Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 230: Mysterious Adviser.

Chapter 230: Mysterious Adviser.

Theodore Mansion.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

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The morning sun cast long shadows across the training grounds of Theodore’s mansion as Hound and the three newly hired guards prepared for the day. Each man moved with a sense of purpose and quiet determination, fully aware of the weight of the responsibility that had fallen upon them. With both Conan and Theodore absent, the burden of protecting the mansion rested squarely on their shoulders.

With swift and efficient movements Hound checked and rechecked his weapons. His blacklined eyes, a mark of his past battles, were sharp and vigilant. He donned his armor with practiced ease, each piece fitting snugly into place. The weight of the metal was a familiar comfort, a reminder of countless battles fought and won. He strapped his sword to his side, the blade gleaming in the morning light, and secured a dagger in his boot for good measure.

Nearby, the three newly hired guards were similarly engaged in their preparations. Each man had his own routine, honed by years of training and experience. One, a burly fellow with a scar across his cheek, meticulously inspected his crossbow, ensuring the string was taut and the bolts were sharp. Another, lean and wiry, tested the balance of his twin blades, their edges honed to a deadly sharpness. The third, a tall and stoic man, adjusted his armor and hefted a heavy mace, its head studded with iron spikes.

Despite their individual routines, a sense of camaraderie permeated the air. They were united by a common purpose: to defend the mansion and its inhabitants at all costs.

Hound, as the most experienced among them, took a moment to address the group.

"Remember," he said, his voice low and steady, "we are the first line of defense. We stand between whatever comes and those we are sworn to protect. Stay vigilant, stay sharp, and trust in each other."

He had a feeling something was coming and they needed to be ready.

The men nodded, their expressions grim but resolute. They had been chosen for their skills and their loyalty, and they would not falter in their duty.

As they finished donning their armor and arming themselves, they gathered in a small circle for a moment of silent prayer. Each man bowed his head, offering a silent plea for strength, for courage, and for the safety of those they protected. The weight of their duty was heavy, but their resolve was unbreakable.

The mansion was unusually quiet, the usual bustle subdued by the tension of anticipation. Inside, the twins, Gabriel and Tom, were making their own preparations. Though somehow still recovering from their previous injuries, they moved with a determined energy, refusing to let their scars slow them down.

Blanc, ever the strategist, was coordinating with the ladies, ensuring that every possible precaution was taken.

Lydia, along with the other women of the mansion, moved about with a quiet fear and restlessness, their faces a mix of worry and determination. They all felt the wrongness of the wind and were weirdly alert.

They knew the stakes, and they would not be idle bystanders.

As Hound and the guards completed their preparations, a sense of readiness settled over them. They were as prepared as they could be for whatever attack might come. The mansion stood tall and imposing, a fortress against the impending threat, and within its walls, every soul was united in purpose.

The day ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they would fight with everything they had to protect the mansion and those they held dear. As Hound led the guards to their positions, a steely determination in his gaze, he knew that whatever came, they would face it together.

Meanwhile, the lady of the house was getting restless as her husband was still away, she felt a soft ache persistent in her chest and she couldn’t sit still look pretty, so she left the mansion in search of Hound, the man was sitting in a crisp white attire frowing at the lake with a book in his hand she didn’t what was happening but he looked lost in thought.

"Where is Theodore?" Lydia asked him directly without pleasantries while he kept his gaze trained on the lake unblinking, the only difference on him was his clenched teeth and Lydia became even desperate.

She swiped her tongue across her lips, "Hound, where is my husband?"

He nodded, his palm wiping his face, "Uhh lady Theo-" his reply got cut off.

There was suddenly a loud explosion from an area in the mansion and Hound was suddenly on his feet, he left Lydia standing with a confused frown, she sighed and went back inside.

Hound headed towards the area and found that it was Red who had transformed in the wrong place causing a small commotion and of course Dorothy was already running there too to clean it up.

"I am so sorry, He ran away from his bathe"

He barely nodded, he barely wondered about it and turned around, he was too mentally exhausted for anything but what is already weighing his hear.

He walked into the space where he shut the door behind him.

The place was dusty and uninviting, so he got to little cleaning and soon he was pulling out an exquisite matte black box adorned with intricate gold filigree, it symbolized elegance and strength.

He took it to a corner and sighed, Upon opening, rich velvet lining cradles the gleaming sword, its hilt wrapped in supple leather. A personalized nameplate adds a touch of sophistication, making this packaging a stunning presentation for a truly extraordinary gift.

The king’s sword.

Hound knew he needed to reader Theodore for something, it was an impending doom that he could feel.

*

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*

Ride.

Critic-Ishire

************

Theodore rode with a sense of urgency, his steed galloping at full speed through the sparse fields and many locations that lay between him and the citadel. The wind whipped past his face, carrying with it a sense of foreboding that he couldn’t shake.

His mother is here.

The former Queen is back.

His thoughts were a tumultuous mix of concern for his mother, who had suddenly resurfaced after years of absence, and the lingering image of Lydia, his beloved wife, whom he had left behind.

He was close, he would soon get answers. He didn’t even know if he was angry or sad but he was expectant, he only didn’t know what it is he is expecting, so he rofe through bridges and woods to reach the place the letter had written she was.

The open field stretched out before him, a vast expanse of golden grasses swaying gently in the breeze. It was then that a sudden gust of wind, colder than the rest, swept over him, causing his horse to rear up in alarm. Before Theodore could regain control, a figure appeared out of nowhere, blocking his path.

He narrowed his eyes. A witch.

She was a powerful-looking witch, her presence commanding and her eyes glinting with a sinister intelligence. She wore a flowing, dark cloak that billowed around her, and her hands crackled with arcane energy. Theodore’s hand instinctively went to his sword, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the threat.

"You should turn back, Theodore," the witch said, her voice carrying an eerie calm. "The invitation to the castle was nothing but a distraction." she told him not bothering with introduction.

Theodore drew his sword, its blade gleaming in the light. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he demanded, his voice steady but laced with suspicion.

It couldn’t be a distraction, who else knew he was looking for his mother?

The witch smiled, a cold, knowing smile. "I am here to warn you. Lydia’s father is heading to your mansion as we speak, with the intention of taking your wife by force. You must go back and fight." she prompted, her eyes sure.

Her words struck Theodore like a blow. He felt a surge of anger and fear, but he did not lower his sword. "Why should I trust you?" he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

Lydia.

In response, the witch raised her hands, summoning a blast of energy that shot towards Theodore. He deflected it with his sword, the clash of magic and steel sending sparks flying. The two exchanged a series of quick, fierce blows, Theodore’s skill with the blade matching the witch’s magical prowess. But as the fight continued, Theodore’s mind raced with worry for Lydia.

Realizing that time was of the essence, Theodore decided to take a leap of faith. He parried the witch’s next attack and then, with a swift motion, sheathed his sword. "If you are telling the truth, then I have no time to waste," he said, mounting his horse once more.

The witch lowered her hands, her smirk returning. "Hurry, then. Your wife needs you."

With a sense of dread settling in his chest, Theodore turned his horse around and urged it into a gallop, heading back towards the mansion. The fields blurred around him as he rode with renewed vigor, his heart pounding with every beat. The thought of Lydia in danger filled him with a horrible guilt.

How could he have been so easily lured away by a letter about his estranged mother? The realization that he had left Lydia vulnerable tore at him, driving him to push his horse harder.

As he rode, the witch watched him go, her smile fading into a smirk. "Good luck, Theodore," she murmured ominously, her form dissolving into the shadows as she disappeared from the field.

Theodore’s mind was a whirl of emotions, anger, guilt, fear, all swirling together as he sped towards his home. He prayed he wasn’t too late, that Lydia would be safe, and that he could right the wrong he had unknowingly committed. The mansion came into view, and with it, the hope that he could still make it in time to protect the woman he loved more than anything else in the world.

He couldn’t lose Gooseberry again. He would go mad if he does.

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