Chapter 17

Chapter 17
## Chapter 17: Demon Baron (3)

We crossed the threshold of the iron portcullis and entered the fortress grounds through the towering main entrance. The courtyard was teeming with panicked civilians and weary guards. Kadim set the two men he had been hauling onto the pavement with a heavy thud.

A squad of sentries sprinted toward them, their faces masks of alarm.

“My Lord! Are you harmed? Do you require a physician…?”

“Peace, peace,” the Baron replied, waving a dismissive hand. “I am unscathed. There is no cause for such a stir.”

The soldiers let out a collective breath of relief, though their eyes remained fixed on the terrifying figure who had escorted their master home.

He was a northman of staggering proportions. His frame was coated in drying gore, looking as though he had just waded through a slaughterhouse. The mere sight of him sent a chill through the men; they knew instinctively that they possessed no weapon or wall capable of halting such a beast.

However, a more pressing crisis demanded their attention.

The guards turned their eyes back toward the open gateway.

“Look there! What are they doing? Drop the portcullis! Seal the gate immediately!”

*Grind, screech, clank, clank—*

The men threw their weight into the iron crank, muscles straining. But the mechanism, neglected for years and seized by rust, jammed halfway. The iron bars refused to budge.

The corrupted soldiers of Adlen noticed the opening. Their previously erratic movements unified into a sharp, predatory focus. With eyes glowing with an unholy fever, they began to sprint toward the gap like a pack of rabid wolves.

“Kehhehehek!”

“Kwaaaaaaah!”

Sentries atop the battlements screamed in terror.

“They’re charging!”

“The mechanism is stuck! It won’t move, Baron!”

“Gods preserve us… it’s over…”

Baron Molden’s complexion turned the color of ash as he gripped his temples in despair. Through the yawning gap in the gateway, he watched the tide of madmen rushing closer. Behind him, the cries of the townspeople grew into a frantic wail.

Kadim moved forward with a slow, deliberate stride.

He knew that if that mob breached the walls, his personal mission within the castle would be interrupted. Furthermore, the violent rhythm of his blood-fed empowerment was still humming through his veins. He decided to intervene.

Bracing his legs against the stone, his muscles coiled like thick cables. He wrapped his massive hands around the rusted iron bars. With a guttural roar, he channeled his titanic strength and forced the portcullis downward.

*Groan, screech, grrrrrrind—*

The stubborn iron shrieked in protest before finally slamming into the stone threshold.

*Thud!*

“……”

“……”

The charging horde outside skidded to a halt, stunned. Seizing the momentum, Kadim stepped to the massive wooden doors of the main gate.

*Greeeeeeek—Bang!*

The monumental slabs of timber and steel, usually requiring a team of horses or a dozen men to move, swung shut and locked under the power of his arms alone.

“……”

A heavy silence fell over the castle courtyard.

“That… that’s impossible…”

“How can one man possess such power…?”

“Is he truly a man, or some spirit of the wastes…?”

It was a feat that should have broken the backs of twenty men even with the aid of a winch. To see it done barehanded was to witness something beyond the natural world.

Fear, which had already been high, now transformed into a superstitious awe. The onlookers instinctively retreated, giving the barbarian a wide berth.

Baron Molden let out a strained, breathless laugh as he glanced at the merchant.

“Ha, hahaha… I have seen it with my own eyes, yet I struggle to believe it. Who is this traveler you walk with? Is he even of mortal flesh?”

Duncan could only shake his head weakly.

“In all honesty, Baron… I am as much in the dark as you are.”

—

### Inside the Inner Keep

The inner sanctum of Molden Castle was a room titled the banquet hall, though it functioned more as a modest dining chamber.

The Baron took his seat at the head of the long table, addressing his unexpected visitors.

“Hahaha, it is humble fare, but please, eat until you are satisfied!”

Baron Molden remained a man of principle, adhering to the “Laws of Hospitality.”

A guest under one’s roof must be treated with the finest one can offer, regardless of how they arrived. Even though this barbarian had inadvertently ruined his suicide mission, the Baron would not shirk his duties. He had ordered the last of his decent stores to be prepared.

Duncan fell upon the salted poultry stew and thick bean broth with desperate hunger. To him, it was a royal feast compared to the bland rations of the road. He barely finished a bowl before holding it out for more.

Kadim, however, did not touch his spoon.

“The siege has lasted a long time, has it not? Your granaries must be nearly empty.”

The Baron offered a pained smile.

“Do not trouble yourself with that. My staff can manage with a few missed meals. I would sooner carve the meat from my own bones than bring shame upon this house by starving a guest.”

“……”

Duncan froze, a bit of broth dripping from his lip as the weight of the Baron’s words hit him. Kadim’s brow darkened.

“Is that why you sought death at the gate? For the sake of your pride?”

“……Indeed. If that is what you wish to call it.”

“I want the truth of it,” Kadim said. “Why is Adlen’s army at your throat, and why were you so eager to throw your life away, Baron?”

“……”

The barbarian’s lack of formal address finally grated on the guards who hadn’t seen the gate incident. They leveled their spears.

“Watch your tongue, savage! You speak to a Lord…!”

“Lower your steel. Leave us.”

The Baron moved his hand to silence them. He knew spears were toothpicks against a man who could rip a portcullis down. He dismissed his retinue until only the three of them remained in the hall.

The Baron leaned back, his gaze weary.

“It is a long, bitter tale. As you have seen, Molden has been choked by Viscount Adlen’s forces for four months. We are like vermin trapped in a cellar.”

He explained how this land had once been a desolate, lawless waste. As an appointee of the Empire, Molden had spent decades transforming the wilderness into a sanctuary of order. His hard work had turned the region into a thriving, peaceful domain—so isolated it was usually ignored by the politics of the realm.

Until envy took root in a neighbor’s heart.

“Adlen’s lands were once the jewel of this province. But as Molden flourished, the Viscount’s jealousy grew.”

Viscount Adlen began whispering poisons. He claimed Baron Molden had built his prosperity through dark pacts—calling him the “Demon Baron.”

Initially, the lies failed to stick. No one in the capital cared for the gossip of border lords. The people of Molden themselves laughed at the accusations, standing fiercely by their Lord.

But the political winds shifted.

“The Fourth Prince of the Empire, while touring the frontiers… took a fancy to Adlen’s younger daughter.”

With a sudden, indirect link to the imperial throne, Adlen’s influence skyrocketed. His whispers became decrees. While the local people still knew the truth, the world outside began to believe the lies.

The Empire gave its silent blessing for Adlen to “purify” the land of the supposed demon-worshipper.

“He did not summon the Knights of Elga for a simple reason. If holy knights investigated, they would find no demons, and Adlen would be bankrupt paying the Church for their wasted time.”

So, the siege began—a four-month campaign built on a fabricated crusade.

The Baron confessed he couldn’t endure the sight of his people withering away. He believed that if he died, the Viscount’s “holy” pretext would vanish. He had intended to offer his head to end the suffering of his subjects.

Kadim listened, then interjected with a sharp question.

“How many men does Adlen have in the field?”

“Roughly four hundred. Molden has less than a hundred effectives left…”

“The math doesn’t work. You are starving after four months. How is Adlen feeding four hundred soldiers in a barren territory for that long with no progress? That is an impossible logistical burden for a minor fief.”

“……”

Kadim caught the brief, sharp flicker of unease in the Baron’s eyes.

It was a valid point. Unless Adlen wanted to destroy his own economy, he couldn’t keep such a force mobilized indefinitely without a supply line that didn’t exist.

*And those men at the gate… they weren’t acting like normal soldiers.*

The Baron waved the concern away, murmuring about secret imperial funding, and quickly pivoted the conversation.

“I have shared my burdens. Now, tell me yours. Why has a warrior of your caliber come to this dying castle?”

“……I am here for a specific object. Is there not a stone shaped like a clenched fist at the geographic center of this fortress?”

“How could you possibly know of that? It sits in the deep vaults, far below the keep…”

“Good. Take me there. I will do what I came for and depart. I have no interest in your war.”

“That is impossible.”

“……”

“The subterranean levels are strictly forbidden.”

The Baron’s voice was as cold and sharp as a winter frost.

Kadim’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“……Give me a reason.”

“I do not owe explanations to strangers. My apologies.”

The apology rang hollow; the Baron’s posture had turned defensive, almost hostile. A strange, sharp light appeared in his eyes—a stark contrast to his previous kindness.

The atmosphere in the room turned brittle. Kadim stared the Baron down, and the nobleman did not flinch. Duncan sat frozen, terrified by the sudden tension.

*Of course,* Kadim thought. *It was never going to be that easy.*

He had fought too hard to get here to be stopped by a locked door. Kadim leaned back as if relaxing, then exploded with a sudden, violent motion, slamming his palm onto the table.

*Bang!*

A blade buried itself deep into the heavy wood.

Pinned beneath the tip was a small, crawling insect, sliced perfectly in half.

Kadim picked up the remains of the twitching bug and spoke with a voice like grinding stones.

“You mentioned you have a hundred soldiers left?”

“……”

“By dawn, they will all look like this.”

The Baron felt a cold pit form in his stomach.

“There is no escape. You are boxed in. You can hide in your cellar, but I will find you. You will die without ever understanding why, crushed like this vermin, your legacy turned to dust.”

“……”

“I don’t care why you’re hiding the basement. I only care about your choice.”

“……”

“Decide now. Lead me down there as a friend, or I will paint these halls red with the blood of your people first.”

The Baron’s hand began to tremble.

It was a savage threat, yet he couldn’t dismiss it as a bluff.

He didn’t necessarily think the barbarian *wanted* to kill everyone, but he knew the man *could*. A warrior who could break a siege lines alone and shut a fortress gate by hand was not someone you could resist.

*I was a fool. I should never have let a monster into my home…*

The Baron closed his eyes tight. The weight of his failures was crushing him.

He saw no other path.

“……Very well. I will take you to the vaults.”

“……”

“But not this moment. I have a condition.”

The Baron whispered his terms. Kadim lifted an eyebrow in skepticism.

“……You intend to go out, surrender, and die? And if Adlen attacks anyway, you want me to stay and hold the walls?”

“Yes. In his frustration, he may launch a final assault once I am gone. I will order my steward to show you the way only after the enemy is driven back.”

“Pathetic. You call that an honorable end?”

“……”

“Leaving your fate to a stranger and dying like a dog in the dirt—you think that serves your honor?”

The Baron’s eyes, which had been set in a martyr’s resolve, began to waver.

He looked away. Kadim’s gaze remained piercing.

Choosing to die for a cause can look noble from a distance. But simply throwing a life away is the easy path. It is far harder to stand and bleed against an overwhelming tide until the very end.

Dying and leaving the mess for others is cowardice. The laws of the Atalain are different. Those who live by the edge of a blade in the harsh wastes have a different definition of a good death.

“……”

Kadim crushed the halved insect between his thick fingers.

Even broken, even bleeding, even with every bone shattered.

No matter the odds, a true warrior fights until the last spark of life is extinguished.

He dropped the mangled bug onto the table and bared his teeth in a predatory grin.

“I have a superior plan. Listen closely, Baron.”

—

The meeting concluded.

After a period of intense internal struggle, the Baron finally gave a slow nod to Kadim’s strategy.

“So be it… we shall proceed as you suggest.”

There was time yet before the plan would be set in motion. Kadim and Duncan were escorted from the hall to a guest suite in the keep.

Since the northman preferred the hard stone floor, the merchant took the straw mattress. Duncan sat down, finally letting out a long, shaky breath.

“Phew… I truly thought we were going to come to blows there. I’m glad you reached an understanding, milord.”

“……”

“But why was he so adamant about the basement? He seemed so kind until you brought it up…”

To Kadim, the answer was written in the air.

He stared at the floor tiles and spoke in a low, hollow tone.

“A demon.”

“……What?”

“Baron Molden isn’t being framed. He is hiding a demon in the bowels of this castle.”

Duncan’s face went pale, his expression freezing in horror.