Chapter 76: Pushing a Warlord to his Absolute Limit

Cassius let out a low, dry chuckle that barely vibrated in his throat. He shifted his weight off the table, his movements fluid and deliberately slow, mocking the heavy readiness of the guard before him.

"You don’t think you know too much?"

Cassius asked, his voice smooth, cutting through the damp chill of the room. He took a single, slow step forward, his eyes locked onto the governor’s rigid face. "And your stupid Lord..."

He paused, letting the insult hang in the air, watching for any twitch in Kerwon’s jaw.

"...he thinks I can be easily distracted," Cassius continued, his tone dropping into a sharper, venomous edge.

"Even after he knows I can’t."

Kerwon did not move. He stood like a monument of carved stone, the heavy halberd resting against his side, his breathing slow and controlled. The raw irritation from before was entirely locked away behind a mask of absolute military discipline.

Cassius leaned slightly closer, his smirk widening as he delivered the final jab. "Why does he keep checking on me via his dogs, then?"

The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. The rhythmic dripping from the pipeline seemed louder now, filling the space between them.

Kerwon did not bite. He didn’t tighten his grip on his weapon, nor did he allow the insult to his master to crack his demeanor. His blue eyes remained flat, cold, and entirely calculated. When he spoke, his voice was a sparse, rigid bar of iron, stripped of all personal emotion.

"The orders of Lord Vilucious are absolute," Kerwon stated. His tone left no room for argument, no room for banter.

"You move now."

The tension in the room snapped as Cassius’s smirk broadened into a cold, genuine laugh.

"Fine," Cassius said, his voice cutting through the damp chill with a sudden, sharp edge of amusement. He pushed himself fully away from the wooden table, his bare feet shifting silently against the cold, gritty dirt floor. He didn’t have a fine coat to adjust, just the thin, threadbare fabric of a slave’s t-shirt clinging to his shoulders... yet he stood with a fluid, arrogant posture that completely defied his status.

"Let’s not keep his Majesty waiting. Lead the way, the elite messenger."

Kerwon didn’t move immediately. His bloodshot eyes shifted from Cassius to the table, staring down at Madam Florianthum’s limp form. The protective weight in his chest overrode his duty to the King for a fractured second.

"I am taking my Lordess with me," Kerwon grunted, his voice thick with a dark, stubborn worry. He stepped toward the table, the heavy halberd shifting in his grip.

"She needs a medic. I will not leave her in this rat-infested hole while this creature roams."

Fukuro’s heart leaped straight into his throat, practically choking him. A cold, oily sweat broke out across his forehead.

If Kerwon so much as laid a finger on her, if the high-and-mighty military medics examined her and realized she was completely faking as Cassius already had gestured him pointing to Florianthum.

This gesturing happened when Fukuro took Kerwon to the corner by letting her open her eyes for a minor second to show him that it’s an act... or worse that can happen was what if Kerwon saw the specific nature of the bite; the whole fragile house of cards would come crashing down.

They would all be executed by morning.

"Sir! Sir Kerwon! Wait, stop, please, by the gods, don’t!"

Fukuro scrambled forward like a panicked spider, his boots skidding wildly on the loose dirt as he literally threw his scrawny frame into the governor’s path. His arms flew up, waving frantically in the air.

"You can’t touch her!" Fukuro gasped, his spectacles sliding violently down his nose.

"Think of the optics, sir! The absolute, catastrophic optics!"

Kerwon stopped, his gaze burning down into the clerk.

"If the Lord sees you carrying her out of an unmapped secret base? Unconscious? Dress torn?"

Fukuro’s words tumbled out in a frantic rush. "Right alongside a bare-chested, barefooted, unbound vampire slave?!"

He sucked in a desperate breath.

"The high-society gossip mills will chew her up and spit her out before anything! Lord Vilucious will demand a full, humiliating tribunal inquiry into why she was even breathing the same air as this place!"

Kerwon froze mid-stride. His jaw clamped shut so hard a violent muscle twitched under his scarred cheek.

"The protocol for a compromised high-ranking official is absolute, miserable quarantine," Fukuro pressed on, his voice dropping into a desperate, theatrical whisper. He was terrified, vibrating like a plucked guitar string, but his clerk brain was weaponizing the kingdom’s rigid military laws against the giant standing before him.

"And hostile interrogation under regulation of Section Nine!"

Kerwon glared at him, unyielding.

"Let me handle her, sir. Please," Fukuro begged, hands clasped together. "She made me her personal secret clerk! My entire existence is built around moving through shadows."

He gestured wildly toward the dark corners of the room.

"I can smuggle her through the back servant corridors straight to her private quarters. Not a single guard will see her."

He leaned in, delivering his final, desperate pitch.

"You take the beast to the King. Keep the spotlight on the monster. Protect her spotless name, sir. I beg of you!"

Kerwon stared down at the trembling clerk, his bloodshot eyes burning with a volatile mix of raw fury and agonizing reluctance. He glared at Florianthum’s limp form, then snapped his gaze back to the hyperventilating clerk. The logic was utterly insulting, but it was legally bulletproof.

"If she has so much as a single scratch on her that isn’t from that rat when I return," Kerwon hissed, leaning down until his massive chest nearly pinned Fukuro to the ground, his voice a terrifying, gravelly rumble, "I will personally break every bone in your body."

The governor paused, letting the threat sink in.

"Starting with your spine."

"Understood! Perfectly, beautifully understood, sir! Crystal clear!" Fukuro stammered, his head bobbing up and down so fast it was a miracle his neck didn’t snap.

With a low grunt of absolute disgust, Kerwon finally pivoted on his heel. His heavy, armored boots ground into the dirt floor as he marched toward the exit, his massive frame carving a path through the dim light like a warship.

Cassius followed right at his flank, his calloused, bare soles making absolutely no sound against the earth. The slave was entirely unbothered, walking with a quiet, dangerous confidence that felt like an insult to the entire military structure.

Florianthum slowly pushed herself up from the rough wood, her movements elegant despite the torn fabric at her collarbone. Her face was a mask of rigid composure, but her eyes flared with a quiet fury. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, ignoring her clerk entirely.

Fukuro remained standing near the center of the room, his head still deeply bowed in a rigid, trembling posture of respect toward the empty space where the governor had just been. For several agonizing seconds, he didn’t dare to breathe.

Slowly, his head tilted upward. His spectacles slid down to the tip of his sweaty nose as his eyes darted toward the open exit way.

He waited. He listened.

On tip-toes, he began creeping toward the dark, arched opening of the exit. His knees knocked together with every cautious, exaggerated step, his hands raised as if he expected someone to leap out of the shadows.

He leaned his upper body past the threshold, straining his ears into the dark corridor to catch the absolute last, fading echo of Kerwon’s heavy military boots grinding against the stone.

Nothing. Just the distant dripping of water.

With a sudden, explosive gasp of oxygen, Fukuro spun around and came sprinting back to the table.

His boots skidded wildly across the damp floorboards before he slammed both hands flat against the wooden surface, trying to look like a hardened, serious investigator; even though his left knee was still visibly vibrating against the wood.

"Madam, we need to talk. Fast," Fukuro said, his tone shifting from pathetic whining to a sharp, theatrical whisper. He leaned across the table, his eyes wide behind his lenses.

"The military log updates every hour on the hour! Kerwon is bound by absolute reporting protocol to Lord Vilucious. If that giant brute writes down even a syllable of what I just pulled out of my... my brilliant imagination, we are both headed straight to the royal chopping block!"

He began pacing, his boots squeaking loudly on the damp floor as he threw his hands into the air, gesturing wildly to the empty room.

"I just told the Governor of the Elite hierarchy that he shrank a ceremonial cape in the wash! Do you know what the penalty for insulting a high-ranking officer’s laundry skills is?"

Fukuro placed a palm on his head showing tensed gesture and then said,

"I don’t, I practically sacrificed my entire jawline and to buy us five minutes!"

Suddenly, he stopped pacing, spun around, and leaned so close to her that his crooked glasses almost touched her nose. His voice dropped an octave, dripping with a mixture of absolute panic and frantic curiosity.

"So, what really happened between you and that barefoot menace?" Fukuro asked, his voice dropping into a sharp, frantic whisper.

He leaned across the heavy table, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge. His eyes dilated behind his crooked spectacles, locking onto her with a mixture of terror and desperate curiosity.

"You let him near your throat!... The Lordess..." He threw his arms up, gesturing wildly toward the dark stone ceiling.

Madam Florianthum didn’t flinch. She sat perfectly still on the edge of the table, her spine straight and unyielding. The torn fabric at her collarbone exposed the angry violet mark of the bite, but her face remained a mask of absolute, icy composure.

She looked down at him, her gaze so detached it felt like a physical weight pressing him into the dirt floor.

"If anyone else had seen what I saw," Fukuro pressed on, his voice cracking slightly as he took a frantic step back. He tapped his temple with a trembling finger, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"The executioners would already be warming up the blades!"

He stopped, his shoulders heaving as he sucked in a desperate breath. The rhythmic thump-drip of the nearby pipeline filled the suffocating silence between them, marking the seconds they were rapidly losing.

"If I’m going to cook the official logs," he whispered, leaning back in, his eyes wide and pleading, "if I’m going to lie to the guards, and risk my entire neck to cover this up..."

He let out a ragged, desperate breath.

"I need to know what kind of fire I’m playing with. What is the truth here? Why did you actually let a slave bite you... just because you know him?!"