A Royal Obligation
Chapter 255: The Fugitive’s Plight (3)

Chapter 255: The Fugitive’s Plight (3)

Drystan stepped forward, each movement deliberate, his gaze locked on Carl with unrelenting hatred. "I knew you’d come here," he said coldly, his voice sharp as a blade. "The map Sadiki left pointed straight to this pit."

Carl’s lips twitched, curling in frustration as his jaw tightened. Beside him, Amelia stiffened. Her heart pounded like a war drum, her wide eyes darting nervously between the two men. Sadiki again? The name rattled in her head, begging for answers she didn’t have. But there was no time to piece the puzzle together. The air between the two men was heavy, charged with the promise of violence.

"Impressive," Carl said at last, his voice dripping with forced sarcasm as he forced his shoulders to relax. "I underestimated you, Drystan. I didn’t think you had it in you to think this far ahead."

Drystan didn’t flinch at the jab, his composure chillingly steady. His grip on his sword tightened, the leather beneath his palm creaking faintly. "I don’t care what you think of me," he replied, his tone cutting through the tension like a razor. "Your stupid game ends here, Carl."

Carl scoffed, but Amelia caught the telltale tension in his posture, the subtle way his fingers twitched and his gaze darted to his surroundings. He was trapped, and he knew it.

Carl’s mask of arrogance twisted into something darker. "You think you’re so righteous, don’t you, Drystan? Always the loyal dog, always chasing after someone else’s leash." His sneer deepened. "But loyalty is such a fragile thing, isn’t it? Easily broken, just like..."

"Shut your mouth," Drystan snapped, his voice cold and laced with a venom that silenced even the rustling of the trees. His lip curled in disgust, every muscle in his body coiled tight with restraint. The rage burning in his chest begged for release, begged him to cut Carl down where he stood.

But before he could respond, his sharp gaze shifted, and his entire body stilled.

The woman.

It was the frail woman Carl had been dragging behind him. Drystan hadn’t noticed her at first, his fury had blinded him, his focus consumed entirely by Carl. But now, as she crumpled at Carl’s feet, barely able to hold herself upright, his world seemed to tilt.

Her body was skeletal, her skin stretched thin over her bones like parchment. Her bony wrists bore the raw, angry marks of chains, and her head hung low, a tangled curtain of lifeless hair concealing her face. Whatever strength she might have once had was gone. She was a ghost of a person, a shadow of something that once stood tall.

Drystan froze. The blood drained from his face, and his sword hand trembled before it dropped slightly. His breathing grew uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, quick bursts as the realization hit him like a hammer to the ribs.

Carl noticed the shift immediately. His sharp, cruel gaze followed Drystan’s line of sight, and a slow, vicious grin spread across his face.

"Oh," Carl said mockingly, his tone gleeful and venomous. He gave the woman a light shove with his boot, causing her to groan softly and slump further onto the ground. "Surprised?" he taunted, his words dripping with malice.

Drystan’s voice, usually so commanding and steady, broke the silence, hoarse and trembling. "Is that...?" He couldn’t finish the sentence.

The woman stirred faintly at the sound of his voice. Her lips parted, as if to respond, but no words came, only a faint, labored breath.

Carl’s chuckle echoed through the clearing, dark and triumphant. He yanked Amelia closer, his fingers biting into her arm as he tilted his head toward Drystan. "You recognize her, don’t you?" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. His grin widened as he leaned in, his words meant to cut. "That’s your boyfriend’s mother, isn’t it?"

Carl’s laughter burst out, wild and maniacal, the sound sharp enough to grate against the nerves of everyone in the clearing.

Drystan’s knees nearly buckled as the truth settled over him, each piece falling into place with excruciating clarity. His voice cracked as he tried again, this time barely above a whisper. "Is this... her?" He still couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Carl’s cruel smile stretched wider, his hand tightening on the chain looped around the woman’s frail form. "I thought it fitting to bring her along," he said, his voice as cold as the grave. He gave the chain a cruel tug, making the woman jerk forward, her frail body barely able to follow. "She’ll make a perfect meal for the wild animals."

Drystan’s sword trembled in his grip, his knuckles white as he fought to contain the inferno raging inside him. Behind him, the soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsettled by his uncharacteristic hesitation.

Amelia, still caught in Carl’s harsh grip, could barely process what was happening. Her gaze darted to the frail woman, to Drystan’s frozen form, and then back to Carl. Who is this woman? Is she really Sadiki’s mother? The question swirled in her mind, unanswered and maddening.

Drystan took a step forward, his voice low and shaking with barely contained rage. "What have you done to her?"

Carl’s bark of laughter was sharp and grating. "What have I done? Oh, Drystan, you’re asking the wrong question. This..." he gestured mockingly to the woman crumpled at his feet, "....is nothing compared to what’s coming for your precious boyfriend." He yanked the chain again, and the woman groaned weakly, her body swaying as though she might collapse completely. "But don’t worry. You won’t have to wait long to see him join her in the underworld."

The words hit Drystan like a physical blow. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as his hands curled into fists. "You’re a monster," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Carl’s gaze sharpened, his sneer fading into something colder, more sinister. "I’m a survivor," he said simply, his words carrying the weight of his cruelty.

Drystan’s next step forward was sharp and deliberate, each movement radiating fury. The soldiers behind him moved in unison, closing the circle tighter around Carl.

"Let her go," Drystan ordered, his voice like the edge of a knife.

Carl’s grin returned, sharper than ever. He yanked the chain again, dragging the frail woman closer as he pulled Amelia tighter against him. "Careful, Drystan," he sneered, his voice mocking. "Make one wrong move, and your little rescue mission will end badly for all of us."

Amelia struggled, her voice breaking with desperation. "Your Highness, stop this! There’s no need for..."

"Shut up," Carl snapped, his fingers digging painfully into her arm.

Drystan’s patience snapped like a taut wire. His expression darkened further, his fury no longer contained. "You think hiding behind two helpless women will save you?" he asked, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage.

Carl’s grin twisted into something more wicked. "It’s not about saving myself, Drystan," he said, his voice low and venomous. "It’s about making you suffer."

The clearing held its breath. The tension coiled tighter, soldiers shifting uneasily as the standoff stretched into agonizing silence.

Then, with a speed that defied comprehension, Drystan moved. His sword flashed like lightning, cutting through the air with lethal precision.

Before Carl could react, Drystan’s blade sliced clean through his wrist, severing the hand that held the chain.

The spray of blood was immediate, splattering across Amelia and the frail woman.

Carl’s scream tore through the forest, his agonized cry scattering the birds from the nearby trees. His scream mixed with Amelia’s as she stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared in horror at the severed hand and the blood pooling at Carl’s feet.

Drystan didn’t so much as flinch. He moved swiftly, catching the frail woman before her body could hit the ground. He cradled her gently, his entire focus on her fragile form, ignoring the chaos behind him.

Carl collapsed to his knees, clutching the bleeding stump of his arm as his screams turned into incoherent curses. Even the soldiers behind Drystan seemed stunned, their eyes wide with disbelief. None of them had expected this level of brutality, not from him.

But Drystan didn’t care. His gaze softened as he looked down at the woman in his arms, his voice low and pained as he whispered, "I’ve got you. You’re safe now."

Drystan’s voice thundered across the clearing, sharp and commanding. "Water! Someone, get me water. Now!"

One of the soldiers snapped into action, rushing to a pack slung over his shoulder. He pulled out a waterskin, the leather dark and worn, and sprinted to Drystan’s side. His hands trembled slightly as he presented it.

Drystan snatched the waterskin, not bothering with a word of thanks. He shifted the frail woman in his arms, angling her so he could tilt the spout toward her lips. "Drink," he said softly, his voice stripped of its usual steel.

The woman’s head lolled weakly, her eyes fluttering open just enough to register the water.

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