The Fallen Lineage

 ***

Calden Castle

Lanercoast

Arabelle's hand was still holding a dry handkerchief, helping to wipe the sweat from the top of Edgar Helferich's head.

In that place, Arabelle was the only one accompanying Edgar. Sir Colton had already returned to his mansion, as well as the servants who were walking downstairs to fetch dinner for Edgar.

From the direction of Arabelle's eyes, the woman did not see any wine bottles stored around Edgar's chamber.

In accordance with Quentin's orders, she did not allow Edgar to drink wine. Quentin suspected it was the impact of the alcohol in the wine causing Edgar's health to drop.

Currently, his condition is starting to improve. He could open his eyes perfectly, although he was not yet strong enough to rise from the bed.

"What really happened to you, Father?" asked Arabelle softly and sadly.

"What about Quentin?" asked Edgar, voice low as he moved his head to the side, looking at his daughter with a saddened gaze.

"He leads Helferich well. The last thing I remember from his orders was that he would build a bridge over the Hallen River, connecting Lanercoast with Northcrest," Arabelle replied.

"A bridge over the Hallen River? That was my idea a long time ago," Edgar said.

"Why is he suddenly planning to build that bridge?" asked Edgar, curious.

"You've been in your chamber too long. The political situation in Athalaris is getting increasingly uncertain," Arabelle replied.

She dipped the handkerchief into a basin of warm water, wringing the cloth dry to wipe Edgar's face, hands, and feet.

"Prince Edmund is camped at Tregaron. They are about to attack Archibald," Arabelle explained.

Edgar widened his eyes at the information. For hundreds of years, there had never been a southern army marching north, much less challenging the ruler of Northcrest.

The land contours in the north and south were not that different, so Castlebourne's soldiers were unlikely to have any difficulties. However, Edgar had heard an ancient prophecy.

It said a southern leader who fought in the north would not be good for his reign.

Who knew what would happen to Edmund, but Edgar fully believed that the prophecy would happen.

"Northcrest is a land of strong conservative rule. Castlebourne will have his misfortune there," Edgar replied.

"I don't think that will happen. Edmund brought 30,000 Castlebourne troops there," Arabelle explained, still gently rubbing Edgar's body.

"I am well familiar with the attitudes of those men in the north. They are persistent, unyielding, and very strong."

Edgar spoke under his breath. Arabelle prepared by giving Edgar a drink. Edgar looked exhausted, even though he was talking.

Arabelle nodded, clearing her throat softly with a smile. She didn't know the people's character in Northcrest, so the woman couldn't respond to Edgar's words.

"Quentin is planning something. He sees the slightest advantage in the conflict," Arabelle replied.

"That's good. A ruler must be sensitive to the situation around him, or his leadership will fall apart without him realizing it," Edgar explained.

Edgar looked back at Arabelle, his eyes locked with her, "Did you already do that with him?"

Arabelle's cheeks turned red, blushing at Edgar's question. Edgar's words meant none other than the intercourse of a married couple.

"Prince Quentin has been quite busy lately. We haven't had time to do that yet," Arabelle explained briefly in a low tone of voice.

"Seduce him. Even though he's younger than you, you must do it to ensure the succession," Edgar said.

"You both have to be better than me. You must be able to bear a son," Edgar continued.

Still silent, Arabelle continued to dip a cloth and wipe Edgar's body down to the man's toes.

"I will try to talk to him. For now, you should rest and don't think about Helferich," Arabelle pleaded.

Edgar smiled, then obeyed Arabelle's words. He closed his eyes and let his daughter wash his hands and feet clean.

About fifteen minutes passed, and Edgar was fast asleep with a clean and dry body.

Arabelle was happy her father's condition was gradually improving. The woman walked out of Edgar's room and accidentally met Sir Colton.

"Sir Colton," greeted Lady Arabelle.

"Lady Arabelle," greeted Sir Colton back.

Arabelle's eyes narrowed, watching Sir Colton come in carrying a small iron tube that burned aromatic incense or leaves, Lasage.

"Why did you bring Lasage?" asked Lady Arabelle.

"This canister contains Silverleaf, perfect for relieving Lord Edgar's symptoms of fever and fatigue," Colton replied.

"Did Quentin order you?" asked Arabelle.

"No, I don't. It was my own initiative because I care for your father as much as you do for him," Colton replied.

"Pardon me. I need to go inside and put this away," Colton excused himself, walking inside with Arabelle still glaring at him.

They all had yet to find out the cause of Edgar's illness. Colton's actions were suspicious to Arabelle, but she could not blame the man without any evidence.

After staying in front of Edgar's room for a while, Arabelle began to leave the place to her chamber, hoping she could meet Quentin there.

However, Quentin was actually outside the castle, alone, without anyone to accompany him. The night was the perfect time for Quentin to explore the city.

Calden City at night is divided into two areas; the culinary district and the sexual district. The eastern district became the culinary district, and many foods were sold there.

The southern district is an area of craftsmen, such as potters, carpenters, and blacksmiths. And the eastern district became the sexual district; many taverns and pleasure houses were found there.

Currently, Quentin's purpose was to go to the eastern district, visiting bars and pleasure houses not for fun but to carry out his shadow plan.

Along the city streets, in the right and left parts of the district, many women were waving their hands in their revealing dresses.

They did not hesitate to display their breasts and thighs to passing men, of course, in the hope that those men would spend their silver pieces to pleasure their sexy bodies.

'It's not so bad, but the women in Telmarath are much prettier than them,' Quentin said to himself.

Fortunately, no one knew he was Quentin. The man was camouflaged with a hood and makeup, making it impossible for people to recognize him at a glance.

He finally arrived at a famous tavern in the district, filled with people and soldiers having a good time drinking rum.

Quentin sat down on a chair before the bar counter. The bartender suddenly walked over with a sharp look in his eyes.

"What do you want, stranger?" the bartender asked.

"Give me anything other than rum," Quentin replied.

The bartender nodded, taking the three silver pieces Quentin handed him. As he waited for his drink to be finished, a woman in merchant's attire sat next to Quentin.

"I'm the same as him. I'm fed up with rum and the people who drink it, no offense," explained the young woman in her 20s.

"Fine," said the bartender.

The woman turned her head to the side, smiling as she watched the stranger's mysterious demeanor.

"Are you new here?" she asked, and Quentin cleared his throat.

"So, where did you escape from?" she asked back.

Like any merchant, she was desperate for information, even from strangers. Quentin glanced to the side, his red pupils attracting the merchants.

"Woah, your eyes are crimson. Are you a Pyro line?" the woman asked, chuckling.

Their second drink had arrived, an alcohol that was more expensive than rum but not as good as the wine at Calden Castle.

The woman sipped the liquor with great enjoyment, as did Quentin.

Pyro was a mythological race said to rule the island of Antigus, which is far east of the land of Athalaris. In historical records, they once gave Athalaris nightmares by invading the White Coast lands.

They were good at using fire magic and forbidden magic, but what was striking about their appearance were their pupils that burned bright crimson red.

"Pyro is a myth," Quentin replied.

"Some people think they are, but I believe they exist," explained the woman.

"They will come to bring chaos. Hell, Athalaris is already chaotic. They want to throw in more," explained the woman.

"Where are you traders from?" asked Quentin.

"The South. Do I need to tell you where I come from?" asked the woman, Quentin was silent in response.

"I'm from Gardenhill. If you don't know, it's in Redfair," replied the woman, without hesitating to tell her birthplace.

"I know Gardenhill. Hildemar ruled very well there," Quentin explained.

"Not so well. They abandoned the city folk and chose war against the Heimrich," the woman complained, annoyed.

"War? Why would Hildemar be at war with Heimrich? The two Houses are on different lands," Quentin asked.

The woman shook her head. She knew nothing about the cause of the war between the two houses.

"What's certain is that people are struggling, especially after Oakenport was taken, and they imposed a tax on every merchant who passes through," the merchant woman replied.

"Their taxes were so high that the prices of food commodities increased, and many people starved," added the merchant woman, downing the drink in her hand.

Realizing that her drink was gone, the woman could no longer buy more because she didn't have enough money.

She lightly tapped the mysterious man beside her on the shoulder, bidding him farewell.

"Wait!" pleaded Quentin firmly.

The woman looked back, their eyes locked in a thoughtful glance at each other, "Why?"

"Join me for a drink and tell me everything you know about your trade."

The woman's eyes glanced towards the bar counter, seeing Quentin take out a gold piece worth ten silver pieces.

The woman smiled, stepping back towards the barstool to accept the mystery man's invitation, "My name is Joanna. Joanna Adelheim."

"Adelheim?" asked Quentin.

"I am the last surviving descendant of the Adelheim house. You don't need to be polite to me. I'm no longer a noble after Hildemar took Gardenhill from my grandfather," Joanna replied.

"I understand."