The Sinful Young Master

Two hours later, Jolthar stood before the entrance to a massive cave set into a rocky hillside. Ancient claw marks scored the stone around the opening, some fresher than others.

The dire iron-claw bear's lair.

Drawing Knashii, Jolthar allowed his blue aura to manifest fully, power surging through his body as he prepared for combat. This would be no hunting—this would be battle.

"Let's see how strong you are."

A deafening roar answered from the darkness, followed by the massive form of the dire bear emerging into daylight. It stood twenty feet tall on its hind legs, fur matted with the blood of previous kills, eyes blazing with primal fury at the intrusion into its domain.

Lesser men would have fled.

Jolthar merely smiled, raising Knashii as blue aura erupted around him like flame.

The dire bear charged, moving with shocking speed for a creature of its size.

Jolthar sidestepped, his movements enhanced by telekinetic force as he slashed Knashii across the beast's flank. Black blood sprayed from the wound, sizzling where it touched the ground—tainted somehow, unnatural.

Understanding flashed through Jolthar's mind.

This was no ordinary dire bear. Something had corrupted it—perhaps the same mysterious force that sometimes twisted creatures in the deepest wilds, transforming them into monstrosities.

Silver voidwrath energy joined the blue aura around Knashii as Jolthar adjusted his strategy.

The bear wheeled with unexpected agility, massive paws slashing the air where Jolthar had stood moments before. He vaulted backward, telekinesis launching him fifteen feet through the air to land atop a boulder. From this vantage, he channelled the beast king's power directly into the dire bear's mind, attempting to soothe its rage.

The creature's consciousness resisted—corrupt, twisted beyond mere animal instinct. Whatever had tainted it had rendered it partially immune to Jolthar's influence. He would need to rely more on steel and skill than supernatural dominance.

Leaping from the boulder as massive claws shattered stone, Jolthar rolled beneath the bear's belly and thrust Knashii upward.

The long blade sank deep, black blood cascading over his arms as he chanelled silver voidwrath energy through the metal. The corrupted blood hissed and evaporated where it touched the silver energy, purified by its decaying power.

The dire bear roared in pain and fury, dropping its full weight in an attempt to crush Jolthar beneath its mass.

Only telekinesis saved him, creating a pocket of force that held the massive body just inches above his own as he extracted himself and the sword in one fluid motion.

For twenty minutes, they danced their deadly ballet—Jolthar weaving between massive paws and snapping jaws, Knashii opening wound after wound as silver energy cleansed corruption from the creature's blood. Gradually, the bear's movements slowed, its roars transforming from rage to confusion as the corruption receded.

In the final moment, as the massive creature staggered from blood loss and exhaustion.

The dire bear's resistance crumbled. It lowered its massive head in acceptance, exposing its neck.

"Damn!" Jolthar whispered as Knashii flashed once more, ending the creature's suffering with a clean strike.

"It sure took time to take down the bear."

"What's with the black blood? I am getting a bad feeling about this."

Jolthar walked around the cave and strode around the area to check if there were any other such beasts, but they were all normal; the blood wasn't black.

When Jolthar returned to camp, the men had finished processing only two of the beasts. Their work halted entirely at the sight of their lord—bloodied but unbowed—manipulating the telekinetically suspended carcass of a dire iron-clawed bear larger than any they had ever seen or imagined.

"By all the gods," whispered Marven, dropping his skinning knife.

"Not all the gods," Jolthar corrected quietly. "Just one, perhaps. Though which one remains to be seen."

The hunting expedition returned to Tekkora three days later, their pack horses struggling under the weight of processed meat, hides, and bones.

And not only that, behind them, a huge stock of beasts hovered in the air, moving towards the barony.

Word spread quickly through the barony.

Workers gathered at the northern gate, amazement replacing the worry that had creased their brows in recent weeks. Even Baroness Cleora emerged from the manor house, Roblan at her side, to witness the procession.

They were all shocked to see the sheer amount of numbers and the size of the sphere. Jolthar used his telekinesis to move the sphere of meat towards the smokehouse.

Nora waited at the entrance to the newly constructed smokehouse; at first she was astounded, and satisfaction was evident in her slight smile. "It seems your hunt was successful beyond expectation."

"Though what the hell is that amount of beasts? You killed them all?"

"The forest provided," Jolthar replied simply, dismounting. He had cleaned Knashii meticulously after the battle with the dire bear.

"We need large-sized freezers. To keep the meat fresh and lasting."

Nora smiled and said, "I will take care of that." She had an idea of using ice spells to freeze a large room and then store the meat in that room.

"And the farming initiative?"

"Underway", Nora confirmed. "We've cleared twenty to fifty acres and diverted water from the eastern stream. Seed arrives from Estraven tomorrow."

Jolthar nodded, satisfaction warming him more than the spring sunshine. "Then we've bought the barony time."

"Indeed." Nora's expression shifted subtly. "And not a moment too soon. A rider arrived this morning. Grandfather's party has been sighted on the northern road. He will reach Tekkora by sunset tomorrow."

-

The next day, a few hours before the dusk.

Jolthar sat hunched over the blueprints within the command tent positioned on the high ground overlooking the half-constructed forge.

Afternoon light filtered through the canvas, casting the detailed plans in a golden glow. His fingers traced the elaborate schematics—designs that incorporated metallurgical knowledge from his previous life alongside this world's understanding of mystical ore manipulation.

The forge would be Tekkora's heart once completed, a symbol of transformation and power. Its construction had already consumed vast resources, but Jolthar knew its completion would determine whether their ambitious vision for the barony would succeed or collapse.

His blue aura flickered unconsciously around his fingertips as he adjusted calculations in the margins. The energy—manifestation of his swordsmanship essence—responded to his focused intent.

"You seem busy," came a soft voice from the tent entrance.

Jolthar stiffened as Baroness Cleora entered, her regal bearing incongruous with the dusty surroundings of the construction site.

Even in her forties, she remained striking—dark hair threaded with occasional silver, her features possessing the sharp beauty that her daughter Nora had inherited.

Before Jolthar could rise, Cleora moved behind his chair with unusual familiarity. Her arms draped around his neck, the weight of her bosom pressing against the back of his head. Her scent—jasmine and cedar—enveloped him as surely as her embrace.

Heat rushed to Jolthar's face.

Despite their formal betrothal, such intimate contact remained rare and embarrassing for him.

"I-I was just looking..." he stammered, conscious of her warmth against him.

"We don't get enough time nowadays," Cleora murmured, her breath stirring his hair. "You and that daughter of mine work like oxen pulling a millstone."

The silver energy of voidwrath stirred beneath Jolthar's skin—an unconscious response to his discomfort. He suppressed it quickly, lest it manifest visibly.

"Well, we need to finish this soon," he replied, struggling to maintain composure. "The forge's completion—"

"Ushh," Cleora shushed him and pressed her lips against his cheek. "Don't talk."

She then brought her lips closer to his ear and blew soft air on him, making him tingle. Jolthar moved in his chair, feeling the tingle around his ear. The soft, cool air on his skin made his hair stand.

Then she kissed his ear, slowly and sensually, sending a shiver down his spine. Jolthar closed his eyes, allowing himself to be lost in the moment, forgetting about the forge.

She bit his earlobe gently, causing him to gasp in surprise. "Focus on me too, my darling," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. Jolthar's mind went blank as he surrendered to the intoxicating sensation of her touch.

Abruptly, the tent flap snapped open without warning.

Roblan Aravain strode two steps inside before registering the scene before him. The baroness's eldest son—a stocky young man in his early twenties with his mother's dark hair but none of her sharp features—halted abruptly.

"Mother! I—" His face flushed as he spun around to face the tent wall.

"Forgive the intrusion."

Cleora straightened immediately, stepping away from Jolthar with practiced composure. Only the faintest colour in her cheeks betrayed any embarrassment.

"What is it, Roblan?" she asked, her tone transforming instantly from intimate to administrative.

"Grandfather has arrived," Roblan reported, still facing the tent wall. "His carriage just entered the barony gates. The steward has directed him to the mansion."

"He arrived earlier than expected," Jolthar said.

Cleora was silent; her expression was unreadable, though Jolthar noticed her unease.

Jolthar rose from his chair, grateful for the interruption yet apprehensive about what it heralded. Lord Bertelot's arrival complicated matters enormously—another noble whose judgement might determine Tekkora's fate.