The Sinful Young Master

Roblan clenched his fists. He couldn't tell whether Jolthar was brimming with confidence or drowning in arrogance. There was no doubt about his strength—Jolthar had already proven himself time and time again—but war was unpredictable.

It wasn't about strength alone. Strategies, ambushes, and sheer numbers could overwhelm even the mightiest warriors.

And not only that, the Empire could throw any number of tasks his way, and if he failed or faltered, it would mean not only his downfall but the barony's as well.

Roblan then said, "Jolthar, I get that you're strong, but this is war. You don't even know what kind of battle you're walking into."

Jolthar met his gaze, unwavering. "And neither do they."

Roblan shook his head. "That's not the point! If they demand you do something impossible—"

"I'll make it possible," he interrupted.

He let out a long, exasperated sigh. "You're impossible."

Jolthar chuckled. "That's what makes me special."

Roblan ran a hand through his hair. He didn't like this plan, not one bit. But what choice did they have? The barony had no soldiers to spare, and failing to meet the Empire's demand would invite disaster.

After a long silence, he exhaled sharply. "Fine. But you better come back alive."

Jolthar grinned. "I don't plan on dying anytime soon."

The decision was made.

Jolthar would ride into war alone.

—— ∗ ——

The County of Godeylet was a place unlike any other in the Empire.

Nestled on the edge of the southern borders, it stood as a precarious bridge between the Empire and the Chittera-infested lands beyond. Its unique geographical position had earned it the title of a "neutral city," a place where all races, cultures, and creeds mingled freely.

Similar to the river city of Hamrasa, it was also one of the interracial cities, but this city was much larger than Hamrasa.

The streets bustled with life, filled with merchants hawking exotic wares, travellers from distant lands, and adventurers seeking fortune or glory. The air was thick with the scent of spices, the sound of haggling, and the occasional strum of a lute from a wandering minstrel. Enjoy new adventures from My Virtual Library Empire

At the heart of the city, a single, wide street stretched straight as an arrow toward the Count's castle, perched high on a mountain-like rise.

Amidst the flickering glow of torches lining the street, a lone figure moved with purpose, his form obscured by a deep hooded cloak. The firelight caught glimpses of his face as he passed—a sharp jawline, and piercing eyes that gleamed like sapphires in the night.

This was Myron, son of Inadrys, and he had come to this city at the urging of a woman whose words had sent him on a path of searching. Myron never met his father; his mother said that he was a deity, and he could use his name to gain fame in the midlands, but his mother didn't. Instead, she lived as a normal peasant and raised him. Growing up, he heard the tales of Inadrys and how he was a great Deity king ruling the heavens of Illumarhen. Unlike his mother, Myron used the title 'son of the deity' and as he grew up, he had become a formidable warrior and decided to increase his fame.

Though he had his own ambitions, there was a part of him, where he hated that man because he left his mother after she gave birth to him and never once visited her or came to see him.

When he heard from the mysterious woman, he was startled at first to hear that he was present here in this county. But he decided to come anyway. He didn't know why he believed her; maybe it was his hatred for that that made him this far. Myron wasn't sure, but he wanted to see that being, what he looked like, and why he was so obsessed with women.

There he was, in the streets of the giant city, searching for the man who had sired him.

As Myron made his way through the city's lively streets, the distant castle stood silent and oblivious to his arrival.

-

While Myron was searching for him,

far in the castle, which loomed over the city, its towering spires and fortified walls a stark reminder of the power that governed this chaotic, vibrant place. The castle was both a symbol of authority and a sanctuary for those who ruled from its height.

But tonight, within the castle's opulent chambers, power took on a different form.

In the Count's private quarters, high in the tallest tower, beneath silk-draped canopies and the warm glow of golden candelabras, two figures lay entwined upon a grand bed.

The room was lavish, adorned with rich tapestries, gilded furniture, and a bed draped in silks so fine they seemed to shimmer like liquid silver. The air was heavy with the scent of perfumed oils and the lingering warmth of passion.

The woman's bare skin gleamed with the sheen of passion, her breath still heavy from their coupling. And the man beside her, resting against the embroidered pillows with an arm lazily draped over his forehead, was none other than Inadrys.

Inadrys, the King of the Deities, ruler of Illumarhen, conqueror of hearts and bodies alike, lay upon the count's marriage bed without a shred of shame, his muscular frame relaxed against the plush pillows. His golden hair, streaked with silver, cascaded over his shoulders, and his piercing blue eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

Beside him, the Countess of Godeylet reclined, her head resting on his chest. She was a woman of striking beauty, her dark hair spilling like a river of ink across the sheets, her skin glowing in the soft light. Her lips, still slightly swollen from their kisses, curved into a sly smile as she traced idle patterns on Inadrys's chest with her fingertips.

"You're quiet," she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr. "Usually, you have so much to say. Or are you already thinking of how to leave me?"

Inadrys chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to fill the room. "Leave you?" he said, his tone teasing. "Why would I leave when I've only just arrived? Besides, you're far too captivating to abandon so soon."