The Sinful Young Master

The echoes of battle still rang through the chamber when Lady Maena and her group emerged from the upper tunnel entrance.

Torchlight spilled down as they descended, revealing several bound prisoners being roughly guided by her knights.

Among them was a figure that stood out—a man in elaborate dark robes, his hands bound with special iron shackles marked with glowing runes to suppress magic.

Blood stained Maena's armour, fresh crimson droplets still sliding down the polished steel. Her sword, yet unsheathed, bore testament to the violence that had occurred above. Behind her calm expression lurked something feral—a predator's satisfaction after a successful hunt.

She surveyed the scene below, her eyes immediately drawn to the massive form of the fallen orc and Jolthar standing over it. The young man's transformation was evident—something about him seemed different, darker.

"Impressive," Maena said, her voice carrying across the chamber.

She approached the orc's corpse, kneeling beside it with practiced efficiency as she noticed something on the orc's body. Her gauntleted hand reached out, pushing aside the leather armour on its right arm to reveal an intricate glyph burnt into the grey-green flesh. The mark seemed to pulse faintly even in death, a complex pattern of interwoven lines forming a cruel-looking sigil.

"Savage Creed," she breathed, an edge of disbelief in her voice.

"The Savage Creed is not just any band of renegades. They're ex-knights, soldiers who decided the code of honour was merely a suggestion. These aren't the average cutthroats; they're elite killers who found joy in massacre, who indulge in chaos."

Sheathing her blade with a sharp click, she added, "The Creed isn't known to break or fear anything. They're notorious, almost like ghosts, only emerging to wreak havoc or take lives that nobody else could touch. The fact that you survived—let alone killed one of them—is no small feat."

Behind her, one of the captured bandits spilled something interesting. He had witnessed Lady Maena's brutality above and seen how she had carved through his companions with mechanical precision and ruthless efficiency. The memory of her methodical slaughter had loosened his tongue considerably.

It was all planned by Baron's brother Oteys; he was the one who orchestrated this entire thing. He told them about the vault and sent them here.

Oteys had underestimated Maena and her unit. He thought after killing the bandits they came across in the forest, she would just leave. He didn't think that she would be thorough with her investigation.

The reason they were still present in the mines was because the vault was guarded by magic, and they were to destroy the machinations guarding the vault. That's why they brought a mage with them, but they didn't have enough time as Maena arrived with her men.

Throughout this revelation, Baroness Cleora maintained an eerily passive expression, her beautiful features carved from marble. But Jolthar noticed something flash behind her amber eyes—satisfaction, perhaps? Or was it merely the torchlight playing tricks?

"Search them all," Maena commanded. Her knights moved quickly, stripping the captured bandits and the robed mage of any remaining weapons or magical items. Each prisoner was thoroughly checked for hidden messages or identifying marks. Several bore tattoos or brands that would help trace their affiliations.

What they found painted a picture of a carefully orchestrated operation. These weren't random bandits but a coordinated force, mixing common thugs with elite mercenaries and at least one trained mage.

Someone had spent considerable resources to put this together.