The Sinful Young Master-Chapter 216 : One Stands, Three Strike

Myron remained still, his warrior's pride restraining his hand. There was no honour in striking down a man who had fought with such valour against an enemy that would have sent lesser men fleeing in terror.

Jolthar had stood his ground when many veteran knights would have broken ranks.

While Myron pondered his next move, a presence within him grew increasingly agitated.

Inadrys had been watching how Myron was hesitating.

WHY DO YOU HESITATE, SON? The voice of Inadrys resonated within Myron's skull, sending shards of pain through his temples.

THE BOY LIES HELPLESS. STRIKE NOW!

But Myron resisted the compulsion, a feat of will that left him trembling with exertion.

"Stay the fuck outta of my mind!!" Myron cursed under his breath.

Inadrys who had been watching from the clouds, the whole battle, his expression wrinkled. Myron was resisting him, and he didn't like it.

After witnessing Jolthar in battle, Inadrys' suspicions had been confirmed—the young swordsman was indeed wielding a divine power within him. He could feel the primordial rawness of the power Jolthar just unleashed.

Though Jolthar's power was not yet at a level that could threaten a being of Inadrys' stature, it had been devastating enough to impress even the ancient deity. It was only a fraction of that primordial force, yet Jolthar had demonstrated such mastery, such an innate connection to the beings that even Inadrys had momentarily fallen silent in contemplation during the height of the battle.

Indarys felt like he wanted to go down to the midlands and make him spill the answers he wanted, but he couldn't do it. He felt something while watching Jolthar, a presence, like a shadow over him.

Someone is watching over that boy. Inadrys realized, his eyes scanning Jolthar.

Inadrys, growing increasingly frustrated, poked at Myron's psyche, urging him to action.

But Myron wasn't moving.

Myron watched the injured Jolthar; for some reason, he thought that Jolthar still had a fight left in him. If Myron had fought him, it wouldn't be easy. And moreover, there was Wymar and Jolthar's drake.

His decades of battlefield instinct screamed warning, and he had not survived this long by ignoring such feelings.

-

Meanwhile, across the battlefield in their concealed position, Yilar the Nynthrall and Dagur exchanged glances of mingled shock and fascination.

The display of power by the young swordsman had startled them both, though for different reasons.

Dagur's gaze locked onto the young Jolthar, and he was convinced that Jolthar would become a nuisance if they left him alive. He had seen him fight twice now, and he was sure that if Jolthar was left alive, then he would certainly become a nuisance to their plans.

Sensing his thoughts, "Patience," Yilar cautioned. His violet eyes, unnaturally bright against his features, narrowed in calculation.

The Nynthrall was being cautious. Unknowniest to Dagur or the other two on the field, he was acutely aware that Inadrys was observing this battle from the heavens.

The presence of such a powerful being—a major deity by most reckonings—complicated matters significantly.

Yilar didn't know why the deity king had taken an interest in this particular skirmish, but he couldn't risk revealing himself before such a power.

Not yet.

Not when their grand design was still in its fragile early stages.

"The creature performed beyond expectations," Yilar whispered, his voice barely audible even to Dagur, who stood beside him. "That is knowledge enough for today."

Dagur narrowed his eyes as he turned towards Yilar.

"It is your creation and has nothing to do with me. Don't include me with your cynical creations," Dagur said. He had decided to take care of them, both Jolthar and Wymar.

They had proved themselves to be formidable and needed to be rooted out.

Yilar warned him again, "Dagur, don't be reckless. Just bring out your army, and we will move towards the county immediately."

"Since when do you think you can order me around, you fucking wretch!" Dagur said in a low tone, but his voice had enough menace to make Yilar shiver.

Yilar threw his hands up in the air and replied quickly, "No!! No, not at all. I was merely suggesting. The empire forces had started moving towards the county. They wouldn't let us attack the county. And you know why."

Dagur fell silent, upon hearing about the county. Their lord had ordered him to take over the county as soon as possible.

Dagur stepped forward.

"Where are you going?" Yilar was starting to get anxious. Because Dagur was moving towards the battlefield where Jolthar and Wymar were present.

"Where else? To send them to their graves." Dagur said nonchalantly.

He didn't want to take risks, especially about the boy. He had seen Jolthar, and his way of fighting was unique and quite domineering.

-

The abomination's footsteps faded into the distance, leaving an eerie silence broken only by the laboured breathing of the two fallen men.

Jolthar pressed a hand to his chest, grimacing as he felt the warm wetness of blood seeping through his shredded armour.

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Beside him, Wymar lay semi-conscious, the normally vibrant runes etched into his skin now dull and lifeless—a clear sign that his vast magical reserves had been completely depleted.

The drake was nudging Jolthar while he was taking a breather.

"I'm all right, don't worry about me," Jolthar patted her neck.

He looked at Wymar; he was not in a state to move. He didn't even know if he was alive, as Wymar wasn't moving.

As he moved towards Wymar to check on him, he turned around and looked around in haste. He could feel a presence coming towards them.

And then he saw a movement in the direction of the forest.

A figure stepped from the shadows at the edge of the battlefield—tall and bulky, clad in the armour of midnight blue that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the fading nightlight.

A cloak of deep crimson billowed behind him, stirred by an unnatural wind that followed him like a faithful hound. There was no mistaking the malevolence that radiated from him.