The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 294

Chapter 294: Powerhouses of the empire

In the Naemarys camp, beneath banners that snapped in the acrid wind, two figures sat before their family’s command tent. The elder was Daerius Naemarys, heir to the Naemarys patriarchy and a man whose ambition was matched only by his ruthlessness. At twenty-eight, he possessed the classical good looks of his bloodline—sharp features, golden hair, and eyes the colour of winter ice. His sister, Lyralei, was two years younger but arguably more dangerous. Where Daerius was direct in his hatred, she was subtle, her beauty masking a mind that calculated advantage in every conversation.

These two clans were the only ones who had entered the dreadlands, and other clans and armies of the empire were still at the borders.

Even the Great General Remin was stationed at the border. He had let the two clans take the lead and observed from the sidelines for now.

There was one more army which was on equal footing with the two clans.

The Blue Rose Seragilo, Matriarch Raayani herself, had come as she was requested to help with the war. The prince, Veydrin, brother of the emperor, had tagged along with her. He was one of her harem members.

“The situation grows more favourable by the day,” Lyralei was saying, her voice pitched low enough that only her brother could hear. “Father’s absence provides us with opportunities we might not otherwise have.”

Daerius nodded, his gaze fixed on the Kaezhlar banners across the camp. “The old man trusts us to handle affairs here while he deals with the Council back home. That trust will be his undoing.”

“And Jolthar’s continued absence makes our task simpler,” Lyralei added, a cruel smile playing at her lips. “Hard to protect someone who isn’t here to be protected.”

“Two months,” Daerius mused. “Long enough for anything to have happened to him. Bandits, wild beasts, chaos storms in the eastern wastes—so many possibilities.”

Lyralei’s smile widened. “Or perhaps he’s already dead, and we simply haven’t received word yet. It would be… convenient.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of one of their knights—Sir Gavrin, a man whose loyalty to House Naemarys was absolute and whose methods were less than honorable. His scarred face bore testimony to years of battles, both official and clandestine.

“My lord, my lady,” he said, offering a perfunctory bow. “I bring word from our agents in the field.”

“Speak,” Daerius commanded.

“The Kaezhlar boy remains missing. Our people have traced his movements to the eastern borderlands, but there the trail ends. However…” Gavrin paused, clearly savouring the moment. “We’ve received reports of strange magical phenomena in that region. Chaos energies unlike anything seen in recorded history.”

Lyralei’s eyes lit up with interest. “Chaos magic? How fascinating. And you believe this is connected to Jolthar?”

“It’s possible,” Gavrin replied. “The timing suggests a connection. If the boy has been experimenting with forbidden magics…”

“Then he’s already doomed himself,” Daerius finished. “Chaos magic consumes its practitioners. We may not need to act at all.”

“But we should be prepared to act if necessary,” Lyralei added. “If he returns, weakened by his experiments, it would be the perfect opportunity to eliminate him permanently.”

Gavrin nodded. “I’ve already positioned assets along the likely return routes. If he appears, we’ll know immediately.”

Daerius stood, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “Good. The blood debt between our houses has gone unanswered for too long. Jolthar’s uncle may have escaped justice, but the nephew will not.

“There’s something else,” Gavrin said, his voice dropping even lower. “The nyphorite attacks have been decreasing in frequency over the past week. Our scouts report organized withdrawals from several key positions.”

“Withdrawal?” Lyralei frowned. “That seems… unlike them.”

“Perhaps they’re regrouping for a larger assault,” Daerius suggested.

“Or perhaps,” Gavrin said carefully, “they’re responding to something else. Something that concerns them more than our army.”

The siblings exchanged glances. The implications were troubling—if the nyphorites were withdrawing due to some external threat, what could that threat be? And more importantly, how could they turn it to their advantage?

“Keep monitoring the situation,” Daerius ordered. “And double our watch on the eastern approaches. If Jolthar returns, I want to know before he even realizes where he is.”

As Gavrin departed to carry out his orders, Lyralei moved closer to her brother. “Do you think he’s truly involved with chaos magic?”

“Does it matter?” Daerius replied coldly. “Whether he’s dead, corrupted, or simply hiding, the result is the same—he’s vulnerable. And when he returns—if he returns—we’ll be ready.”

Across the camp, unaware of the plotting against his grandson, Caelum continued his meal in troubled silence. The war against the nyphorites was far from over, but increasingly, he sensed that greater conflicts were stirring. The disappearance of Jolthar, the reports of chaos magic, the strange behaviour of their enemies—all pointed to larger forces at work.

“Eran,” he said finally, “I want you to send word to our most trusted agents. I need to know what’s happening in the barony.”

“It shall be done, Patriarch,” Eran replied. “But if he’s truly involved with dark magics…”

“Then we’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Caelum said firmly. “He’s family, Eran. Whatever mistakes he may have made, whatever powers he may have meddled with, he’s still a Kaezhlar. We protect our own.”

As the sun set over the Dreadlands, casting long shadows across the field of corpses, both camps settled into their evening routines. But beneath the surface calm, currents of ambition, loyalty, and ancient hatred continued to flow.

The war against the nyphorites had brought temporary unity to the Empire’s forces, but that unity was fragile, and some were already planning for the conflicts that would follow.

In the growing darkness, the banners of both houses fluttered in the wind, their colors muted by the eternal gloom of the Dreadlands. Tomorrow would bring new battles, new decisions, and perhaps new revelations about the missing heir whose fate had become entangled with forces beyond mortal comprehension.

The game of houses continued, even in the shadow of the abyss.