Scene 9:

The sun in the sky was not too bright, but it shone enough to give warmth in the late morning. Tharald got into the carriage and headed toward the inn. He had written to that anonymous person, asking to meet him at the Sunshore Inn. When he arrived, another carriage was already there. He immediately knew that the anonymous person had arrived. He went inside the inn.

As Tharald entered, a fat man with a moustache was standing at the front desk, where people booked their rooms and collected their keys. He was bald and the owner of the inn. Upon seeing the lord, he immediately composed himself in Tharald’s presence.

“Greetings, my lord,” the owner said, bowing deeply.

Tharald leaned in slightly and whispered, “Did someone arrange a meeting with me?”

“Yes, my lord,” the owner replied, slightly staggering as he reached for the register. He pointed to the guest list.

Tharald noted the room number and headed silently toward it. The patrons in the inn, who had been chatting moments ago, fell silent as he passed through.

As Tharald approached, the sound of his shoes clicking against the wooden floor echoed louder. His pace was careful, yet dominant.

Finally, he reached the room and entered. The young man inside greeted him, “Greetings, my lord.” He appeared composed.

Based on his robes, anyone might mistake him for a businessman. But if someone looked closely at his mannerisms, they would say he was a noble.

“You are calling me ‘lord’ when you are clearly higher in status than me, Franklin Rushv,” said Tharald incisively.

“But you will always be my lord, even if I hold a higher status than you. In front of your kindness, I am nothing, my lord,” Franklin replied with calm sincerity.

“Ayy, sit down, child. We have a lot of things to discuss,” Tharald said, his face clouded with worry.

Seeing his expression, Franklin asked,

“My lord, did something happen? You look worried.”

They sat down and talked for a long time. Tharald spoke of his son Elric’s wicked and dirty schemes—how Marlena was trying to belittle Serelith so that her own daughter could take her place. Everything, every word, he spilled.

He let out a weary sigh.

“I don’t have much time now.”

"Pardon?" He was amazed upon hearing Tharald’s final words.

"You must have heard about the assassination incident. Elric was behind it," he said, letting out a sigh.

Franklin was shocked—his blood boiled with anger.

"So… you mean you could die at any moment?" Franklin's voice was low, filled with seriousness and sorrow.

"Yes." That one word said everything. He wouldn’t live long.

"Marquis, you once said that you would be my help."

"I will do whatever it takes to protect you, my lor—" Franklin Rushv was determined, but Tharald cut him off.

"Not me, Marquis… but my Serelith," Tharald said, giving his last sigh.

He was surprised — Tharald was more worried about his granddaughter than his own safety.

"But my lord..."

"Marquis Rushv, I am old now, and my time has come. But my Serelith is young — she must be safe, and live happily. After all, she is also your niece."

"My lord, she is my niece, and I do worry about her — but you should als—"

"Marquis, do you think you can protect both of us? Do you think my son will stop?"

"Are you trying to say that I should adopt her and take care of her as a foster daughter?" Franklin asked, feeling defeated.

Tharald replied with worry, "That won't help, but instead create more problems in the future. Elric sees her as an asset for marriage. He never saw her as a daughter. He will try any means to get her back. It won't be easy."

"But my lord—"

"I saved your sister’s life, so you will save my granddaughter’s life." Tharald’s tone was firm. "Come to think of it, I heard she is a knight instructor in the Order of Knights."

"Yes, my lord."

"Good grief. Serelith is highly interested in weapons," Tharald said with a light laugh. "It will be better for her," he added, a hint of melancholy in his tone. "At least she can protect herself. Make sure Serelith becomes Dame Elise’s student."

"I will speak to Elise about her."

"Very well," Tharald replied with a faint smile.

"By the way, how are your wife and two sons doing?"

"They are doing well, my lord."

"Good grief..." Tharald paused for a few seconds, then continued, "Raha left Lysanne a handkerchief." Lysanne was the sister of Raha Veylor and Franklin's wife. Raha Veylor was the mother of Serelith.

He handed him a handkerchief with beautiful embroidery.

"She told me, before leaving, to pass this to her."

"I will, my lord."

Tharald stepped out of the inn, and Franklin stood nearby, seeing him off with a solemn gaze.

Elric was restless. The assassination attempt had failed. He pressed his temples.

"This should not have happened," Elric clicked his tongue.

"He should have been dead. Then things would have been easier."

The butler replied, "Your Grace, Lord Tharald left this morning in a carriage."

"Where he goes, that's none of my business," Elric said, full of frustration.

"Wait... he went in the carriage, right?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the butler replied in a steady tone.

Elric's frustration turned into a sinister smile.

"Not this time..." he mumbled under his breath.

“Summon the Khilvish mercenary.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler replied with a steady nod.

A few hours later, a group of young but dangerous-looking men entered Elric’s study room. Their presence radiated sharp confidence and intent.

Elric didn’t waste time. He passed a bag of gold coins to the butler, who tossed it toward the group.

“Take care of him. Make sure it looks natural. No one should suspect a thing.”

“No worries, my lord,” said a muscular man with a scar tracing his cheek. “We’ll handle it quickly and report back to you.”

As they left, Elric leaned back in his chair, finally allowing himself a moment of calm. He began planning his next steps — every move calculated, every possible outcome weighed in his mind.