The night bore no carriage homeward, instead trapping those who came into its embrace, ensnaring them in its darkened realm.
Windsi could only take refuge for a night in a dilapidated inn.
The inn was far from pleasant, suffused with the odor of decay. Yet, for a single night, Windsi was charged 500 Kexi coins for a mere half-night's stay.
Inside the room, the bed reeked of the remnants of a brutal tryst. Windsi, feeling repulsed, sat upon the chair, his gaze fixed upon the only light source in the room: a coal oil lamp, its light flickering faintly.
The night dragged on. For the drunken souls within the tavern, however, this night was a rare celebration, for tomorrow, an emissary from the Duke's household would be inspecting the domain.
Although the land was nominally ruled by Count Malobik, the count still had to bow his head and receive the "imperial inspector" with subservience.
The arrival of the "imperial inspector" meant the tavern's alcohol improved slightly, though that simply meant it wasn't overly watered down.
For the first time in ages, the townsfolk enjoyed a taste of decent wine.
This evening, the peace was a strange rarity.
Windsi sat quietly in his chair, staring at the extinguished lamp. The cawing of crows outside was infrequent, their wings flapping as they searched for food.
A night passed.
Outside, a vagrant had perished.
The darkness also provided a cloak for those seeking to unleash their baser instincts. They would prey upon those wandering in the streets, which was the very reason Windsi had spent a small fortune securing a room.
But Windsi had left a small "gift" in the room he'd occupied, confident that the innkeeper would be quite pleased upon discovering it. He preemptively wished him good fortune in his business.
As for why he had avoided the tavern, the time to answer that was now at hand.
---
Morning broke.
The serene morning was abruptly shattered by the heavy sound of hooves approaching from outside the city.
The "imperial inspector" halted before the museum, eyes sharp as he gazed at the closed gates of the establishment.
"How dare you treat the Duke's war memorial so, closing the gates and denying the common folk entry. What is your intention? Are you displeased with the Duke?"
The count immediately broke into a cold sweat, his voice trembling as he stammered, "My lord, I did station two brave soldiers here to guard the entrance. I'm unsure why they haven't arrived."
"I do not wish to hear excuses. I need those gates opened within five minutes. If not, I will be opening your head instead."
The count collapsed to the ground in fear.
In a frenzy, he ordered the Duke's knights to search for them.
From somewhere, a hoarse but clear voice suddenly echoed.
"The tavern."
The "imperial inspector" quickly scanned the area, but all the buildings were silent, making it impossible to tell where the voice had originated.
The voice had been brief, but the count barely managed to catch the words.
"Quick, go to the tavern and bring them back!"
"No need," the inspector responded, "I will go myself."
"My lord," the count protested, "a tavern is not a place befitting your status."
"Count," the inspector snapped, "You only need to follow orders. Keep the rest to yourself."
The count fell silent, bowing his head as he trailed behind, his fists clenched beneath the thick layers of his clothing.
[If it weren't for your connection to the Duke, I would have killed you long ago.]
The Duke's power in Trokeshia was absolute. If he killed this knight, who represented the Duke's will, his own life would be forfeit by the following morning—no, tonight.
Thus, Count Malobik had no choice but to play the role of a submissive servant, for his ancestors' land had once been threatened by Delta-Sius, the rebel who sought to overthrow the Duke's reign.
This animosity had caused the Duke's family to harbor deep disdain for Malobik's bloodline, subjecting them to countless humiliations each time a knight was sent to oversee the count.
Soon, the "imperial inspector" arrived on horseback, his mount imposing and noble.
The scent of alcohol wafted out from the tavern, forcing the Duke's knight to wrinkle his nose in distaste.
"Count, I cannot believe that such poor-quality wine is being served in your domain. I'll be reporting this to the Duke."
The count's face darkened with suppressed fury.
[Just a dog of the Duke's, always using the Duke's power to trample me.]
Despite his internal rage, he forced a sycophantic smile and spoke humbly.
"Yes, yes, you are right, my lord. It is my failure to manage properly. But I beg of you, a knight with such a refined taste, would you kindly inspect our wine when you visit the castle?"
The Duke's knight's eyes gleamed with a hint of smugness, though disdain was still evident.
[So that's why the other knights want to come here. This count is nothing but a soft target, ripe for the picking.]
The count, seeing the scorn in his eyes, suppressed the boiling fury within. His thoughts were interrupted when his knights dragged the two guards out of the tavern.
The powerful smell of alcohol caused even the noble horses to retreat a few steps, snorting loudly.
"How dare you disturb the noble steeds!" the knight shouted. "You deserve to die."
Without warning, the knight lashed out with his whip, striking the two guards. The harsh cracks echoed as the whip left bright red welts on their faces and arms.
The drunken guards awoke with a jolt, their anger flaring.
"Who—who dared strike us?" they slurred angrily.
When they looked up, they saw the cold, unforgiving faces of the count and the opulent knight.
Immediately, they fell to their knees, their faces contorted with fear.
"My lord, I was wrong, spare my life. I will dig mines, just spare me!"
The Duke's knight smirked cruelly, eyeing the count with malice.
"Count, are you certain these two are good soldiers? They look ready to piss themselves."
The knight's laughter echoed, while the count seethed with fury. He had endured three humiliations this morning because of these two guards, and now his eyes were filled with murderous intent as he looked at them.
"These two are unworthy soldiers, my lord. Please, dispose of them as you see fit."
The guards, realizing they were now abandoned, trembled in fear but dared not speak a word.
The anger that had been welling inside them was forcibly suppressed. They knew the count's methods—if they remained silent, they might escape with their lives. But if they spoke out...
Tomorrow, their entire family would be condemned, not to the living, but to the depths of hell.
The Duke's knight, clearly pleased with the count's submission, drew his sacred knight's sword and rode toward the trembling guards.
"The Duke is merciful, but his reputation must not be sullied. You two have abandoned your posts to drunkenly stay in a tavern, and then insulted me, the great Duke's knight."
"You are stains upon the Duke's brilliance. As knights, it is our duty to purge such filth, to preserve the Duke's glorious leadership."
[Hypocrisy.]
Everyone present knew how false the knight's words were, but none dared speak against him. His power was absolute, and even a fart from him would be praised as sweet.
The silver sword struck without resistance, piercing the bodies of the two guards. As they collapsed, their faces bore expressions of relief.
This world has never been equal. Five hundred years ago, it was the same. Today, it is still the same.