The inferno was swift and merciless.
The quenching oil, far more volatile than swamp gas, ignited with a furious WHOOSH, turning the narrow street into a river of fire.
The screams of the trapped bandits were sharp and horrific, then quickly silenced.
The heat was so intense that Kaelen, even on the second story, was forced to stumble back from the window, his face scorched by the wave of hot air.
The fire burned itself out almost as quickly as it had begun, consuming its fuel in a matter of minutes.
An eerie, smoking silence fell over the village. The only sounds were the crackling of a few still-burning timbers and the distant, indifferent thump-thump of the forge's water wheel.
Kaelen peered out the window. The scene below was a charred, blackened tableau of utter devastation. The attack was over.
Victory.
But Kaelen felt no triumph. Only a cold, hollow emptiness and the acrid taste of smoke in his throat.
This wasn't a blueprint. This wasn't a simulation. This was real. The smell of burned... everything... was nauseating.
He leaned against the wall, his legs suddenly shaky, and took a deep, shuddering breath.
He had just killed thirty men. He, Leo, the real estate developer who'd never been in a fight in his life, had just orchestrated a massacre.
It was necessary. A hostile force attempted a violent takeover of company assets.
The response was... efficient. A zero-casualty outcome for our side.
He tried to frame it in the cold, detached language of his past life, but the words felt hollow. The reality of it was sickening.
He heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Seraphina appeared in the doorway.
Her face was smudged with soot, her armor dented, but her eyes were wide with a look he had never seen before.
It was a raw, unfiltered mixture of awe and horror.
She looked from Kaelen's pale, grim face to the carnage in the street below.
"You... you planned this," she whispered, her voice strained. "Every part of it."
"It was a high-risk, improvised strategy," Kaelen said, his voice hoarse. "But it worked."
"It wasn't a battle," she said, her gaze fixed on the street. "It was an execution."
She had been trained to fight with honor, to meet steel with steel. Her entire worldview was built on the strength of a knight's arm and the purity of their mana.
What Kaelen had done was something else entirely. It was alien. It was terrifyingly, brutally effective.
He had defeated thirty armed bandits without a single loss, using nothing but some lumber, a few farmers with pointy sticks, and a pot of oil.
He hadn't overpowered them. He had out-thought them on a fundamental level.
Kaelen pushed himself off the wall, forcing a mask of command back onto his face. The emotional fallout could be dealt with later. Now, there were practical matters to attend to.
"Is the fire contained?" he asked, his voice regaining its strength.
"Yes, my Lord," Seraphina answered, snapping back to her professional duty. "The new houses... the stone foundations and the wider streets... they acted as a firebreak. It didn't spread."
Another unintended benefit of his infrastructure project.
"Good," Kaelen nodded.
"Sound the all-clear. Get the militia to douse any remaining embers. And... we'll need a burial detail."
He looked out the window again, his stomach churning. "Take their weapons and any armor that's salvageable. We need the resources."
Pragmatism. Always pragmatism. It was the only thing holding him together.
He started to walk past her, but she put a hand on his arm, stopping him. Her touch was surprisingly gentle.
"My Lord," she said, her voice soft. "Are you alright?"
He looked at her, really looked at her. He saw the concern in her eyes, a genuine human emotion that cut through his cold, logical fortress.
For a moment, he wanted to tell her the truth. That he was terrified. That he felt sick. That he was just a glorified architect who was in way, way over his head.
But he couldn't. He was the Baron. He was the one with the plan. Their confidence in him was his most valuable asset.
"I'm fine, Captain," he said, his voice steady. "The plan was successful. That's all that matters."
He pulled his arm gently from her grasp and walked down the stairs, leaving her alone in the half-finished tavern.
Seraphina watched him go, a deep frown on her face.
He was a puzzle she couldn't solve. He was a man who could orchestrate a scene of unimaginable horror and then, minutes later, be concerned about firebreaks and salvaging resources.
He was more concerned with the aftermath than the act itself.
When Kaelen stepped out into the street, the villagers and the militia were slowly emerging from their hiding places.
They looked at the charred remains of the bandit force, then at their Baron, their faces filled with a new kind of reverence.
It wasn't just respect for a title anymore. It was fear. And it was awe.
Their lord was not just a strange builder. He was a protector. A terrifyingly effective one.
Borin was the first to approach him, his massive war hammer resting on his shoulder.
"My Lord," the blacksmith rumbled, his voice low. "That was... well-fought."
"It wasn't a fight, Borin. It was pest control," Kaelen said, his voice cold. He needed to project strength.
"Now, let's clean up this mess. This street is a critical transportation artery for our construction projects. I want it cleared by morning."
He was already moving on. Problem solved. Next task.
But as he walked towards the castle, away from the eyes of his people, he allowed his mask to slip for just a moment.
He leaned against the cold stone of the castle wall, hidden in the shadows, and quietly, wretchedly, threw up.
His first battle was won. But the cost to his soul felt higher than he could have ever calculated.
.
.
.
Author's Note:
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