CHAPTER III: UNSETTLING EVENTS
NINE HOURS had slipped away since Dorothea had stepped out of the Grand Commander's office. The flirty Frederick remained rooted in his chair, his eyes scanning the thick pile of mission reports that had carefully laid before him but despite the pressing weight of duty in those papers, his mind wandered far from the orders and official responsibilities.
His mind replayed the second meeting with the fearless freckled brown hair woman. His thoughts filled with her unwavering gaze, the fire in her voice, and the quiet strength that seemed to ripple beneath her calm exterior.
No matter how hard he tried to focus on the paperworks, the image of bold and unyielding Dorothea lingered, like a spark threatening to ignite something within him.
He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Something about her had carved out a space in his thoughts and refused to leave.
Sure, he was a flirt, charm came as easily to him as breathing. He'd tossed a thousand smiles, whispered a hundred sweet nothings, he enjoyed charming women but never before had he felt this strange sense of attachment to anyone he'd pursued.
Why her? What secret spell did that woman carry, that she haunted his mind long after their encounters?
A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Who is it?" Frederick called, his voice steady.
"Mikkel," came the calm reply from the outside.
"Come in," Frederick said, his tone lighter than usual.
As the door creaked open, Mikkel entered and immediately noticed the grin playing on his superior's face. An expression that hinted at an unusually good mood. Mikkel's eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering beneath his composed exterior.
If there was one thing that ever put the Grand Commander in such high spirits, it usually involved a woman. Still, he held his tongue. There were more pressing matters at hand. He'd get his answers after the mission.
With a respectful bow, Mikkel cleared his throat. "I have a report for you, Sir."
Frederick gave a brief nod. "Alright, let's hear it."
Mikkel handed over a crisp envelope, with a parchment inside containing a cryptic handwritten words only the Grand Commander knows. "This just came in from our informant. It's directly linked to the case we've been untangling since last week."
Grand Commander Frederick Andersen, the striking young heir to House Andersen, and his trusted second-in-command, Commander Mikkel, served as knights of the esteemed Order of Vildblod.
The Order of Vildblod had long served as the blade behind the Danish crown— an elite brotherhood of knights, forged by the iron will of the King of Denmark, King Erik V. They weren't just bound by duty, but by a silent code of blood and honor. When a diplomacy failed and the law held no power, the Order moved without a word, cloaked in steel and resolve, carrying out the king's military missions to safeguard the kingdom and its land.
Their latest mission had brought them to the rural town of Jutland, now shrouded in a sense of unease. This time, it wasn't war or rebellion that called them, but something stranger and perhaps even more disturbing.
A report had come in last week stating that young women and children were vanishing, as if the mist itself had swallowed them.
The first victim was the baker's daughter, taken on her way back from the market. Next, a baron's daughter disappeared from her bed, her window left open to the night. Some were noble, others were commoners but all had suffer the same fate. They simply vanished without a trace.
The townspeople were growing anxious, their fear simmering just beneath a thin veil of politeness. Taverns hummed with whispers of witchcraft or spirits, but none of the theories seemed to add up.
Grand Commmander Frederick Andersen had taken charge of the investigation since it began last week. His men spread out across the village, questioning locals and nobles yet every answer was the same. No one had seen the face of the culprit or the scene of kidnapping. The victims simply vanished, leaving no clue as to who might be responsible.
The motive remained a mystery. There were no demands, no ransom notes. Just silence and grief left in the wake of each disappearance. Frederick had already ruled out ransom money as a motive. If that were the case, someone would've made contact by now but no, the culprit didn't. He's sensing that this case felt darker, intentional, and far more disturbing.
Frederick stood by the wooden table in his office, eyes carefully tracing the parchment before him. His brow tightened, then gradually, the tension eased from his face. A smile appeared on his face, not one of happiness, but the quiet, determined satisfaction of a hunter who caught a scent.
"We have a lead," His eyes still fixed on the parchment. "Our informant this time may have just turned the tide."
Mikkel straightened, his heart pounding.
"Did he identify the culprit?" Mikkel asked in a low voice.
Frederick said nothing. Instead, he reached under the table for a carved wooden box and pulled out a vellum map, adorned with red wax seals and intricate symbols. He spread it out on the table, tapping a spot just beyond Jutland— a small drawing of a mansion nestled at the edge of a forest.
"Have you ever heard of Valegrim Estate?" Frederick asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Mikkel's brow furrowed. "Isn't that the old, haunted estate that was abandoned for years, hidden deep in the forest? No one dares set foot there anymore since there are too many ghost stories surround it."
Frederick didn't look up from the map. "Haunted or not, who's to say? We won't know the truth unless we go."
Mikkel leaned in, the name stirring dusty memories from his childhood. Whispers told by flickering firelight, long dismissed as mere folk tales. For decades, the Valegrim estate had stood empty, a shadowy relic lost to time and legend.
Whispers spoke of a time when the estate brimmed with life— a grand estate ruled by the kind-hearted Marquis Sivert Valegrim, who lived there with his family and loyal servants. But one fateful night, a shadow fell over the manor. An unknown assailant descended upon the household, slaughtering everyone inside— family and attendants alike. The mystery of their murders has remained unsolved, buried beneath years of silence and dust.
Since that dreadful night, the mansion has stood empty, its halls swallowed by time and shadow. When a nobleman once tried to claim the estate, he fled in terror, insisting the ghost of Marquis Valegrim himself haunted the corridors— an angry spirit bound by unfinished business, forever guarding the secrets of that tragic night.
"Our informant struck gold this time," Frederick began, eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and gravity. "He says he stumbled right onto the kidnapping itself last night. On his way home, he spotted a cloaked figure carrying an unconscious woman. The man's face was hidden behind a masquerade mask, so he couldn't see who it was."
Frederick's voice lowered as he read from the cryptic letter. "Driven by suspicion, the informant followed him until they reached the infamous haunted mansion deep in the forest. There, the man took the woman inside. But that's not all. Near the edge of the estate, tangled in a thorny bush, the informant found a woman's necklace stained with dried, old human blood."
He rifled through the envelope and pulled out a necklace, darkened with crimson. "The crest of the necklace belongs to the family of the missing baron's daughter. It's a chilling clue, suggesting that what our informant witnessed is tied to the case we've been chasing."
Mikkel exhaled deeply, relief washing over him. "I'm truly grateful the informant slipped away unharmed," he said, his voice laced with worry for the brave soul who risked everything for intel.
Frederick nodded, a confident gleam in his eyes. "He's sharp and one of the best. That's why I place my faith in him without hesitation."
"So, what's the plan now, Sir?" Mikkel pressed his superior.
Frederick's expression hardened, determination settling like steel. "We move and go there immediately. There's no time to waste."
Mikkel's brow furrowed with doubt. "But what if the culprit isn't even there? Wouldn't rushing in be pointless...maybe even dangerous?"
A slow, almost sinister smile curled on Frederick's lips. "If he's not there, then we rescue the women and children trapped inside, and wait. I've been itching for a real fight and haven't drawn my sword to spill blood in far too long."
A chill ran down Mikkel's spine at that. The fire in Frederick's eyes was something else entirely. It was terrifying and thrilling at once. Suddenly, he felt a strange unease for the villain's fate.
"And how many knights will we take with us?" Mikkel asked cautiously.
"Too many would only raise suspicion," Frederick replied. "The culprit might catch on and vanish. Just you and the informant, the one who knows the way are coming with me."
Mikkel's throat tightened. "Are you serious? What if there are others lying in wait inside that mansion?"
Mikkel were overcome with worry but this won't shake Frederick up. Instead, his grin only widened. "I've faced worse. Trust me, I'll handle whatever's waiting."
"Y-yes, Grand Commander," Mikkel stammered, unable to deny the skill he'd witnessed firsthand.
Frederick's prowess was legendary, and a silent prayer slipped through Mikkel's mind— that those villains would regret crossing such a formidable foe before it was too late.
--------
"DOROTHEA, you should head home before the sun sets," Solace said, her voice low with concern as the sky deepened into shades of rose and indigo. She leaned forward slightly, the dimming light casting long shadows across the garden veranda. "There's been talk about kidnappings recently."
They sat beneath the carved stone archways of the Callahan estate's veranda, where ivy curled up the marble pillars like green veins threading toward the heavens. The garden swayed gently in the early evening breeze, the lavender and foxglove nodding their blossoms in rhythm with the wind.
Dorothea had arrived at Solace's request, invited for tea and some light conversation. Solace was particularly curious about Dorothea's venture to the knights' headquarters, where she'd applied boldly, without a moment's hesitation.
Unlike many noble families, the House of Callahan didn't put much weight on their titles. As a commoner, Dorothea was neither looked down upon nor especially welcomed and simply received as any other guest would be.
"Kidnappings?" Dorothea echoed, tilting her head with a puzzled frown. The word lingered in the air, eerie and unfamiliar. She hadn't come across any such rumors. Lately, her life had been consumed by the rhythms of farm work, tending fields from sunrise to sunset, leaving little room for town chatter to reach her beyond the hills.
Solace took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes unfocused. "Women and children have vanished without a trace. The knights suspect it's kidnapping. They're warning people not to stay out after dark... especially young girls and kids who are on their own."
Despite the summer evening's heat, a shiver ran down Dorothea's back. Her thoughts raced with questions, but one unsettling idea held firm.
Why did the kidnapper target only defenseless women and children?
The thought was more than unsettling—it was deeply disturbing.
"I see," Dorothea said, standing up from the plush velvet of the parlor sofa. "I'll be on my way, then."
"Let at least one of my guards accompany you," Solace offered softly, her grip tightening slightly around her teacup.
"That won't be necessary." Dorothea shook her head. "You know I can handle myself."
Solace let out a quiet sigh, filled with both admiration and concern. Dorothea was determined, resilient but even the brightest flame could be swallowed by the dark.
Still, she didn't argue. Once Dorothea made up her mind, there was no convincing her otherwise.
As her friend disappeared beyond the stone gates of the estate, Solace watched with a growing sense of unease. Her lips moved in a whisper.
"Please, let her be safe."
But only silence answered her prayer and the wind carried no promise.
-----
NIGHT had already fallen by the time Dorothea made her way home. The streetlights buzzed dimly, casting a faint, unreliable glow as she walked with quick steps. Normally, she usually avoided the narrow alleyway, but tonight she was running late and decided to take the shortcut. The alley loomed ahead. A tight passage wedged between two decaying brick buildings, its depths swallowed by shadow beyond the reach of light.
She had only just entered when a sudden motion caught her attention. A woman—wide-eyed and frantic raced toward her. Before Dorothea could react, the woman crashed into her, breath shallow, clothes torn like she'd barely escaped something.
"Please, help me," the woman panted, her gaze flicking behind her as though fearing pursuit.
Dorothea opened her mouth to respond but the woman cut in, voice trembling. "They were trying to take me…"
"Take you? Where?" Dorothea asked, confused.
But before another word could be exchanged, a rough hand clamped over Dorothea's mouth and nose. A surge of confusion and panic rushed through her as the world twisted and dimmed. Her vision blurred and shadows closing in. She tried to fight back but her legs and strength gave out then everything went black.
The unconscious women were strewn across the alley like discarded dolls, their pale faces eerily illuminated by the flickering streetlight. Shadows stretched behind the two men who stood a few feet apart, as a chill wind wound its way through the narrow space.
The larger man slammed his fist against the brick wall, eyes blazing with frustration. "This is a disaster. We should have grabbed just one. I don't have a plan to carry a woman in my arms."
The thinner man let out a dark, crooked smile, his voice cold and measured. "None of this was part of the plan. That freckled woman wasn't supposed to get caught up in it. The one I was after slipped right out of my hands."
He cast a glance at the unconscious freckled woman, her breathing slow and steady. "She ran into her while trying to get away was about to scream for help, so I made a split-second decision to knock the freckled woman out."
The burly man arched a skeptical brow.
"I had no choice," the thin man continued. "I couldn't risk her drawing attention and telling the neighborhood about what happened so I think we should take her too."
The larger man's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he considered it. "Fine. But if this goes sideways, it's not on me."
"We need to move," the thin man muttered urgently. "Before someone comes looking."
With that, they hoisted Dorothea's limp body, disappearing into the alley's shadows without a trace.
-----
WHEN Dorothea's eyes slowly opened, a damp, musty smell filled her senses. Her head ached dully, but what struck her more was the cold, unyielding surface beneath her. She tried to move, only to discover her wrists were tightly bound with rough rope.
'What...? I'm tied up?'
She remembered what happened last night. Pretty sure she ran into a woman who tries to asked for her help and then a hand covered her mouth then she passed out.
Still disoriented, she glanced around, trying to piece together what had happened.
Next to her, the same frantic woman from the alley sat slumped, also bound and visibly shaking. Scattered around them were more captives. Women with tired, bruised faces, and children quietly sobbing. The room was dim, lit only by the light coming from flickering candles set in iron sconces on the walls. Dark wooden panels rose to a ceiling swallowed in shadow.
Dorothea's eyes scanned the room. She saw a tall, barred windows, heavy reinforced doors, and the distant sound of footsteps echoing beyond the walls— probably guards.
Despite the grim settings, she steadied her thoughts. She began to absorb and remember every detail.
'Panicking won't do any good. I have to focus on getting us out of here,' Dorothea told herself.
Her eyes caught a loose floorboard near the far wall and a narrow gap between the iron bars of the window. She turned her head toward the woman beside her and whispered, "We have to stay calm. Panicking won't help. Tell me everything you know."
Dorothea moved cautiously, careful not to make any noise to alert the guards. She lowered her voice to a soft whisper, hoping to gather information. "I'm Dorothea. I want to help, but I need to understand first how did you all end up here? Were you kidnapped too? And for what reason?"
The woman next to her swallowed nervously before answering in a shaky voice. "Yes. They... they took me, saying I'm valuable..." her voice broke, "I don't want to die. Please, I don't want to die!"
Valuable? Were those disgusting fools abducting women and children just to sell them? How cruel and heartless! They deserved to be punish.
Another woman with auburn hair joined the conversation. "I've been trapped here for days, and none of us know what happens to the other women and children they took away."
Dorothea swallowed hard. She was now certain these were the kidnapped women from the rumors, and it was clear that something dark and cruel awaited to those who got taken away. There was no time to waste, she had to come up with a plan to save them.
Dorothea scanned the weary faces around her, searching for any sign of hope or useful information or a way out and something sharp to cut through their bindings. "Has anyone spotted where the keys might be kept? Or any tools that could help us?"
The auburn-haired woman bit her lip nervously before whispering, "There's a guard who sometimes comes in to bring us food. I saw a key hanging from his belt."
Dorothea's mind raced with possibilities. If they could find a way to distract or overpower the guard, they might free themselves. But first, she needed something to loosen or cut the ropes binding her hands. Her sword had been taken, leaving her with only one desperate option.
A sudden creak from the heavy wooden door snapped Dorothea out of her thoughts, and the low murmurs in the room instantly fell into a tense silence. The door swung open, revealing a tall man in his forties, clad in noble attire, his presence commanding attention. His piercing gaze swept over the captives before locking onto the woman beside Dorothea.
Without a word of hesitation, he stepped forward, his voice sharp and cold as he singled out the auburn-haired woman. "It's time to take her."
Terror flashed in the woman's eyes.
"N-no! Please, no!" she begged, her cries echoing as two figures appeared behind the man, moving to seize the frightened woman.
"Refuse us or you'll die." They threatened the woman.
Dorothea couldn't stay silent any longer. She refused to watch the scene unfold without stepping in.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Her voice burned with anger, stopping the men in their tracks. "Forcing a woman against her will is despicable. Who are you, anyway?" She fixed a fierce glare on the man in front of them.
The man paused, then studied her with a chilling smile playing on his lips. "I'm surprised you didn't recognize me. I am Marquis Sivert Valegrim, the owner of this estate where you're being held."
The woman beside Dorothea— the one who had collided with her in the alley— let out a sharp gasp, her eyes wide with shock. "Marquis Valegrim?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "But... you was supposed to have died decades ago."
The marquis's grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Ah, so the stories have made their rounds. But as you can see, I'm very much alive. I survived the attack meant to kill me. As for the ghost tale, it was just a clever fabrication I made to keep nosy people away from the estate."
Dorothea hadn't heard that rumor before, nor did she care about it now. There was only one thing that mattered to her.
"You kidnapped these women and children to sell them, didn't you?" she demanded, her voice sharp with fury.
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "Women and children fetch a high price. I sell them to nobles who find value in owning people."
A heavy silence fell across the room.
Dorothea's rage building within her like a gathering storm. He showed no shame, no remorse and that made it even worse. She had her suspicions, but hearing him confess so casually made her stomach churn.
Her thoughts spiraled into horror. Those women and children, sold off like property, likely forced into lives of suffering, stripped of freedom, used and abused by the hands of their so-called buyers. The sheer inhumanity of it made her blood boil.
"I never kidnapped just for ransom," the marquis added, as if his doings were perfectly reasonable. "That barely brings in enough profit. Selling them were far more lucrative. This world is full of desperate buyers, and I simply meet their demands. This abandoned estate perfectly serves as a holding place, just one quiet stop on a larger trade route and even the knights haven't caught on."
Dorothea let out a mocking laugh, deliberately trying to rattle him. "Is that so? Don't be too sure. Those so-called 'muscle-headed idiots' might be closing in on you right now while you're busy talking. They may be clumsy, but they're good in tracking." She gave a sly smile. "Oh, and just so you know, I had one of the knights trail me on my way back. I'm guessing he witnessed the whole kidnapping scene."
Dorothea had fabricated the story about the one of the knights following her. In truth, she wasn't certain how much they had uncovered about the kidnapping cases, but her anger pushed her to provoke the marquis. She carefully twisted her words, using each one to stoke his fear and make him uneasy.
The marquis's smile vanished the moment she spoke. His expression twisted into pure rage.
"W-what did you just say?!" he shouted.
"Are you deaf?" she replied. "I said one of the knights was following me. And your men? They're the utter fools. They snatched me without a second thought. By now, I'm sure the knight has alerted the others and they're probably already on their way here." Her smirk deepened, knowing she'd trapped him in her own web of lies.
"You—!" the marquis roared, storming toward her. He seized her by the front of her clothes and raised his hand, ready to strike when suddenly, a loud crash echoed from outside the hall.
The doors slammed open with a thunderous bang, cutting through the thick tension in the hall. One of the marquis's men stumbled inside, fresh blood streaked across his face and his breathing ragged.
"My lord!" the man gasped. "The knights have already found us! One of them is fighting through your men right now!"
The marquis froze, his hand still raised mid-motion, then slowly lowered it. His expression shifted from rage giving way to something more dangerous; fear masked as fury.
"How many of them?" he barked.
"I—I'm not sure, sir," the man stammered. "I've only seen one so far, but he's tearing through our men like they're nothing. And he's heading this way."
Dorothea saw the marquis's face harden, a flash of panic in his eyes before he buried it under a look of cold calculation. He seized her arm harshly and yanked her forward.
"Then we'll give our visitor something to hesitate over," he growled.
"Taking me hostage?" Dorothea sneered, though she didn't resist. "How pitifully desperate you've become."
The marquis ignored her, dragging her out of the prison chamber toward the hall's rear exit. From the courtyard came the sounds of shouting and clashing steel, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.
"We're moving outside," he ordered his remaining men. "If they want to rescue this woman, they'll have to come through all of us."
"And the remaining captive women, my lord?" One asked.
"Forget them," the marquis barked. "Our priority is getting out of here alive and we're using this woman to do it."
As they disappeared into a dark corridor, Dorothea's thoughts raced but a wave of relief swept over her.
She was grateful that the knights had uncovered the truth. That much was clear. And now, the mighty proud and composed marquis was panicking. His fear clung to him like a second skin, and in his desperation, he'd done the unthinkable to left the other captive women behind. The hunter had become the hunted, and Dorothea could almost taste the turning tide and smirk.
The marquis burst through the exit door, yanking Dorothea along as they emerged into the night. The cold bit at her skin, but it wasn't the chill that stopped them in their tracks.
The courtyard sprawled out before them in haunting chaos. The stench of blood curled through the air, heavy with the smell of sweat and exertion. The marquis's men were scattered across the ground, with some writhing in pain, and others were unconscious. Weapons lay abandoned where they had fallen, as if time had frozen mid-battle.
And amidst the wreckage of battle— only one figure stood tall, untouched by the chaos. A man of elegance and iron, cloaked in the polished armor of a knight.
It was none other than the ever-infuriating, ever-charming Grand Commander Frederick.
"End him," the marquis snarled at his five remaining men, his voice sharp as a blade and without a hesitation, the men spread out, closing in on the knight from all sides like predators drawn to a flicker of stubborn fire refusing to die.
Frederick stood at the heart of the wreckage like the eye of the storm, encircled by the marquis's last five henchmen. Yet he didn't lift his blade nor speak. With his head slightly cocked and that insufferable smirk curving his lips, he waited silently and composed as if inviting them to join him in a deadly waltz that had yet to begin.
With calculated precision, the men lunged simultaneously.
The first man tried to attack him with a whip. The whip cracked through the air but the Grand Commander's blade was quicker, snatching the lash mid-air. And with a swift yank, he pulled the man off balance, sending him stumbling forward like a puppet on a string. The man's momentum became his downfall as the commander yanked him forward and a swift, precise strike to the throat ended the man's struggles, silencing him forever.
A second came from the side, twin sickles flashing in the dim light. Frederick leap over the scything sickles with acrobatic ease. He landed with deadly precision, his sword plunging into the attacker's shoulder with a bone-crushing impact and the man's body crumbled to the ground.
The third man, fueled by brute strength, charged forward with a massive battle-axe like a madman. Frederick danced around the wild swings, his movements fluid and calculated. The Grand Commander twirl around the blows, his sword flashing in the dim light. Seizing an opening, he struck the attacker's exposed flank with ruthless efficiency. The man's anguished cry echoed through the alleyway as he collapsed, his battle-axe slipping from his grasp.
The fourth man tried to outmaneuver Frederick, but the commander's reflexes proved too sharp. With a swift spin, Frederick countered the attack, his sword slicing through the dim light to strike the man's sword arm. The attacker cried out, dropping his weapon as he clutched his wounded limb.
The last one unleashed a chain-blade, spinning it in dizzying patterns to confuse and disorient. But Frederick was unfazed, catching the whirring blade in his gauntlet. With a violent yank, he jerked the chain-blade to a stop, dislocating the attacker's shoulder. Frederick then pulled the man into a fatal slash, his sword biting deep into the attacker's abdomen ending all of them.
As Frederick effortlessly dispatched his foes, a carefree grin spread across his face, giving the impression that the entire battle were nothing more than a game to him, something he found amusing.
Dorothea watched, transfixed, as he moved with lethal elegance, his movements almost choreographed. She shouldn't have been surprised. After all, he was the Grand Commander for a reason yet, she couldn't help but marvel at his skill and prowess, especially given that he had taken down the attackers single-handedly.
She could scarcely believe her eyes. He had taken down nearly all the men without backup or reinforcements. Just himself and a sword now stained with blood.
The marquis's footsteps faltered as he absorbed the devastating scene, his gaze darting between the bodies of his lifeless men. "Impossible..." he breathed, his fingers digging deeper into Dorothea's arm. "He defeated them all?" His voice trailed off, stunned.
Dorothea remained silent, her breath steady but her heart pounding not from fear, but from the electric weight of the moment.
The Grand Commander lifted his gaze toward them, his eyes locking onto hers in an instant. In that fleeting glance, she caught the spark of recognition lighting his irises.
"Well, fancy seeing you here, Dorothea," he said smoothly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Seems fate has a peculiar sense of humor, bringing us together again. Maybe we're destined after all."
Dorothea blinked, snapping out of her amazement, and shot him a sharp scowl. 'Really? Flirting now, in the heart of a battlefield?' she thought. The audacity of this carefree rake was maddening.
"Don't you see how dire the situation is?" she snapped, unable to hide her frustration. "You, flirty fool."
He turned his head toward the marquis, who still clutched her arm, and said with unabashed charm, "Yes, I know you're a hostage right now and this just might be my chance to rescue my beautiful princess." That infuriating smile remained, unshaken and utterly confident.
"I'm not a princess!" Dorothea protested, her face painted with indignation.
Frederick let out a rich and amused chuckled before turning his gaze back to the marquis, whose face was twisted in a mix of confusion and fear by the unfolding scene. "Greetings, Marquis Sivert Valegrim. Fancy meeting you again."
"Again? Have we crossed paths before?" The marquis's confusion only deepened, and even Dorothea's curiosity was piqued.
'Could this charming rake share a tangled history with this detestable and disgusting man?' Dorothea thought.
Frederick's smile took on a mockingly mournful tone. "It's a pity you don't remember me," he said, playing the part of the forlorn. "But don't worry, I intended to make sure you remember."
And with unwavering poise, he closed the distance, each step echoing like a countdown. The Grand Commander's stride was purposeful, his long legs devouring the distance between him and the marquis.
But before he could reach him, the marquis's voice cracked with fear and desperation.
"D-don't come any closer!" he yelled, a glinting dagger materializing in his hand. He pressed the blade to Dorothea's neck, his eyes wild with fear. "Or I'll kill her!" The threat hung in the air, trembling with the marquis's ragged breathing.
Frederick's boots skidded to a stop, his gaze met Dorothea's, and for an instant, they shared a fleeting understanding. Her headshake was almost imperceptible, but Frederick's eyes narrowed in response. He stood statue-still, wearing a mask of calm calculation.
And then, in a tone that was almost bored, Frederick drawled, "Lord Sivert, I believe you've made a grave mistake in choosing that particular hostage. One that might just prove...fatal."
The marquis's confusion was palpable, but before he could respond, Dorothea slammed the back of her head into the marquis's face with a swift, ruthless motion. The marquis's cry of pain was cut short as Dorothea followed up with a vicious painful elbow strike, her tied hands not hindering her ferocity as she jabbed him in the stomach. His face contorted in agony as he stumbled backward, releasing his grip on Dorothea. The sudden release sent her stumbling forward, but she quickly regained her footing and kicked him in the stomach to send him flying.
The marquis lay sprawled on the ground, groaning, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other slick with blood from his broken nose. His eyes, wide with shock, locked onto the figure standing over him— the very woman who had just destroyed both his grip and his illusion of control.
"You— how—?" he gasped, struggling to breathe. "You broke loose? But… you're just—"
"A woman?" Dorothea cut in, her voice sharp and unforgiving. She advanced on him, eyes burning, the remnants of her torn restraints hanging from her wrists like shattered shackles. "That was your first mistake, assuming every woman lacks the strength to fight back."
The marquis scrambled backward, not just in fear but in humiliation though both emotions flickered plainly in his wide, desperate eyes. Dorothea stood over him, fists tight at her sides, her posture unyielding and charged with righteous fury.
"And your second mistake," she said, her voice sharp like tempered steel, "was believing you could abduct women and children without facing consequences. I don't need a sword to offer your punishment."
With a swift, powerful motion, she launched her fist at him, striking him with a force that seemed to come from every fiber of her being.
"Well," Frederick drawled, arms folded as he leaned with casual ease against the stone wall, "what took you so long to break free, my fierce little flame? I was starting to think I'd have to swoop in and steal all the glory."
Dorothea rolled her eyes, though a faint smirk tugged at her lips. "Please, Grand Commander, I'd never dream of stealing your spotlight. I could've escaped sooner and joined the fight, but I figured I'd let you have your moment. I know how a flirt like you enjoy making a scene."
Frederick gave an exaggerated bow. "Fair enough. But I must admit, watching you put that idiot in his place was far more satisfying than any duel."
Between them, the marquis let out a pitiful whimper, still curled on the ground.
Dorothea stepped back from the groaning marquis, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face as she turned to face Frederick with a calm but unwavering expression.
"So," she said, casting a glance down at the disgusting figure writhing in the dirt, "what do we do with him? Personally, I'd rather see him beheaded but I assume you have another plan."
Frederick's grin dimmed slightly, his eyes sharpening with intent. "Leave him to me," he said, approaching the marquis and letting his bloodied blade rest casually on the man's trembling shoulder. "There are still answers I intend to pry from our dear Marquis Valegrim."
Dorothea studied him carefully, then gave a brief nod. "Fine. Just make sure that vermin doesn't escape justice."
"You have my word," Frederick replied with a glint in his eye and a slight, knowing wink. "Besides, I have a rather persuasive way with words."
Dorothea wanted to ask the grand commander about something but before she opened her mouth, the steady rhythm of approaching footsteps rang out across the courtyard. Moments later, a tall figure emerged from the far archway— a silver-haired knight, in his forties, unfamiliar to Dorothea, with a sword casually in hand.
"Mikkel," Frederick said, his voice cutting clearly through the air. "As punctual as ever."
The man stepped forward, his silver hair catching the light. Each step was controlled and silent against the stone, and his cool and pale gaze was sharp as a blade. His expression revealed nothing.
"Grand Commander," Mikkel greeted with a curt nod before turning his attention to the marquis, who now lay in a heap, broken and spiritless. "Is this the one behind the kidnapping?"
Frederick gave a solemn nod. "He is."
Then he gestured toward Dorothea. "And this is the one who brought him down with pure strength alone. She's Dorothea Lindholm."
As Mikkel's gaze shifted to her, Dorothea instinctively straightened, standing taller under the sudden scrutiny.
"She's the one who applied for the knight's apprenticeship... the one I've mentioned before," Frederick went on, gesturing toward her.
"Dorothea, meet Commander Mikkel of House Ascher, my second-in-command."
Mikkel's eyes shifted to her, assessing, not with hostility, but with the cool, practiced scrutiny of a seasoned knight judging a potential. "You've chosen a rare path, Dorothea. Most women your age are preoccupied with suitors and wedding gowns."
Dorothea held his gaze, calm and firm. "I'm not like most."
A chuckle echoed from across the hall, light and amused. Another man strolled into view, his posture relaxed, a half-eaten apple in one hand.
"And here I thought you only approved of stoics and sword-wielding statues, Mikkel," the newcomer quipped with a grin. His hair burned orange beneath his helm, and a spark of mischief danced in his amber eyes.
Frederick offered a knowing smile. "Dorothea, meet Commander Arnold of House Hermiston. He's in charge of intelligence and reconnaissance. He's our informant for anything that needs to be seen or heard without being noticed. He has a talent for uncovering secrets."
"At your service, miss," Arnold said with a playful bow. "It'll be good to have someone like you among us."
Dorothea simply gave a polite nod in response.
"You really handled them all yourself, Grand Commander Frederick," Mikkel told Frederick, shifting the topic, his voice more thoughtful now as his eyes swept across the scattered bodies. There was a flicker of quiet guilt in his expression. All throughout the battle, he just remained at a distance, preparing to intervene, but ultimately hadn't lifted a blade. "Still," he added, "we should bring in more of our men to restrain the unconscious."
"No need," Arnold chimed in casually. "I already sent for reinforcements before we arrived."
As if on cue, a contingent of knights appeared behind him. Arnold moved ahead to coordinate, issuing quiet commands. The knights moved with swift precision, securing the fallen men with practiced ease.
"The kidnapped women and children are inside," Dorothea informed them calmly.
"Understood. Leave their care to us," Mikkel replied with a nod before making his way into the mansion.
"We've secured the perimeter," Arnold reported as he stepped up beside Frederick, having finished binding the unconscious enemies. "All of Valegrim's men are down and will be sent to the capital for trial. I have gathered enough evidence to dismantle the marquis's entire human trafficking operation."
"Excellent," Frederick said, his gaze fixed on Valegrim, who now sat slouched and disoriented, his head drooping between his knees as a knight fastened restraints around him. "Now all that's left is making sure the mastermind gives us everything he knows."
Dorothea folded her arms, her gaze fixed on the knights as they hauled off the last of the marquis's foul henchmen. "Let's hope he tells you everything you need. And if he doesn't…"
Frederick gave her a confident grin. "Oh, he will. He just doesn't realize yet how eager he is to talk."
As quietness settled over the courtyard, broken only by the soft crackle of torches and the low whisper of the wind, Dorothea lifted her eyes to the sky— now clear, with stars scattered like silver across the dark.
Dorothea hadn't even been officially inducted into the Order, yet she was already being drawn into the dangers that came with it. Her thoughts drifted to the faces of the women and children they had rescued and a quiet ache stirred in her heart. She was certain that somewhere out there, someone else was also suffering— someone waiting, hoping, for help that might never come.
That thought settled her doubts.
With a deep breath and a growing sense of resolve, Dorothea made her choice. She will accept the Grand Commander's offer. If it meant gaining the strength to protect the innocent, she was willing to face whatever trials lay ahead— prejudice, dangers and even enduring his shameless flirtations.
Becoming a knight was no longer just a dream to her. It was now a purpose.
Not for glory, and not out of pride but because she could no longer turn away from those in need.