THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

57  Chapter 57: KING SWORDSMAN.

"My Lord, please stop," a maid begged as she got rammed from behind. Her hands clutched the ends of the bedframe as she was shoved back and forth.

 "I'm almost there, moan louder!" Elder Maison commanded the maid as his shaft filled her cave, thrusting with relentless fever. He could feel her walls squeezing him and urging his babymaker to spray them white.

"Hngh-Hngh-Hngh-Hngh."

PAH-PAH-PAH.

Aah-Aah-Aah-Aah.

The maid's moans filled the Elder's chamber, he would occasionally smack her fat mounds of ass, while his other hand held the hem of her dress in position.

With every slap that rained down on the maid's ass, a hand print would be imprinted, sending waves of pleasure coursing through like phantom electricity

"Muster all men in the courtyard! Time is of the essence!" A man's voice seeped through the doors from outside as the boots of several men ran through the hall, "came on you shit princesses, the intruder has already breached the gates," the man mocked his aim to rally them, "I swear if you don't move faster you'll be dealing with me before the intruder is upon you".

Elder Maison still pounding the maid felt his frustration through the rough. He was almost done with his cute maid but something had to interrupt his leisure time.

"For fuck's sake" Elder Maison cursed under his breath as he removed his rod from the maid's hole producing a vacuum-like plop sound.

Her knees buckled beneath her, and the maid collapsed to the floor, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Rest now. I'll return at nightfall." With that, he turned and strode purposefully from the room, the urgent commotion outside demanding his attention.

A sigh escaped Elder Maison's lips. "Of all the days," he murmured, the weight of the world seemingly pressing down on his shoulders as he zipped his pants up. "Huh," he released an exhausted sigh, again, his hands on the doorknob.

****

A cacophony of clatter and shouted orders erupted from the depths of the manor. The rhythmic thud of boots on polished stone echoed through the corridors as guards, roused from their slumber, scrambled to assemble.

 A harried voice, laced with urgency, barked orders above the din, "Move, move! Don't dawdle, you fools! Captain Kaelen is already there!" The speaker, a burly guard with a face flushed crimson, thrust a spear into the trembling hands of a new recruit.

Elder Maison, drawn from his chambers by the commotion, emerged into the hallway. His imposing figure cut through the chaos like a ship cleaving through turbulent waters. The clamour of the guards subsided as they recognized their lord, a hush falling over the assembly.

"Dickson," the Elder commanded, his voice a low rumble that carried through the commotion. The addressed guard, his face a mask of fear and confusion, snapped to attention. "Explain," the Elder demanded, his tone brooking no argument.

Dickson swallowed hard. "There's an intruder, my lord," he managed to stammer, his voice barely audible over the din. "At the main gate."

The Elder's eyebrows rose, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "An intruder?" he repeated, his voice laced with a hint of incredulity. "How many?"

18:21

The Elder's eyebrows rose, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "An intruder?" he repeated, his voice laced with a hint of incredulity. "How many?"

Dickson hesitated, his gaze darting around the room. "Just one, my lord," he finally managed to squeak out.

A cold silence enveloped the hallway. The Elder's face was a mask of impassivity, but his eyes, filled with a storm of questions, spoke of a mind racing to comprehend the impossible. One man against his entire guard? The absurdity of the situation was almost comical, if not for the underlying threat it posed.

Elder Maison's gaze pierced through the chaos, his voice, like the crack of thunder, demanded clarity. "You said Kaelen is handling this?" His tone was a low growl, a question laced with an undercurrent of command.

Dickson nodded, his throat dry. "Yes, my lord," he confirmed, his voice barely audible over the din.

A flicker of concern passed over the Elder's face, replaced swiftly by a steely resolve. Kaelen, the esteemed king swordsman, was not one to be summoned lightly. The man was a legend in his own right, a guardian of the 3rd family's legacy.

What kind of threat could warrant his intervention? A chill crept down the Elder's spine. Was this an attack on the family's stronghold, a brazen declaration of war? Or something far more sinister? Had the neighbouring county decided to attack their own, simply because they remained silent over a period of several centuries?

The weight of the situation pressed down on him. He needed answers, and he needed them now. With a decisive stride, he moved towards the commotion at the gate, his figure a beacon of authority cutting through the swirling chaos.

****

David stood triumphant, a lone figure amidst a fallen tableau of guards, his hand behind his head, this wasn't a challenge honestly it was a walk in the park for him. Their armour, once a symbol of intimidation, now lay scattered like discarded toys. Seraphina watched in a blend of awe and disbelief, her eyes wide with the shock of witnessing his raw power.

"Well, that was... efficient," she managed to squeak out, her voice barely audible over the echoing silence of the courtyard. She believed that the matter could be resolved differently, was she really going to work with such a madman?

A smug grin spread across David's face. "I'm a man of action, not words," he replied, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. "We were just wasting time with small talk" David elaborated further.

Seraphina rolled her eyes. "You're a brute," she countered, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Before they could delve deeper into their banter, a chilling silence descended upon the courtyard, thick as fog. A preternatural stillness hung in the air, heavy with the promise of impending danger and a void filled with unspoken threats.

 A shiver ran down David's spine, a primal warning that ignited a spark of awareness. He hadn't felt such a foreboding presence since facing Luna in the first dimension. He turned his head slowly, his gaze scanning the perimeter. Something was wrong, something big, but what?

Seraphina, sensing his unease, followed his gaze. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, the silence stretched taut like a drumhead before a thunderous beat. And then, the moment arrived. A figure emerged from the shadows, a silhouette cloaked in an aura of menace. This was no ordinary guard; this was a predator, a force of nature coiled to strike.

His presence was a tangible force that stilled the chaos. The man was a titan, his form cloaked in crimson armour that seemed to hum with ancient power, draped in an obsidian cape that swayed lightly as he moved. His hair, silvered by age and battle, framed a face etched with the lines of command and countless campaigns. There was an aura about him, a tangible presence that spoke of authority tempered by experience.

His gaze swept across the courtyard, landing on the fallen guards with a cold detachment. Then, his eyes fixed on David, the man who stood victorious amidst the chaos. A flicker of recognition passed across his face, replaced swiftly by a keen assessment.

"Impressive," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that carried across the courtyard. It was a simple word, yet it held within it the weight of centuries of experience. David, sensing the man's power, met his gaze without flinching, he had already summoned Frostfang, his instincts never taken for granted.

The stage was set for a confrontation between two titans, one brought into the world of Ternion by unexplained forces, the other forged in the crucible of a mysterious past.

With a feral snarl, David launched himself forward, his form blurring into a blur of shadow and steel. "Luna!" he roared, the command a whipcrack through the air. Both his daggers, Frostfang, glinted in the daylight as they sliced through the air. Luna, her eyes alight with the thrill of battle, emerged from the shadows, her claws outstretched, a silent promise of carnage.

The man, a fortress of muscle and bone, met their onslaught with a calm that bordered on arrogance. An invisible barrier rippled around him, deflecting their attacks like raindrops on a shield. The blades and claws, imbued with the fury of their wielders, were swallowed by the crimson glow, leaving no trace of their impact.

The man lowered himself into a kneeling posture, his eyes locked with David's. "My apologies," he began, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "Young Master David De Gor, I believe," he added, his tone laced with a respect that was both unexpected and unsettling.

David, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the tide of battle, froze. Luna, her predatory instincts momentarily quelled, retreated back into the shadows. The man's words, coupled with the eerie calm that had descended upon the courtyard, sent a shiver down David's spine. He lowered Frostfang, the twin blades vanishing into thin air. "Rise," he commanded, his voice echoing the man's earlier formality.

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