The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 375: I won’t be leaving the capital

Wymar’s words hung in the air: "Leave Cahns’ar, flee before more trouble comes."

It was sensible advice from a tactical perspective.

Smart, even.

But Jolthar shook his head.

"No."

Everyone turned to look at him.

Wymar’s expression shifted from exhausted relief to concern.

Milan’s eyes widened.

Even Cleora and Raayani looked surprised.

"No?" Wymar repeated.

"Jolthar, I just saved both of you from killing each other. The smart move is to leave before—"

"Before what?" Jolthar interrupted calmly.

"Before someone else comes? Before another imperial official decides to test me? Before Richardus and Hernais cook up another scheme?"

He looked at his old friend steadily.

"If I leave now, it sends a message. It says I’m scared. That I’m running away."

"Sometimes running is wisdom, not cowardice," Wymar argued.

"Not this time," Jolthar replied firmly.

"I came to this capital in good faith. I submitted to arrest without resistance. I answered charges in their rigged trial. I’ve been attacked, thrown out of the city, and forced to defend myself against an imperial princess."

His voice remained calm but carried absolute conviction.

"If I leave now, everyone will say I was driven out. That the empire made me flee. And every other corrupt official, every scheming noble, and every ambitious warrior will know they can push me around if they just apply enough pressure."

He turned to face the entire group—Wymar, Milan, Cleora, Raayani, and even Andrion, who had followed to witness the aftermath.

"I intend to stay in the capital. I’ll see who else comes at me.

And each time, I’ll defend myself until they either kill me or learn that I’m not someone who can be intimidated into compliance."

"That’s madness," Wymar said, though there was a hint of admiration in his tone.

"You’re painting an even bigger target on yourself."

"The target’s already there," Jolthar replied.

"Leaving doesn’t make it disappear. It just makes it easier to hunt me down on the road or in some remote location where fewer people witness what happens."

He gestured around them at the gathered knights, the approaching observers, and the whole situation.

"Here, everything is public. Every move against me is witnessed and recorded. That’s better protection than running."

Milan stepped forward.

"He’s right, actually. If Jolthar leaves now, the narrative becomes that he was defeated and driven out. But if he stays, visibly unbothered by what just happened, it changes the story completely."

"Moreover, the charges against him haven’t been cleared off. They will just brand him as a criminal and do a lot worse."

Andrion, who had been silent throughout the exchange, suddenly laughed—a genuine sound of delight.

"Oh, I like this. I like this very much."

He looked at Jolthar with newfound respect.

"Most people would take the safe route. But you’re choosing the bold path. The one that says, ’Come at me if you dare.’"

He grinned.

"Young man, I’m coming with you back to your villa. This is too entertaining to miss."

Milan looked at his brother with surprise. "You’re... coming with us?"

"Absolutely," Andrion confirmed.

"Baron Kaezhlar is the most interesting thing to happen in Cahns’ar in years. And besides—" his expression turned more calculating "—anyone who wants to attack him now will have to consider that they’re doing it in front of two princes. That’s a different political calculation entirely."

Wymar threw his hands up.

"You’re all insane.

But fine.

Stay and get yourselves killed or arrested or worse. I’ve done what I can."

He paused, then added more softly, "But Jolthar, be careful. What you just did to Princess Tamnarasi will echo through the empire. People will fear you, yes. But they’ll also hate you. Fear and hatred make people do desperate things."

"And people of the imperial family won’t stay silent, you know that, right?"

"I know," Jolthar acknowledged.

"But I’m done being pushed around by a system that protects monsters and prosecutes those who stop them."

Behind them, the Dreadmarchen had formed up around their injured commander. Tamnarasi was conscious but barely, her ice phoenix form having completely dissipated, leaving her looking small and vulnerable in her damaged armor. The knights lifted her carefully, preparing to transport her back to the palace for proper healing.

As they began to move, Tamnarasi’s eyes found Jolthar one last time. There was pain there, humiliation, and anger, but also something else. Reluctant respect, perhaps. Or the beginning of understanding that she had misjudged her opponent completely.

She said nothing, but the look was message enough: this wasn’t over between them.

Jolthar met her gaze and nodded slightly in acknowledgment of a worthy opponent, even if they had been enemies today.

Then the Dreadmarchen were marching away, carrying their defeated commander back toward the city.

"Well then," Milan said, breaking the silence that followed.

"If we’re staying, we should return to the villa before more complications arrive. The sun is setting, and I’d prefer to be behind secure walls when night falls."

The group made their way back toward the city gates.

Word of the battle had clearly spread. People lined the streets, watching them pass with a mixture of awe, fear, and fascination.

Jolthar walked calmly through their stares, unbothered by the attention. He was already thinking about his next steps in the capital and how to pay back what they did to him.

Cleora stayed close to his side, her hand occasionally touching his arm as if reassuring herself he was truly unharmed. Raayani walked on his other side, her expression serene but her eyes constantly scanning for threats.

Andrion proved true to his word, following them with genuine interest rather than princely detachment. He peppered Jolthar with questions about his sword techniques, about his training, and about how he had developed such power at a relatively young age.

And he praised him a couple of times, saying that he was so handsome and tender; that repeated comment brought suspicious glares from both women, while Milan showed that he was terrified of his brother. It wasn’t fear, but an unease came from the way that his brother behaved.

"Most warriors your age couldn’t even pass half the tiers," Andrion observed.

"You’re fighting and defeating imperial commanders. That’s not normal progression."

"Nothing about my life has been normal," Jolthar replied simply.

Jolthar studied Andrion and felt a quiet stir within him. This was a man who could measure a warrior’s worth in a single look, his eyes keen, piercing, and deeply unsettling.