest for breaking the law."

The workers inside froze in terror. The screams of their guardians had already shattered the illusion of safety. Frejlurd’s guards moved swiftly, cutting down anyone who tried to escape. The workers and clients alike were rounded up, no one spared.

An elderly woman, the manager of the brothel, was dragged before Frejlurd. She was forced to her knees, her eyes defiant even in the face of death.

"All this time," Frejlurd said, his voice cold as he pressed the tip of his sword to her neck. "You have broken the law in every conceivable way. Beating people, kidnapping, blackmail, and even worse, rape... Justice has arrived, and death is its herald."

The old woman laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the silence. "The Matriarch will have your head," she spat.

Before she could finish her sentence, Frejlurd swung his blade, slicing through her neck with brutal precision. Her head fell to the floor, rolling away as blood poured from the stump.

Frejlurd stared down at the body, his expression unchanged. "This is justice," he muttered. "Your Matriarch is next."

[To be Continued]