Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 317 - Three Hundred And Sixteen

Beatrice has been brought home with the physicians attending to her. Mrs Alma and the maids have been frantically busy, bringing materials the physicians requested for.

Meanwhile, downstairs, the drawing room felt like an execution chamber.

The large stone fireplace was unlit. The air inside the room was completely cold. The only light came from a few thick wax candles sitting on the large wooden table in the center of the room. The shadows stretched long and dark against the walls.

Derek sat alone in a high-backed leather chair. He was silent. He held his longsword across his lap. In his right hand, he held a small piece of soft white cloth and a small bottle of weapon oil. He was cleaning his sword.

He moved his hand in slow, steady circles. He rubbed the oil into the cold steel. He did not rush. He polished the metal until it shined perfectly in the candlelight. His face was a mask of absolute stone. He showed no emotion, but a deadly storm was raging inside his chest.

His grandmother was lying in a bed upstairs, receiving treatment and barely getting better. His wife, the woman he loved more than his own life, had been violently kidnapped.

Clack.

The heavy double doors of the drawing room swung open violently.

Derek did not look up. He kept his eyes fixed on the blade of his sword, slowly wiping away a small smudge near the hilt.

Two large, heavily armored Thompson guards marched into the room. They were dragging a man between them. They held him tightly by the arms. The man’s boots dragged across the expensive carpets.

The guards reached the center of the room, right in front of Derek’s chair. They stopped and shoved the man forward with great force.

Carlos crashed onto the hard wooden floor. He fell on his hands and knees, letting out a painful groan. He smelled terrible. He smelled like cheap, sour ale, sweat, and dried blood. M

His clothes were still the same torn rags from the night Prince Liam had whipped him. He was a complete mess.

"Your Grace," the captain of the guards said, standing tall and bowing deeply. "We found him."

The guard pointed down at Carlos with a look of pure disgust.

"We saw him drinking in a cheap tavern in the lower city," the guard reported. "He was spending the last of his silver on ale. We grabbed him and dragged him here immediately, just as you ordered."

Derek still did not look up. He continued to polish the sharp edge of his sword. The soft sound of the cloth sliding over the metal filled the quiet room.

He slowly lifted his left hand and waved it in the air. It was a simple, silent gesture of dismissal.

The guards understood instantly. They bowed their heads again. They turned around in unison and marched out of the room. They pulled the heavy double doors shut behind them. The doors closed with a loud, final thud, sealing Carlos inside.

Carlos remained on his hands and knees. His head was spinning from the cheap alcohol. His back ached with a burning pain. He slowly lifted his head and looked around the dim room. He saw his older brother sitting in the chair, calmly cleaning a massive sword.

A deep, cold fear began to settle in Carlos’s stomach. He swallowed hard. The silence in the room was terrifying.

"Brother," Carlos stammered. His voice was weak and shaking. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, wincing as his wounds stretched. "What is going on? Why did your men drag me here? You already threw me out of the family."

Derek finally stopped wiping the sword. He let the white cloth fall onto the small table beside him.

He still did not look at Carlos. He stared straight ahead into the dark fireplace.

Derek opened his mouth and spoke two simple words.

"Come out."

His voice was calm, flat, and devoid of any warmth.

Carlos frowned in confusion. He looked around the empty room. "Come out? Brother, who are you talking to? There is no one else here."

Suddenly, the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to move.

Carlos gasped, his eyes widening in pure horror.

From behind the heavy velvet curtains, from the dark corners near the bookshelves, and from the shadows near the door, figures began to step forward. They made absolutely no sound. Their boots did not squeak. Their clothes did not rustle.

Five men appeared. They were dressed entirely in black leather and dark cloth. Their faces were covered by black masks, leaving only their cold, dead eyes visible. They moved like ghosts having mastered the art of stealth.

Carlos pushed himself backward on the floor, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had lived in this house his entire life, and he had never seen these men. He began to wonder where they were hiding in the first place. How long had they been standing there in the dark, watching him?

The five men in black walked smoothly toward the center of the room. They stopped in a perfect line behind Derek’s chair.

In perfect unison, all five men bowed deeply to Derek.

"Elite shadows at your service, Your Grace," the leader of the men whispered. His voice was like dry leaves scraping against stone.

Derek slowly turned his head. For the first time since the doors opened, he looked directly at Carlos.

His dark eyes were empty of all brotherly affection. They were not even angry. They were completely cold. His eyes promised pain. They promised absolute destruction.

Derek stood up from his leather chair. He gripped the hilt of his longsword firmly in his right hand.

He did not lift the heavy blade. Instead, he let the sharp tip of the sword rest against the wooden floorboards.

Derek began to walk toward Carlos.

Scrape.

He dragged the heavy steel sword on the floor as he approached his brother.