The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 312
Capítulo 312: Invading the barony
Jolthar groaned into her mouth, overwhelmed by the heat of the springs and the fire of her touch.
Her massive tits pressed against his chest, squashed and crushed between them.
Jolthar felt heaven with her soft hands on his shaft, her tongue in his mouth and the soft, plushy flesh against his chest; he was in pure erotic bliss.
The sounds of water splashing, the noise of lips smacking and the muffled moans of pleasure filled the air around them.
And with a grunt of pleasure, Jolthar surrendered completely to the sensations coursing through his body, lost in the moment with her.
She pulled back just enough to whisper, “This is my parting gift, young warrior. For now.
There’s more where this came from.”
“If you visit.”
Then, with a wicked grin, she pressed herself closer, her full bosom enveloping him, soft and warm against his chest, a final tease that left him breathless.
With one last lingering kiss, she rose from the water, her silhouette a vision against the glowing forest as she slipped away into the fog, leaving Jolthar alone in the steaming springs, his heart racing and his mind ablaze with her promise.
–
Jolthar stood alone at the end of the path that led beyond the veil.
He wore a long black velvet coat, given to him by Ekatarina. It had a hood behind and a symbol showing the purple flame knitted on its back. He tied his long silver hair into a ponytail.
His pack secured at his back, ready to leave.
He turned at the soft sound of footsteps behind him.
From the mist and trees emerged the Elder and Ekatarina, walking side by side.
The Elder’s stride was slow but deliberate, and Ekatarina’s was as always—strong, fearless, and just a touch impatient.
The Elder was a towering presence, his light ashen skin glistening faintly beneath the delicate glow of woven charms and starlit glyphs that adorned his shoulders and chest. His long white hair flowed like water down his back, and his staff of living wood pulsed gently in his hand.
He came to a stop before Jolthar and placed a firm hand over the boy’s heart.
“Your time among us ends here, Young Jolthar,” the Elder said, voice like ancient stone rolling over deep water.
“But this parting is not final. Our threads are not severed—they twist onwards, meeting again in a future yet to come. That is how the stars have written it.”
Jolthar stood still, head bowed, his throat tight with emotion. He had grown stronger in this forest. Wiser. More himself.
The Elder nodded, releasing him, and stepped back.
Ekatarina, without hesitation, walked straight to Jolthar and—like always—messed up his hair with both hands.
“Tch,” she muttered, though her smile betrayed her warmth. “You’ll be useless without me around.”
Jolthar chuckled softly. “I’ll try not to trip over my own sword.”
She reached into her pouch and pulled out a small silver ring, carved with runes that seemed to shift like wind-blown leaves.
She took his left hand and put the ring on his ring finger. There was the Strodem, the gold coloured storage ring on his middle finger already.
“Keep this ring with you,” she said, her voice lowering.
“What’s this for?”
“You will know in the future.”
Jolthar met her gaze, nodding once.
The silence between them was heavier than any goodbye.
Without another word, he turned and began to walk. The forest seemed to part before him, vines curling away, soft wind guiding his steps. The light caught the edges of his coat as he disappeared into the wild beyond the elven lands.
For a long moment, Ekatarina and Ael’Koryna stood in silence.
And then—soft footsteps behind them.
From the shadow of the great cedar, Vareth emerged.
His arms were crossed, jaw tight, golden eyes fixed on the trail Jolthar had vanished into. He was silent, his usual scowl pulled deeper than ever.
Ekatarina glanced at him sideways.
“You should’ve come,” she said quietly.
Vareth snorted, turning his face slightly away.
“He doesn’t need me there, getting all sentimental.”
Ekatarina’s smile was wry. “He would have liked to see you. He thought highly of you, even if you never said a kind word out loud.”
Vareth’s hand flexed, his fingers tightening slightly.
He didn’t reply.
After a moment, he muttered, “He still holds his sword wrong.”
Ekatarina chuckled.
“He holds it like someone who learned from you.”
Vareth said nothing.
He simply stood there, staring at the place where Jolthar had vanished into the horizon, the wind tugging lightly at his coat, his silence heavy with words he would never say.
***
The cobblestone streets of Tekkora’s main thoroughfare stretched before the Crimsan Band, lined with shops and workshops that spoke of the city’s transformation.
Blacksmiths hammered at their forges, their work visible through open doorways.
Bakers displayed fresh loaves in their windows. Children played between the buildings, their laughter echoing off stone walls.
Gales observed everything with calculating eyes.
The street layout, the positioning of potential cover, the flow of foot traffic—all details that might prove crucial in the coming chaos. His mind catalogued escape routes and strategic positions, the habits of a man who had orchestrated similar operations across the empire.
They passed a fountain where citizens gathered to draw water and exchange gossip. An elderly woman fed pigeons while young mothers watched their children play. The scene radiated contentment and security—emotions that would soon be shattered beyond repair.
“Look at them,” Preeyonka whispered, her voice thick with disdain. “So peaceful. So trusting. They have no idea what approaches.”
“That trust will be their undoing,” Gales replied. “But we maintain the facade until we reach our destination. No one moves until I give the signal.”
The mansion rose before them as they climbed the gently sloping street that led to the city’s heart.
Baroness Cleora had expanded the original structure, adding wings and towers that spoke of both prosperity and practical defense. Gardens surrounded the building, their spring flowers creating a riot of colour against grey stone walls.