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The Crime Lord Bard - Chapter 114: Bastille
🕑 Added 2025-06-10 22:21:23 +0000 UTC[Franco’s POV]
Franco’s boots scuffed the stone floor in his office. One of the highest rooms in the castle. He paced from one end of the room to the other, his steps quick and uneven. His mind raced with a hundred worries, each pulling him in a different direction.
Below, the grand hall rang with laughter and the clink of glasses. Nobles draped in rich silks and velvets swayed and stumbled, their faces red with wine and the thrill of winning. They all acted as if the empire belonged to them, their voices loud with boasts and cheers.
How could anyone stand against a Nightwalker's power and the Inquisitors’ sharp blades at the same time? Soon, the Inquisitors would haul the Arcane Tower’s leader through the gates in chains, and their scheme would be complete.
At least, that was their thought.
A noble with a deep voice roared, “By dawn, Maria’s head will sit on a spike!” Another, his tongue thick with wine, cut in, “She’s too fair for that fate.” A third, his eyes shining with greed, yelled, “Let the highest bidder take her!”
From his office, Franco heard every shout and cheer. The air stank of sour wine and vomit, a bitter scent of the chaos below.
His stomach twisted, not for Maria’s dark end but for their foolish joy. 'We don’t know if we won yet,' he thought, his heart thumping hard. They dared to challenge Maria von Hafenstadt, a woman as deadly as a striking snake. One wrong move and her bite would claim them.
Through the window, Franco watched the Inquisitors below. Even at night, they continued to focus on their mission. Some marched in tight lines across the courtyard, while others swung swords in sharp, practiced arcs. All wore the badge of their order and heavy armor.
Ten had come to “guard” him, but their stares made him feel trapped. Although they were under his command, they seemed more intent on keeping him in their custody. Every decision he made or order he gave seemed to be evaluated and questioned first.
His last worry was there with him.
In the corner, Lucius sprawled on a soft sofa, his boots resting on the arm. Beside him, a girl sat in servant’s rags, a thick chain tight around her neck. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her sobs a faint, broken sound.
Lucius caught the girl with her ear pressed to their whispered secrets. In a heartbeat, he snapped chains around her wrists and hauled her along. For one reason or another, she couldn’t stay in the mansion. Something like “it would interfere with the ritual.”
“What a shame,” Lucius hissed, his voice thick with spite. “You could have been at the grand feast with the rest. It would have been a moment to remember.” His laugh sliced the air, wild and jagged, like a beast set loose.
Franco’s chest tightened. 'Who is this man? Why did it have to be him?' His thoughts spun. He wasn’t a fool. Lucius carried a shadow of infamy, but Franco had seen him as a loud drunk with a few crooked friends. He had never imagined this.
Lucius didn’t rule the underworld Franco knew. No petty thieves or blade-wielding killers. His grip stretched deeper, commanding some twisted souls. Torturers, necromancers, and black mages were more of his allies.
With a flick of his hand, Lucius smashed his knuckles into the girl’s face. “Quit your sobbing,” he snarled. The strike flung her to the stone floor, her lip splitting wide. Blood spilled, pooling in crimson streaks. A sharp breeze from the window carried the tang of iron to Franco’s nose.
“Guards,” Franco barked, his voice a blade of ice. Two soldiers clad in Bastille’s grim colors shoved the door wide, their eyes darting like hunting dogs.
“Drag her to the dungeons,” Franco ordered, his words hard as steel. “End her at first light.”
“Yes, my lord,” one answered, his voice muffled behind a dented helm.
“No! Please! I didn’t—” The girl’s pleas broke into gasps as the soldiers yanked her chains, hauling her off. The door thudded shut, but her cries lingered, fading only when a heavy crash echoed back.
Lucius licked his lips, a sick grin twisting his face. “You rushed it, Franco. I wasn’t done with her yet.”
“She heard everything,” Franco snapped. “We can’t let her breathe after that.”
“True,” Lucius purred, his eyes glinting with hunger. “But I could have tasted her terror a while longer. Her flesh, her despair. It would have filled me up.” His laugh rang out again, dark and ravenous.
Franco’s skin prickled with unease as he glanced at Lucius. The man’s eyes, once sharp and blue, now stared back like deep, black pits. No trace of white or color remained. It was proof, a chilling mark, that Lucius had struck a deal with demons, trading something human for power.
Franco shook his head, desperate to push the thoughts away.
His voice trembled as he spoke, his fingers twisting the edge of his tunic. “How can you be so calm? We still haven’t heard anything about the plan.”
Lucius rose from the sofa, his movements smooth and eerie, like a snake uncoiling. “Calm down, Franco. Have I ever fucked one of our plans?” His voice flowed like honey, soft and sure, clashing with the void in his gaze. “Tomorrow, we’ll topple Maria. You’ll sit as the ruler of Hafenstadt.”
Franco’s forehead creased with worry. “What about the current governor?”
Lucius flicked his hand, brushing the question aside. “He’s in the capital. We’ll heap his failures before the emperor. He’ll crumble, tossed out like a broken blade.”
Franco stumbled to a chair and sank into it. The wood creaked under his weight.
“Besides, if I’m like this, it’s because the ritual worked,” Lucius clenched his hands, feeling the new power go through his veins. “My son finished the summoning. A Nightwalker roams free now. Picture the havoc it will bring.”
Franco’s gut churned. “The Inquisitors can stop it, right?”
Lucius shrugged, his shoulders loose, uncaring. “They’re trained for it, but it’ll be a fight. The city won’t escape the mess.”
Franco gripped the chair’s arms, the rough edges digging into his hands. He wanted Hafenstadt whole, not shattered by beasts clawing each other apart.
Lucius stepped closer, his voice dropping to a hush, like a secret shared in the dark. “You’re still missing it. A prisoner from the Realm of Night walks free.” Franco’s brow lifted, his mind blank with confusion. Lucius grinned, teeth gleaming, sharp, and wild. “The throne sits empty, Franco. Power’s there for the taking.”
Franco stayed silent, his thoughts tangled. Lucius’s words hung heavy, a puzzle he couldn’t piece together.
“Before, it was just a guess, but now we know for sure. Nytheris isn’t in his seat,” Lucius said, his voice smooth and low, like a whisper carried on the wind.
Franco’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean, not in his seat? The God of Night isn’t in his realm?” His words trembled, though he tried to mask his fear. He hated tangled messes involving gods.
“Only the gods know. Maybe not even they do,” Lucius said. “Did he finally find the courage?”
“Courage?” Franco repeated, his brow creasing in confusion.
“Forget it. Best you don’t poke at these things,” Lucius said, stretching his arms and settling deeper into the sofa.
Before Franco could ask more, shouts pierced the air from outside, urgent and raw.
“Fire!”
“Fire!”
“Help! The crops are burning!”
Franco rushed to the window, pressing his hands against the cold glass. Through the rain, he saw flames raging in the night, swallowing the golden grain fields. Lightning flashed again, turning the scene into a nightmare of red and shadow.
“Damn it,” Franco cursed, his voice tight with panic. Those crops were everything. Their strength and their hold on the empire. Without them, they’d crumble.
He bolted from the room, his boots thudding on the stone floor. In the hall, he barked at the soldiers. “Go! Put out the fire!”
A soldier hesitated, his armor rattling as he shifted. “But, sir, what about the defense?”
“Defense?” Franco snapped, his eyes blazing. “What good is defense if the grain burns? This harvest is our lifeline!” They had some stored in the granary, but it wasn’t enough. This crop was their salvation.
As he turned, he spotted the Inquisitors trudging in from the courtyard, their cloaks dripping with rain. “You too. If you’re here, make yourselves useful. Stop that fire.”
The Inquisitors’ faces darkened, their jaws tight with irritation, but they bowed. “Yes, sir,” they muttered, their voices flat before hurrying toward the gate.
Franco sighed, rubbing his temples where a dull ache throbbed, then shuffled back to the office.
