Chapter 42: Quite Capable, Aren't You

On her temple, Onnie gently pressed her fingers, a faint, dreamy smile playing on her lips as her maid supported her back to her chambers.

She found herself beginning to savor this slight intoxication—a delicate veil that softened the burdens of her heart, bestowing upon her a rare lightness and joy.

Having endured the torment of her previous ordeal, she now only tasted a few sips of malt wine, mainly to enliven the atmosphere rather than from any true desire to drink.

No sooner had she returned to her room than members of the Huskarz Left Squadron arrived in quick succession.

“Hold your position!” a sharp command rang out.

“Is Lady Onnie present? We have a matter to report!” Jorgen led the riders of the Left Squadron, escorting the battered and bruised Ralph, standing outside the lordly hall.

Since they belonged to the same unit number, the Right Squadron soldiers initially saw no reason to stop them.

However, when the Right Squadron noticed several carrying a corpse and Ralph in custody, they suspected a grave incident.

For safety’s sake, they decided to block their passage.

“Wait here!” the deputy officer of the Right Squadron ordered his men. “Report to the lady and summon Lord Robert to handle this!”

No sooner had he spoken than his subordinates hurried away. The deputy officer fixed his gaze on Ralph, attempting to glean more information from Jorgen.

Fuming, Jorgen recounted the entire sequence of events in detail.

Upon hearing the account, the Right Squadron soldiers began to regard Ralph with contempt.

“Coward!”

“Pah!”

Some of the Right Squadron soldiers, not born of war orphans, spat disdainfully at Ralph, but fell silent when the dominant war orphans shot them a warning glare.

The deputy officer crouched before Ralph, his eyes revealing concern and confusion for his old friend. “Is this true?” Evidently, their acquaintance ran deep.

Ralph did not deny it; instead, he smiled wryly and nodded in confirmation. “It’s true.”

The deputy officer pressed his palm firmly on Ralph’s head, voice low and urgent: “This isn’t you. There must be more to this. Listen, you have to tell me what happened! Only then can we save you!”

But Ralph snarled back, “I don’t need saving. This is the truth. The truth is I’ve gone mad! Everything is my own choice!”

Seeing this, Jorgen angrily confronted the Right Squadron deputy officer. “Are you trying to shield this coward?”

The deputy officer’s disappointment in Ralph’s silence was palpable. He released Ralph and stood up.

Then, feigning a turn, he struck Jorgen’s face with a clenched left fist, sending him staggering backward.

This act immediately sparked a standoff between the two squads, the tension escalating to its zenith.

“What’s going on?” Robert’s voice thundered as he swiftly appeared on the scene, instantly chastising the soldiers.

His arrival diffused the tension. The soldiers lowered their weapons.

“He hit me first!” Jorgen pointed accusingly at Robert’s deputy, clutching his cheek, eyes blazing with fury and murderous intent.

Robert stepped forward, scrutinizing Jorgen’s cheek to see the clear imprint of a fist.

The deputy officer attempted an explanation, but Robert slapped him sharply, turning his head to the side.

“Do you know where you went wrong?” Robert’s glare was stern. “Your arrogance grows. You’re destroying the unity of the team!”

The Right Squadron deputy bowed his head, unwilling to retort, silently bearing Robert’s rebuke.

Jorgen watched with satisfaction at the deputy officer’s discomfiture, preparing to taunt him further, but Robert’s fierce glare silenced him instantly.

It was a look full of authority and wrath; combined with Robert’s robust and imposing frame, it seemed as though he could devour Jorgen whole.

That single look made Jorgen immediately withdraw his mockery, no longer daring to speak. Wolves may fear no enemy, but they dread the alpha.

“As deputy officer, you are guilty of unlawfully detaining a superior officer. Strip him of his weapons and armor!”

At Robert’s command, Right Squadron soldiers moved swiftly to seize Jorgen, subduing him promptly.

In an instant, the Left Squadron was left without its commander and deputy, suppressed into silence by the Right Squadron. The scene fell into quiet.

Jorgen struggled against his captors, urgently defending himself: “My lord, he attacked his own men, killed over a hundred warriors, and caused my brothers’ deaths. I restrained him to prevent chaos!”

Yet the Right Squadron deputy accused, “Nonsense! How could Ralph harm his own men, let alone kill over a hundred warriors and two lords? Do you really think anyone would believe your lies?”

The war orphans, bound by shared fate, naturally would not support Jorgen’s claims. They stood forth to accuse him of twisting the facts.

Jorgen’s frantic words revealed countless flaws, while the Left Squadron war orphans chose silence, refusing to testify.

Only a handful of reckless non-war-orphan youths backed Jorgen, willing to serve as witnesses.

Robert cast a discreet glance at Ralph, his face troubled.

From Jorgen’s accusations and previous conversations with Ralph, Robert had come to a rough understanding of the matter’s origins.

What left him speechless was that without his aid, Ralph had neither faltered nor shrunk back but had indeed accomplished this great deed in one fell swoop.

Reflecting on this, Robert felt a profound admiration for Ralph.

Even a hundred pigs would not be so easily wiped out; Ralph’s courage, resolve, and command abilities left him stunned.

As Robert pondered, a messenger hurried out from the Yar Hall, whispering a few words into the Right Squadron deputy’s ear. “My lord, the lady said she’s drunk and unconscious. She left it to you to handle!”

The deputy looked at the messenger with a puzzled expression but felt a warmth inside. He knew Lady Onnie was truly one of them, forever on their side.

After hearing this, the deputy nodded and loudly reported to Robert, “My lord, the lady is drunk. We will detain Lord Ralph for now and deal with the matter once she awakens!”

Robert turned to the deputy, his face marked with doubt, but said nothing, merely nodding in agreement.

Ralph was escorted away, Jorgen locked in a small dark cell, while Robert headed toward Onnie’s room.

“She’s not here!” the maid answered.

“Where did she go?” Robert inquired of the fellow war orphan maids.

“She took medicine and went to the dungeons. You might find her there!”

Robert immediately turned and briskly made his way toward the dungeon to investigate.

The dungeon was not far from the lordly hall. He passed through corridors and entered the cold, damp dungeon. Upon entering, the hungry pleas of prisoners reached his ears.

“Hungry, my lord; please give us something to eat!”

Robert frowned, unmoved by their voices. He coldly commanded, “Silence!” Pointing at the prisoners with resolute authority.

“Yes, my lord!” The guards acted promptly. “You worthless scum think you deserve food?”

Those imprisoned here had mostly committed serious crimes but were not sentenced to death. Their families paid for their food to keep them alive.

After a few lashes, the prisoners fell silent; here, the concept of human rights was nonexistent.

Robert pressed on, searching for Ralph’s location.

“My lady?” Robert called respectfully upon seeing a figure crouched before Ralph. It was Onnie, engrossed in her task, not immediately responding.

She wore a hooded cloak, and her aura of nobility grew ever stronger; even sitting quietly, she commanded attention.

Onnie’s fingers were stained with bruising ointment as she carefully applied it to Ralph’s swollen face, silent and weary. The pleasant effects of the alcohol had vanished.

She knew that if she released him, the legal authority within the realm would collapse, and all subjects would lose faith in the law, leading to severe consequences.

She pondered deeply.

Yet if she did not free him, she would lose all her trusted allies—her so-called confidants, who formed the privileged class. Privilege inevitably came with prerogatives, presenting her with a dilemma.

Seeing Ralph lost in thought during the ointment’s application, she pressed firmly on the bruises of his face.

“Ah!” Ralph cried out in pain, reaching out as if to shield his face but too hurt to touch it, his hand hovering before him.

Onnie smashed the medicine bottle against him. Rising, she turned to leave.

Robert followed closely, hesitating to speak.

Neither closed the prison door behind them, seemingly forgetting. The jailers exchanged glances but appeared not to notice the open cell, turning a blind eye.