21 Malcolm's Battle

With a heavy sigh, Malcolm exited the inn and stepped out onto the streets. However, before he walked away, he couldn't resist casting one last glance back at the lord who had fucked his life twice over in mere moments. First ruining his peaceful meal and then adding him into the list of wanted men without him ever committing anything significant in Seiren, all in a display of power he held over him.

Behind the window, Lord Arwan gestured with his fingers, and the butler beside him, Finnan, leaned in to listen. They exchanged some words, and Finnan's gaze shifted through the window, locking onto Malcolm. A sinister smile tugged at Finnan's lips, causing Malcolm to quickly avert his eyes and flee.

"Damn nobles, could have fed me another meal at least, before sending their hounds to bite my ass." Malcolm muttered under his breath, his frustration clear. He adjusted his hood to further conceal his face and pulled Spike closer before disappearing into the shadowed alleys.

The master and his loyal dog continued to march through the empty lanes, keeping their heads low and avoiding any encounters. Weaving through the buildings, they reached the southern gates within minutes, and yet there was no sign of Finnan or any of his men behind them. It seemed as though lady luck was favoring them, at least for the moment.

"Let's keep this up, and we'll be out in no time." Malcolm shared a look with his pet companion as he removed his hood and joined the line to exit the city. Guards were posted at the gates, inspecting each person leaving for the port, but as long as they remained unnoticed, it shouldn't pose a problem.

As Malcolm moved with the line, he remained vigilant, scanning the crowd for anyone who might be keeping an eye on him. After all, the Lord had publicly doubled the bounty on his head, and it wouldn't take long for the news to spread. However, it appeared that no one was paying him any particular attention; they were all engrossed in their own lives. A sigh of relief washed over him, and once his number came, he finally faced the guard, who appeared rather annoyed for some reason.

The guard scratched his head and handed Malcolm a black rock that shimmered in the dim light. Clutching the rock, Malcolm stared at the guard, waiting for further questioning. And the guard stared back, as if expecting answers without even asking the questions first.

Their silence lingered for a moment until the short man broke it with a sigh. "That has the bones of Saint Agnes of Avondale. You lie here, you go straight to hell. So, don't lie, okay?"

"Yes, Sir," Malcolm nodded in agreement, well aware of the fact that this dying mana stone carried no such properties as described by the guard. Such a lie might work on simpletons, but not on someone like Malcolm.

"Name?" The guard began questioning, scribbling on a stack of paper he held.

Malcolm thought quickly. "Maldew Fredon."

The guard nodded and continued, "Okay. Why and where are you leaving at this hour?"

Malcolm replied confidently, "I am a merchant, Sir. I have a boat to catch at the port." His years of experience in evading authority came to his aid at that moment.

"You don't look like a merchant to me," the guard remarked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. He then chuckled at his own comment. "But well, it's never too late to change professions."

Malcolm forced an awkward laugh. "Yeah."

"But why now?" The guard's tone grew stern again. "No boat leaves the shore at this hour."

"It will be at dawn. I have to inspect the goods being loaded and discuss our course through the night."

"Oh. Where are you headed?"

"Alcántara!" Malcolm named the neighboring empire.

"… You are going to Alcántara by sea?" The short man clicked his tongue. "It's just beyond that lonely mountain. You can get there by land in two days, safely. Why take the long way across the dangerous sea?"

"…We have very large goods," Malcolm replied, maintaining his smile. "By sea is the only way we can transport them."

The guard pressed, "What are you transporting? Elephants?" His jest irritated Malcolm, making it clear that this man was intent on delaying him with nonsense queries. "Anyway, give me your guild card?"

"Guild card?" Malcolm feigned ignorance.

"You are a merchant, affiliated with some merchant guild," the guard clarified. "Give me the card. I have to record your departure to avoid liars selling nonsense in your name."

"Ah, yes," Malcolm said, reaching for his pocket. His smile faded as he realized that he had no choice but to resort to his last option. He grabbed the last few coins he had left for emergencies, ready to appeal to the insatiable greed of men.

However, before he could do that, an oppressive gaze bore into the back of his neck. He immediately turned to single out the source, and quickly spotted the young butler in the distance. The butler's unsettling gaze was fixed on him, and their eyes locked. To his surprise, the butler waved at him first and then ran a thumb across his neck, unmistakably signaling his dangerous intentions. Malcolm gulped hard, feeling a lump form in his throat.

"Oi!" the shortie called out, clearly displeased by Malcolm's distraction. "The card?" he demanded. "Or you a fake?"

Malcolm quickly refocused on the impatient guard, realizing he couldn't afford to further arouse suspicion. "No!" he exclaimed, reaching into his pockets, but he paused. It was too risky to offer a bribe openly like this. The guard could easily refuse and even detain him, ruining his chances of escape. He needed a different approach.

"Ah, now I remember," Malcolm said, tapping his forehead as if recalling something. "I haven't collected the permit yet." He quickly retraced his steps, tugging Spike along with him. "Let me go get that real quick."

The guard was taken aback. "What? Hey!" he shouted as Malcolm broke away from the line and hurried towards an alley, disappearing from the guard's view.

Malcolm sprinted forward, many shouts and a dozen footsteps echoing behind him, likely the guards chasing after him. But he had no intention of stopping or looking back; he knew he could easily outrun them or find a place to hide. His primary concern was the butler named Finnan. Something about that guy just didn't sit well with him, especially that irritating smile that always seemed to reveal a bit too many teeth.

As the noises of the approaching guards grew louder and closer, Malcolm knew he had no choice but to seek refuge in one of the secluded spaces between two homes. He couldn't afford to waste his energy on fighting a dozen men when he needed to conserve it for a potential confrontation with the butler. So, he slipped into the hidden space quietly, using his hand to cover Spike's mouth and keep him silent.

After a few tense seconds, the guards ran past them and after ensuring that there were no more immediate threats, Malcolm and his dog cautiously emerged from their hiding spot, taking note of the onlookers who now peeked from their windows and doors to inspect the commotion. He paid them no mind, instead pulled the hood over his head once more and adopting a relaxed demeanor walked back into the bustling main streets.

There, he blended into the sea of people going about their business, hoping to disappear among them and avoid needless attention. However, his hope was short-lived as the very next moment, his only eye marked the butler, leisurely approaching with the usual disturbing grin on his wretched face.

"You son of a bitch!" Malcolm gritted his teeth, summoning the concealed dagger into his hand. He knew his best bet was to remain among the crowd to avoid being attacked openly, as his opposition had a reputation and dignity to maintain. Using that as a decoy, he could either find a way to escape, or counter with a well-placed slash to incapacitate Finnan. Then, Spike could take care of the rest.

With that plan in mind, Malcolm walked towards Finnan, suppressing any signs of the brewing animosity. The butler did the same, his grin widening as the distance between them lessened. Just when they were about to pass each other, Finnan said something only for Malcolm to hear.

"I warned you," his voice rang.

Malcolm's heart raced as he continued past Finnan, not responding to the cryptic warning. He had to stick to the plan and wait for the right moment to strike or escape. Now was the moment to escape.

Without looking back, Malcolm paced ahead. "Run, boy," he commanded Spike, who obediently picked up speed. They veered off the main street and navigated through the alleys, aiming to reach the nearest eastern gate, which was less guarded and led into the forest. This was their escape route.

However, just as they were about to reach the gate, Malcolm felt a cold hand grip the back of his neck. His steps involuntarily halted, causing him to tug on the chain, and Spike, realizing the situation, lunged at the assailant. But a single kick rendered the dog helpless, and he crashed against the nearby wall, whimpering in pain.

Anger surged through Malcolm as he watched his loyal companion suffer. He had already lost so much to the cruelty of the nobility, and he refused to lose the last remaining thing he held dear.

Desperate for revenge, Malcolm pinned his legs to the ground and summoned every ounce of strength he could muster. With a fierce push, he propelled his body backward, catching the assailant off-guard. The man's grip on Malcolm's neck loosened, and seizing the opportunity, Malcolm swung his dagger at the assailant's face, aiming to deliver a powerful slash.

But the dagger only sliced through empty air as the man swiftly leaped a good foot away from the weapon's reach. In the dim light, Malcolm could still discern the man's figure, and soon recognized the shimmering hazel eyes that stared back at him.

"You!" Malcolm hissed through clenched teeth, his neck twisting as he shifted the dagger into a reverse grip, ready to make the most of his weapon.

"They say you were the bravest and the strongest." Finnan declared, his fingers cracking as he clenched his fists. "You still are?"

"..." Malcolm remained silent, determined to show that arrogant butler what he was truly made of, by breaking his neck in front of the lord who had likely sent him here.

Finnan silently watched, his eyes scanning Malcolm from head to toe. Realizing the battle stance the man had taken, he sighed. "You will show me then," he uttered, loosening his limbs. Then, with a deep breath, he leaped forward to attack.

Malcolm, with one last glance at his dear companion, sprang forward, confident in his ability to intercept the assailant and exact vengeance for what he had done to Spike.

Despite being out of practice with his skills, Malcolm was certain that his keen eye would catch the moving hand, just as it had done many times before. However, Finnan approached with such incredible speed that it was nothing more than a blur before pain shot through Malcolm's face, the impact flinging him backward, tumbling into the hard road.

Malcolm's body ached all over as he struggled to stand up, determined to refocus on Finnan, who loomed over him once more. He braced himself for another punch to the face, instinctively putting his hands forward to defend himself. However, the anticipated attack never came. Instead, Finnan kicked him in the lower belly, sending him crashing into the wall beside him.

Agony seared through every limb as Malcolm fell to his knees; confidence in his abilities diminishing by the second. Just two hits had left him in excruciating pain. If this one-sided battle dragged on much longer, he would be finished, leaving Spike to face an uncertain fate.

He couldn't leave his only remaining family like that, but the man before him, carrying a heartless expression, seemed impervious to reason. Malcolm had no choice but to continue fighting and use that chance to escape. Breathing heavily, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to rise to his feet, the dagger still clenched tightly in his hand.

With a weakened warcry, Malcolm lunged at Finnan, but the butler proved too fast for him. Before Malcolm had covered even two steps, Finnan was upon him, moving with the intent to annihilate his opponent.

Caught off guard by the man's speed and ferocity, Malcolm faltered. In that moment, Finnan capitalized on the opening. He punched Malcolm in the cheek, followed by a jab to the chin, and then a round-house kick to the man's chest. The force of the kick sent Malcolm flying through the air, and he skidded on the road before crashing into the distant stone wall.

Malcolm groaned in immeasurable pain, failing to lift himself up off the ground. His vision was blurry, and he tasted blood in his mouth. This fight had taken a severe toll on him, and he realized that he was outmatched in every possible way. Escape was impossible.

Finnan approached him, his expression devoid of mercy. "You truly are useless!"