Blood

"Yes, sir! Yes!"

"It was the warden's order!"

The guard who had just been beaten answered, trembling.

But he had not forgotten to shift the blame.

And who better to blame than a dead man?

Gratton ignored the implication in the guard's words. His attention was elsewhere.

"How badly are they hurt?"

He asked.

"The ringleader, Hans, is nearly unconscious. Without treatment, he definitely won't survive the night. But just now, he was—"

"I know. What about the other two accomplices?"

Gratton cut the guard off, as though he did not want to hear that name.

"One of them took twenty lashes!"

"The other one, the tall one, took fifty!"

The guard answered honestly.

Gratton listened, then waved a hand.

The guard immediately ran for the exit as if granted a reprieve.

But just as he passed through the prison door, a cold flash appeared.

Squelch!

The guard's head flew high into the air. His body kept running another two or three meters on momentum before crashing to the ground.

"Sir Gratton, you shouldn't be so softhearted!"

A gaunt man with long limbs walked slowly through the prison door, his voice sinister.

"That's because my code tells me my sword should be turned against enemies!"

"I had already let him go!"

"Feilin, you killed him!"

"Are you challenging my authority?"

Gratton's face darkened as he watched the man enter.

"No, no, of course I wouldn't dare!"

"Your Highness appointed you the knight in charge here, while I'm merely a humble adviser. How could I dare challenge your authority?"

"Wouldn't that be the same as challenging the duke himself?"

"I came to help!"

Feilin spoke with a sinister smile.

"Those two 'thieves' who escaped—I can help you catch one!"

"You may have seen through their plan, but if you let the