Finn stood stunned by his knight. Fenrik's men were nearly twenty in number, yet Raymond overpowered them all, killing each with a single strike. Their swords never even touched him.
Blood soaked into the floor, pooling in shallow lines between the cracks. The air smelled of iron and sweat, sharp enough to sting the back of Finn's throat. Bodies lay scattered across the hall in unnatural positions, limbs twisted, eyes open and empty. The silence that followed was heavier than the screams that had come before.
For a split second, Finn wondered how his father had been able to afford such a skillful knight. The question surfaced suddenly, uninvited, as his gaze traced Raymond's unmoving form. Then another thought crossed his mind, ridiculous yet persistent. Am I the main character? Because main characters always had something others did not. Plot armor.
"Sir Raymond, by order of the throne, enough!" Fenrik shouted the moment he realized all his knights had been slaughtered.
The words echoed off the stone walls, louder than necessary. Fenrik had risen from his seat, his calm finally cracking as his eyes swept over the fallen bodies. His fingers flexed at his side, irritation flashing briefly across his face before he forced it down.
By now, only the frightened nobles, Fenrik and his two men, Finn, and Vincent remained in the hall.
The nobles huddled together instinctively, fine clothes stained with sweat, some stained with their Knight's blood, some clutching their robes as if fabric alone could protect them. A few stared at the corpses in disbelief, mouths slightly open. Others could not look at all, their eyes fixed on the floor.
Raymond finally stopped, the abrupt stillness drew everyone's attention to him.
His armor was stained with blood. It clung to the grooves and edges of his breastplate, dark and sticky. His sword screeched against the floor as he walked toward Fenrik, the sound slow and deliberate, each step measured. The blade lifted, then settled against Fenrik's neck, just below the jaw.
"How dare you place your filthy blade on the Duke!" Oliver shouted.
His voice was high, almost shrill, panic breaking through the authority he tried to maintain.
Raymond gave him a single look. It was enough. Oliver's words died in his throat. He stiffened, swallowing hard, his face draining of color as he stepped back without another sound.
Richard tried to step forward, reaching for Raymond, anger flashing across his features as if outrage alone could undo what had happened. He barely made it halfway.
With one punch from Raymond's left hand, Richard stumbled to the ground. The blow was fast and precise. Richard did not lose consciousness, but the stars spinning in his vision made it impossible to stand. He groaned, clutching his head, breath coming in shallow gasps.No one moved to help him.
Raymond then faced Fenrik, who did not bother fighting back.
"I don't give a damn about that bloody throne," Raymond said, tightening his grip on the sword pressed against Fenrik's neck. "Let my lord go, and you can continue with your act."
The words were steady. Not shouted. Not threatened, simply stated. The blade cut into Fenrik's skin, and a thin line of blood trickled down, slipping beneath the collar of his clothes.
"Looks like lowborn blades like my neck," Fenrik said calmly.
Despite the blood, his expression barely changed. If anything, there was amusement in his eyes, a faint curl at the corner of his mouth as if this were still entertaining to him.
Raymond did not move. He did not back down. His stance was solid, feet planted, grip firm. His breathing was even, controlled, as if he were standing in a quiet training yard rather than at the center of a massacre.
Fenrik stared at him for a long moment. The hall seemed to hold its breath with him. Then he exhaled sharply and rolled his eyes.
"Which one is your fucking lord?"
The question broke the tension, but not the danger.
While the standoff continued, Vincent was pleading with Finn.
"Please, my lord, take me with you. Please save my life," Vincent begged.
His voice trembled. His hands shook as he clutched at Finn's sleeve, knuckles white. Sweat streaked down his temple, his eyes darting nervously toward the bodies on the floor.
"Your lord?" Finn said, distracted by the tension between Raymond and Fenrik. His gaze flicked between them, calculating, alert. "Since when did I become that?"
"Save me, and my life is yours. You can do as you please," Vincent said desperately. His words spilled out too fast, as if slowing down might doom him. "I have a wife and two children. My death will bring suffering to them. Please, let me live."
Finn studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"So you do have a wife," Finn muttered, shaking his head. "I thought you were a fucking spinster."
Vincent flinched but said nothing, desperation overriding pride.
"Lord Finn Boldon," Raymond said firmly.
The use of his full name cut through the noise.Finn glanced at him.
"Open the doors and let them go," Fenrik instructed Oliver, who immediately moved toward the entrance.
Oliver hesitated only a second before obeying, gesturing for the remaining guards to step aside.
"W wait," Finn said suddenly.
His voice was louder than he intended.
"Lords, this man here owes me his life. He should leave with me."
Several nobles stiffened at the word lords, confusion rippling through them as they looked from Finn to Vincent.
"Lords," Raymond muttered under his breath, looking at Finn with an expression that clearly said I am trying to save you, my lord, and you are making it worse.
Fenrik nodded in agreement, clearly uninterested in dragging this out any longer. Vincent was ordered to follow Finn out of the gathering.
When Kroger saw this, he rushed forward, panic finally cracking his composed exterior.
"Your father's debt will be cleared. Tell your slave of a knight to let me go too," he demanded.
His voice was sharp, desperate, bargaining without dignity.
"Don't worry, father-in-law," Finn replied coldly. "I will take care of your lovely triplets. After all, you said I was strong enough to handle them."
Kroger froze, with that, Finn turned and left with Vincent, while Raymond kept his blade pressed to Fenrik's neck.
Behind them, the hall erupted into choas. Dome nobles pleaded, dropping to their knees, voices breaking as they begged for mercy. Others stood tall, backs straight, jaws clenched, refusing to lower themselves even now.
Finn did not care. He had no connection to them. Their names meant nothing to him. Their fates stirred nothing in his chest. To him, they were all the same. Clearing them out felt like solving half the problems in the world.
"I still have one thing to ask for," Finn said, stopping midway.
Oliver sneered. "What is it that you want, Boldon?"
Finn turned back toward the nobles and pointed. At first, they thought he was pointing at one of them. A few flinched, others glanced around in confusion, silently praying it was not them. But when they followed the direction of his hand, they realized he was pointing at the barrow holding the wine jar. No one understood.
Some even checked behind the barrow, as if someone might be hiding there, but it was only a dead knight slumped awkwardly against it. All eyes returned to Finn.
"That wine should not go to waste," Finn said. "I mean, it's useless here. Let me make it useful."
Raymond withdrew his sword from Fenrik's neck. Fenrik stepped back immediately, rubbing his throat, his expression darkening.
"T take your lord out of here before I change my mind and we all kill each other in this room," Fenrik said.
"Raymond," Finn said, "I command you to carry that jar of wine, and let's go."
Then he looked back at Fenrik.
"After all, the drinks on the tables will go around."
After all the drama, Finn reluctantly carried the remaining wine out with Vincent's help while Raymond stayed behind with Fenrik. Short on knights, Fenrik used Raymond to finish killing the nobles.
Finn did not get to watch, which was the downside.
Without knowing why, he had enjoyed the killing scene and wanted to see it through to the end. But one question lingered in his mind. For someone with that level of fighting skill and that commanding presence, his knight Raymond did not seem to be who he claimed to be.