CHAPTER 55: I AM A FAILURE

The joy that had briefly flickered in Frejlurd’s heart was swiftly extinguished as one of his men sprinted toward him. He stood near the ruins of what once were the palace gates, now reduced to charred debris by the explosion.

"What is it?" Frejlurd asked, eyes locked on the panting guard. "Have the culprits already been found? I knew my guards were effective."

He boasted with pride, trying to maintain his composure. As Commander of the City Guards, he wanted to demonstrate that the force was finally under a capable leadership which was no longer a joke like it had been under his corrupt predecessors.

But that pride was short-lived as he heard those words from that man. "My lord..." the guard wheezed, "some of our Guards... those who were patrolling... they’ve been captured."

Frejlurd froze, his expression fading into a silent mask. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He was too stunned to react. All the pride he had built up, the belief that this moment which was supposed to be his victory, his reform that could be used as political capital, now felt hollow.

His voice broke the silence with a single, heavy word. "Who?"

The soldier hesitated, clearly struggling to deliver the rest. "We don’t know, my lord... but three of our female Guards were taken. It happened during the chaos of the explosion."

That single revelation struck like a bolt of lightning. The blast, the very explosion he assumed was a direct attack on the Baron which wasn’t an assassination attempt. It had all been a smokescreen. A misdirection.

It was never about killing Estefan. It was about abducting his Guards. Frejlurd’s realisation sank in like lead in water.

They had used thunder barrels on the palace gates, something so extreme and reckless that it screamed treason. Any rational mind would consider such an act a foolish gamble, especially given the Duke’s likely fury. But that was the point because it was foolish, and it was meant to seem that way. It was meant to blind him and it had.

They didn’t want Estefan dead. They wanted leverage. They wanted to send a message. The true target was his force, the Guards who served the city’s law and order enforcers.

He felt it then, the sense of shame. Not just because he had failed to protect them, but because he hadn’t even seen it coming. He hadn’t understood the deeper plan. His enemy had outwitted him.

Galliard, standing nearby, looked equally disturbed. "So... it was just a distraction," he muttered. Then he turned toward Frejlurd. "Commander, I suggest you inform the Baron immediately. No decisions should be made until he’s aware."

Frejlurd didn’t respond. He stared down at the ground, hands clenched at his sides. Moments ago, he had felt like the city’s savior. Now, he was a man who had let his people be taken under his watch.

"How do I even explain this to the Baron..." he whispered bitterly.

Still, he forced himself to act. Looking at the Guard, he ordered, "Form a recovery team. Keep a minimum force to secure the fort, but mobilise everyone else. Search every building, every corner of the city. I want those women found before sunrise."

His voice lacked its usual steel. It was quiet, subdued. The fire in him had dimmed, smothered by guilt.

Turning back toward the palace, he walked with sluggish steps. Each footfall felt heavier than the last. His breathing became uneven, and a hand gripped his chest.

"I’m too stressed..." he muttered, eyes narrowed in pain.

This role, this authority which he had taken up to change the city. He had been given an unprecedented amount of control. But all it took was one coordinated attack to make him feel utterly powerless again.

He didn’t know what the captors planned to do with the female Guards, but he could guess. "They will definitely torture and kill them to make a statement," he whispered under his breath, almost afraid to speak the truth aloud.

He remembered the old days, when the City was under the rule of the corrupt City Council. The Council had turned a blind eye to the city’s rot. Back then, the criminals ruled the alleys. The Guards, especially the women among them, had suffered unspeakable treatment. They were assaulted, silenced, even sent to "escort" parties thrown by powerful criminals.

Back then, no one questioned it. The ones in power were the ones orchestrating the filth.

Frejlurd had lived through that. Back then, he was helpless. Just another soldier following orders. But now, he was the one giving them and even then he had failed.

The same horrors were repeating themselves, and this time he couldn’t hide behind ignorance or fear. He had misjudged the situation. Worse, he had underestimated his enemies and overestimated himself.

He wasn’t the beacon of change he thought he was. His world, built so quickly on ambition and pride, had begun to collapse.

"I’m no different from those I blamed," he muttered.

When he finally reached the palace doors, he stood outside them for a long moment, collecting what little courage remained.

"I’ve failed," he whispered as he stood before Baron Estefan. "Whatever punishment awaits, I’ll accept it. I won’t run from this."

Standing there looking like he failed at everything he was supposed to do and didn’t have any ideas to fix the mistakes which had happened as he did not know how to fix this, how to make this right.

He was clueless and wanted to give it all up feeling like he was not up to the job he had received. He was afraid of the punishment which he could receive for it as well as he stared at the floor in front of the Baron.

Estefan sat calmly on the couch, sipping a cup of tea. The explosion had awoken him, but now he appeared serene, as though chaos outside his palace walls was a trivial matter.

He placed the teacup down on the teapoy and slowly looked up.

Frejlurd stood before him, shoulders heavy, pride shattered, shame burning behind his eyes.

[To be Continued]