The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 246: A chess piece on their board

Hamen made his way back to the command tent where General Remin was stationed.

The large canvas structure stood apart from the others, marked by the imperial standards that fluttered in the morning breeze.

Two guards flanked the entrance, their postures stiffening as Hamen approached. They recognised him as the Count of Godeylet and stepped aside, allowing him entry without challenge.

He made his wyvern and the rest of the beasts stay aside, a little away from the campsite.

Hamen walked into the tent.

Inside, Remin hunched over a table strewn with maps and reports. His weathered face was drawn with concentration as he assessed the aftermath of the battle. Casualty reports, damage assessments, and strategic considerations all demanded his attention.

The general glanced up briefly as Hamen entered.

”Jolthar has left,” Hamen announced without preamble. ”The Matriarch of Blue Rose and the Dragon Queen departed with him.”

Reminʼs expression remained neutral, though his eyes narrowed slightly at the information.

On the table before them lay grim trophies of war—Yilarʼs severed limbs and a leather pouch, evidence of the brutality that had unfolded on the battlefield. Hamenʼs gaze lingered on these remnants, a visible reminder of how quickly power could shift, of how swiftly the mighty could fall.

Yilarʼs remains were now all the proof that was left to prove the existence of Nynthralls among the humans. They have come this far into the human lands, which they havenʼt done in years.

Remin has to show them to the emperor, so he ordered them to bring them.

Hamen said, ”He buried that barbarianʼs chieftain. Soldiers are talking about him, and they are angry.”

Hamen saw it all, but he didnʼt say anything. Even he was puzzled as to why he did that. It had roused rumours and doubts among the soldiers. No one dared to say anything in front of Jolthar, as they all saw how terrifying he was.

Remin looked at Hamen and said, ”He is just a child. His actions too.”

Hamen understood the meaning of the words, but Hamen didnʼt think so. He also knew that Jolthar was a teenager, but he had a different opinion. He thought that Jolthar was anything but a child. Those words and his gaze – Hamen could never tell what he was thinking.

The tent flap rustled, drawing both menʼs attention.

A figure entered, moving with obvious pain. Bandages wrapped around his torso, arms, and one side of his face, spots of crimson seeping through the white cloth.

Despite his injured state, the man carried himself with the dignity of a seasoned warrior.

”Wymar,” Hamen exclaimed in surprise, recognizing Reminʼs subordinate and his own long-time friend. ”What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

Hamen quickly went and helped him.

Wymar had been grievously wounded fighting alongside Jolthar against one of the more dangerous thing-like creatures. The encounter had left him near death, and he had been transported to Hamenʼs castle for treatment by the healers.

The injured man attempted to straighten his posture as he approached General Remin, preparing to offer a formal greeting to his superior, but Remin raised a hand to stop him.

”At ease,” the general commanded. ”Why have you left your sickbed? I was planning to visit you once matters here were settled.”

Wymar grimaced; whether from pain or embarrassment was difficult to tell. ”I couldnʼt stay in the castle, not after I heard the war was ongoing here,” he explained, his voice raspy and strained.

Remin frowned at his subordinateʼs recklessness but said nothing further.

Instead, he gestured to a nearby soldier. ”Bring a chair for him,” he ordered.

The soldier quickly complied, procuring a sturdy wooden chair.

Hamen still held him, supporting his friend as he lowered himself gingerly onto the seat. Even this small movement caused Wymar to wince, fresh pain flashing across his features.

”Where is that boy?” Wymar asked once he had settled, his question requiring no further clarification. Both Hamen and Remin knew exactly whom he meant.

”He just left,” Hamen replied with a slight shrug.

”What? Why?” Wymarʼs surprise was evident, his eyebrows rising above the bandages that partially covered his face.

Neither Remin nor Hamen had a satisfactory answer, responding only with mirrored shrugs.

”He isnʼt a typical imperial soldier, thatʼs for sure,” Remin observed, his tone neutral but carrying undertones of suspicion.

Wymar snorted, the sound sharp with derision. ”He came on his own terms and left on his own too. What a brat.”

”He came here, alone. Even when the imperial order asked the barony to send 300 men, he came alone.” Wymar looked at Remin and continued, ”My lord, you know what he said when I asked him?”

”He claimed that he alone was enough—that he was three hundred men in one.”

That remark drew a chuckle from Remin.

Hamen and Wymar both looked at Remin to see Remin smiling, which they hadnʼt done in a long time.

”My lord, you…” Wymar.

Remin then said, ”Wymar, that young man, is quite an interesting lad.”

The tent fell silent after that statement, and Remin got back to checking the pouch of Yilar while Hamen proceeded to recount the events that had transpired after Wymar had been taken to the castle—how Jolthar had confronted Dagur and defeated him using strange powers, how he had been sucked into the ancient pillar and somehow absorbed the beast kingʼs essence, how the beasts had acknowledged him as their new master, and most surprisingly, how both the Matriarch of Blue Rose and the Dragon Queen Yoana had shown personal interest in the silver-haired Kaezhlar.

As there were only three of them, Hamen didnʼt hide anything from his friend.

As the tale unfolded, Wymarʼs expression transformed from scepticism to astonishment. ”Matriarch of Blue Rose!” he exclaimed, his voice rising despite his injuries. ”She is interested in him? Heavens!!”

The revelation seemed to affect him more than any other detail of the incredible story. ”My lord,” he continued, turning to Remin with newfound urgency, ”why did you let him live? He should have reported to you. What an ill-mannered brat!” Wymar spat.

Then he said with newfound curiosity, ”We should take him under your wing. Iʼve seen him fight—he is like...my lord, he will be a great swordsman; we should take him into our wing.”

Remin nodded slowly, acknowledging Wymarʼs assessment without matching his enthusiasm. ”I know, Wymar. He has potential, but we canʼt tame him.” The generalʼs words were measured, revealing his careful consideration of the unusual warrior.

Wymar leaned forward, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounds. ”My lord, you just say the word, and I will make him bow to you.”

The offer carried the weight of absolute loyalty—the devotion of a man who had served the man without question for decades.

Hamen was surprised to hear Wymar and his interest in Jolthar. Sure, Jolthar was an unusual young man, but why was he so hung up on him?

Is he confident in his ability to bend him?

Remin simply smiled and shook his head. Rather than entertaining Wymarʼs proposal, he redirected the conversation. ”You just take your rest for now,” he advised, his tone gentle but firm, closing the subject.

The implication hung in the air, unspoken but understood by all present.

Jolthar of the Kaezhlar was not someone to be controlled or commanded—not by Wymar, not by Remin, perhaps not by anyone.

The youth who had arrived unheralded and departed on his own terms had demonstrated powers beyond their understanding. He had faced their enemies and aided their cause but remained fundamentally separate from the imperial hierarchy.

If it wasnʼt any other general, maybe they would have claimed his actions were unlawful and made him a criminal now and should have ordered to arrest of him. But Remin didnʼt do so, as he had plans of his own.

As morning light filtered through the tent canvas, casting long shadows across the war table, the three men fell into contemplative silence.

The aftermath of battle surrounded them—reports of the dead, the wounded, and the missing—but their thoughts centred on the silver-haired swordsman who had altered the course of events with his unexpected appearance and equally unexpected departure.

In the imperial calculus of power, Jolthar represented both opportunity and threat—an unknown quantity whose allegiance could tip the scales of conflict yet to come. He had himself to be a great asset, for them to have.

Now, he had become a crucial chess piece in their grand game, a tool to be wielded by those who orchestrated wars from the shadows.

The Great Generals—calculating and ruthless—had turned their gaze upon Jolthar.

One of them was Remin, a man known for his sharp mind and unwavering pragmatism. He did not see warriors as men but as assets, pieces to be positioned and sacrificed when necessary. And then there was Iorina—though she had slipped away quietly, she was far from indifferent.

She had given orders for a thorough investigation into Jolthar. A mere soldier rising through the ranks was nothing new, but what intrigued her was the Matriarch Raayaniʼs interest in him. That alone was enough to warrant her attention. If someone as formidable as Raayani found worth in the boy, then perhaps he was more than just another reckless upstart.

Iorina had no patience for unrefined talent—either he was a force worth nurturing or an anomaly to be eliminated. And soon, she would know exactly which.

And somewhere beyond the camp, that very young man walked alone, bearing powers ancient and new, his path diverging from theirs but perhaps destined to cross again in days to come.