Being Framed!

A piercing scream shattered the tense silence, causing Harry to lift his head in surprise.

In front of him, a shocking scene unfolded on the expansive training ground. A young man knelt on the ground, bloodied and battered, as another figure loomed over him, whip in hand. The young man, thin and with an unremarkable face, was half-kneeling, his body marred by crimson welts from the merciless blows.

"Keep screaming! Let the world hear your pain!" the burly man shouted, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Stealing, huh? I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!"

With a savage swing, the whip cracked against the young man's back, leaving another bloody stripe in its wake.

Harry stood frozen, a whirlwind of thoughts rushing through his mind. As he processed the scene before him, recognition dawned.

Klaus; one of the knight apprentices training in Baron Ethan's territory.

His father, Baron Ethan, was a lord with a vast domain. To bolster his defenses, he had taken in promising young men like Klaus, training them to become skilled knights. Harry recalled Klaus as one of the few with whom he'd had some interaction, albeit limited. Their exchanges had been cordial, but he had never considered them friends; it had always felt transactional, with Klaus seeking to gain something from Harry's status.

Casting a quick glance at the brutal scene, Harry turned to leave, the weight of his own weakness anchoring him down.

"Harry!"

The desperate cry halted him in his tracks. Klaus looked up, eyes wide with desperation, as if he had spotted a lifeline. "Please, save me!"

Harry hesitated, his instincts battling with the reluctance to get involved. He had just risen from the hospital bed and felt far from capable of confronting such a volatile situation.

As he weighed his options, the burly man's voice boomed behind him, dripping with mockery. "Mr. Harry! In such a rush to leave? Trying to avoid your companion here?"

Harry paused, a frown creasing his brow. "Companion?"

The word hung in the air, and he turned slowly to face the scene again. A swirl of conflicting emotions churned within him, indignation at the cruelty, reluctance to intervene, and a flicker of sympathy for the young man who had once been a fellow knight apprentice.

"Klaus," he said slowly, weighing his words, "why did you steal? You know the consequences of your actions."

"Enough!" the burly man barked, cracking the whip again, sending a fresh wave of fear through Klaus.

Harry felt a surge of anger rise within him. This was not justice; it was brutality. But could he really step in?

As he glanced around, he noticed the other guards watching, some with eager anticipation, others with indifference. The situation had the potential to spiral out of control, and he could easily find himself outnumbered.

"Let him go!" Harry finally shouted, his voice steady, his resolve strengthening. "He's had enough. This isn't right!"

The burly man's laughter echoed mockingly. "And what are you going to do about it, Harry? You're just a weakling fresh out of bed!"

The tension crackled in the air as both men faced off, the outcome uncertain but the stakes higher than ever.

Harry turned around, his gaze fixed on Matthew. "Mr. Matthew, do we have a misunderstanding here?"

Matthew's eyes narrowed slightly. "Misunderstanding? You've made quite the impression, haven't you? I recall you once saying that Klaus was your best friend."

"Really?" Harry replied with a weary sigh. "I don't remember saying that."

He could almost hear the echoes of his predecessor's words, words that now painted him in a corner. All the blame seemed to rest on his shoulders.

"Of course we're best friends!" Klaus piped up, desperation flickering in his eyes. "You have to help me, Harry!"

"Klaus is suspected of stealing Master Al's knight potion," Matthew growled, fixing a menacing glare on the young man. "Now tell me, who put you up to this?"

Klaus hesitated, his eyes darting between Harry and Matthew. Then, seemingly struck by a wave of inspiration, he pointed a trembling finger at Harry. "It was Master Harry! He told me to steal it so he could become a real apprentice!"

Harry's heart sank as the accusation hung in the air. "How very convenient," Matthew said, a smirk spreading across his face. "Anything else to say for yourself, Master Harry?"

"Nothing much," Harry replied, his expression calm despite the tumult within. "But I must say, your method of framing me is remarkably direct."

"Why do you think this is happening?" Matthew's sudden aggression had to have a deeper reason. Harry had always kept a low profile, avoiding conflicts in the manor. Who would want to target him like this?

But figuring that out wasn't the priority now. He glanced at Matthew, who stood smugly, as if victory was already in his grasp.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Harry reached for the sword at his waist. The other men around him gasped in surprise, unsure of what he intended.

"What are you doing?" Matthew scoffed, his mockery intensifying. "You really think you can take me on? Everyone knows you're weaker than the most ordinary apprentice. What a joke."

Harry stepped forward, the sword gleaming in his hand, determination igniting within him. "Maybe it's time someone reminded you that appearances can be deceiving."

Matthew laughed, a harsh sound that echoed across the training ground. "A loser swinging a sword at an elite like me? This will be entertaining. You're only digging your own grave."

As Harry stood ready, he felt the weight of the situation pressing down on him, but he also felt something else; a flicker of hope. This confrontation could reveal more than just his own strength; it could unveil the true motives behind the scheme against him.

"Let's see how this plays out," he muttered, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, preparing to face whatever challenge lay ahead.

Harry watched Matthew draw his sword, his instincts sharpening. *This is my chance. Take him down before he's ready.* With a surge of confidence, he unsheathed his own sword.

A gust of wind whipped through the training ground, carrying the tension with it. Harry's blade glinted in the light, and he struck in a blur of motion.

In an instant, the sound of steel cutting through the air rang out, followed by a heavy thud.

Bang!

Matthew slammed into the stone wall, leaving a deep indentation where he hit. The onlookers around them fell silent, shock etched on their faces.

"What just happened?" one of them whispered, eyes wide.

Matthew stared at Harry, disbelief written all over his face. "How is that possible?"

"Nothing is impossible," Harry replied, stepping forward with an air of calm confidence.

He approached the fallen figure, a small smile creeping onto his lips. "Now, shall we talk?"

Matthew's bravado began to wane. "Oh, and what if I choose not to tell you?" His voice was laced with sarcasm, but the flicker of fear in his eyes betrayed him. "Do you dare to kill me here?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Baron Ethan had strict rules about violence in the manor, no one could kill another without dire consequences. Even Ethan's own children would face expulsion for breaking that rule. Matthew was banking on that.

But in the next heartbeat, a sharp pain radiated from Matthew's arm, and he looked down in horror.

His right hand fell limply to the ground, severed at the wrist.

"Y-you!!" Panic surged through him, but before he could react, a similar agony gripped his other arm. The second hand dropped, the shock of his injuries hitting him hard.

"Who said I wanted to kill you?" Harry's voice was smooth, almost playful. He leaned closer, a smile dancing on his lips. "If you're entertaining, Mr. Matthew, it would be dreadfully boring if you simply died now."

With a swift motion, he brought his sword down again, severing both of Matthew's legs.

Screams erupted around them, filling the air with terror and disbelief.

"Let this be a lesson," Harry said coolly, surveying the chaos he had unleashed. "Now, are you ready to talk?"