The train went inside a silent and dark tunnel. The only sound that surrounded them was the sound of the iron wheels of the train gliding against the railway tracks.
Arthur's palms grew sweaty as he clenched his hands, trying to calm himself down. The darkness reminded him of the day he saw his end, as he fell from the rooftop.
'When will we arrive at our destination...?'
As if to answer his question, the train emerged from the darkness of the tunnel, and the grand station of Ashwood City loomed ahead.
The rain seemed to have slowed down, bit by bit. Raindrops still fell, but gentler now. The sky, which had been dark, now seemed to have cleared as the dusk light came through.
'It seems the rain will stop in no time.'
The door to the train slid open with a hiss. The air was cold, mixed with the metallic tang of steam and coal.
The Earl stepped outside first, his polished boots striking the stone platform floor. Arthur followed behind, his steps slower and smaller than the Earl's.
The platform was alive with motion, as porters placed trunks and crates into carriages. Vendors shouted, trying to make a living from freshly baked bread and roasted chestnuts. A boy sold newspapers with bold headlines.
But the one who caught Arthur's eye was a man who seemed to have endured many trials during the Great War with the neighboring nations.
The war had lasted for many years, during which the poor had suffered many losses, and the man before Arthur was one of them.
He moved with visible difficulty; his steps were uneven and slow. He was limping on his injured leg as he walked.
Arthur noticed that all the people standing on the platform, trying to make a living — barely managing three meals a day — were people of modest means.
He had always been followed by misfortunes in his previous life, but in this one, he believed he was less unfortunate compared to the needy and wounded ones, because those people had suffered during and even after the Great War had ended.
There had been some incidents, but he was never injured too much, to the point of dying.
Arthur was staring at the man unknowingly, and before he could avert his gaze, the man reached for a small stone on the ground and threw it toward Arthur, shouting:
"What do you think you're gawking at, you wretched cur?!"
Thud!
"Ouch!!"
Arthur flinched as the stone hit his skin. Looking down, he saw the floor stained with something crimson, probably his blood.
The thrown stone had struck him on the left side of his forehead.
"Haven't seen a limping man, huh?!"
Arthur reached to touch the place where it hurt, and it stung the moment he did. The blood coated his fingers, while the red droplets trailed down the left side of his forehead.
"Tsk. It seems after the end of the Great War, people don't even care for their lives anymore!"
The Earl's voice was filled with disdain, but his eyes stared at the man as if he was nothing more than an ant soon to be crunched beneath his polished boots.
"The commoners sure have grown their guts, to attack the Ashbournes of all people."
The guards arrived shortly after, stepping forward and grabbing the man by his arms.
"You fuckers! What do you think you're doing?! Arrest that young man over there!!"
The two guards took the man away as he kept yapping on and on.
"Can't you see the pity in his eyes?! Motherfucker dares to pity me!"
The third guard bowed before the Earl.
"We apologize for the inconvenience, Earl."
The Earl looked at his son, who stood a step behind him, trying to stop the blood from his forehead with a handkerchief.
"Yes, you should be. After all, that thing dared to attack my boy during your watch. Alas, I'll have to converse with your employer. And least to say, you're not even quick on your feet."
The Earl stepped closer to the guard and added:
"What would you have done if my son had been seriously wounded, huh? Who would've been responsible for the harm?"
The guard probably saw his demise coming and spoke up, panicked.
"P-please give me another chance, sir! I promise... I'll take care of it."
The guard was surely quick to grasp the situation.
"Hmm... Alright. Then I'll leave the insect in your hands."
The guard offered another bow, shouting:
"Yes, sir! Please take care on your way home!"
The Earl went ahead, and Arthur followed behind, covering his forehead with the handkerchief.
A sleek black carriage awaited them at the edge of the platform, with a pair of midnight-colored horses standing harnessed at the front, their breath rising in clouds because of the chilling air.
Beside the carriage stood a man with neatly kept clothes. His uniform was immaculate, brass buttons glinting against his dark coat.
As the Earl and Arthur approached him, he bowed deeply, his right hand pressed firmly over his heart, a gesture too precise to be mere politeness.
"Greetings, master. I have been awaiting your arrival."
The Earl gave him a simple nod in response. No warmth, no words, just a simple acknowledgement.
The footman's eyes then shifted towards Arthur, noticing the blood-stained cloth in his hand. His posture relaxed only slightly, enough to be noticed but never crossing the line of proper decorum.
"Welcome, young master. I hope your journey wasn't too exhausting and that you've been keeping well."
Arthur nodded ever so slightly before speaking:
"It was comfortable enough, I'd say."
A gentle smile tugged at the footman's lips.
"It's a pleasure to hear that, young master."
The footman didn't question the wound on his forehead because such injuries were a common occurrence within the Ashbourne estate. Thus, he likely assumed it was just another one of those cases.
The bleeding had stopped for a while now. However, what concerned Arthur wasn't the loss of blood but that it would leave a scar on his forehead.
"Let us depart for the estate."
The Earl's voice came after the trunks had been loaded inside the carriage.
"Yes, master."
The footman bowed.
The Earl stepped inside, following after Arthur, and sat opposite him.
The Earl's hands rested atop his cane, his fingers relaxed but poised. Arthur's eyes fell upon his right hand, where a deep green gemstone adorned his gloved index finger.
The gemstone was an emerald, dark as forest shadows, mirroring the deep green of his eyes.
It was etched with the emblem of the Ashbourne family, an ash tree, a symbol of endurance and resilience.
The same emblem was carved into the silver handle of his cane, its roots and branches entwined in an eternal, silent snare.
It wasn't just a family crest. It was a warning.
Arthur turned his face toward the carriage window. The streets were veins through which the lifeblood of industry flowed, the carriages rattled over cobblestones slick with the morning's rain, steam-powered vehicles coughed clouds of white into the cold air.
The puddles of water on the ground reflected the clock tower, rising above the skyline as it marked the passage of time with mechanical precision. The gas lamps lined the avenues, their flickering flames casting shadows that danced between towering buildings of soot-streaked stone.
The city was a contradiction, a place where elegance and decay existed side by side, where wealth polished its boots on the backs of the desperate.
The war was proof of it. Because the ones who lost everything were the commoners, while those in power... they merely used them like disposable tools.
'Oh! It seems we've reached the estate.'
The towering gates creaked open, and the carriage rolled inside. The path crunched beneath the wheels.
The Earl and Arthur stepped down onto the stone path, entering the manor as the footman bowed. He didn't lift his head until they were out of sight, inside the manor.
The marble floors stretched beneath the ceilings, their polished surfaces reflecting the flickering light of crystal chandeliers. Servants lined the hall like statues, each bowing deeply as they passed.
Their hands were pressed over their hearts in that same precise gesture, not just respect, but submission.
The head butler approached the Earl, bowing the same way, a hand placed over his heart.
"Greetings, master."
The butler was an old man who had served this family for about three generations. His loyalty wasn't just with the person but with the head of the house.
The Earl nodded.
"Did something out of the ordinary happen, Edmund?"
The butler shook his head.
"No... nothing happened, master."
The Earl moved his gaze toward the servants while speaking:
"Call for the doctor and show Arthur to his room!"
"Yes, master!"
The servants moved with quiet efficiency.
One servant left the manor to call for the family doctor, and the other stepped toward Arthur.
"Young master, please allow me to show you to your room."
Just as Arthur was about to respond, a man with a faint mustache stepped inside the manor and headed straight to the Earl, whispering something to him.
'It seems the limping man was taken care of by the guards.'
That person was known as the left-hand man of the Earl. He had been serving him for years now.
"Hm. Follow me to the office, Richard."
"Yes, master."
Richard, the left-hand man of the Earl, followed him a step behind.
As for the right-hand man, that person was rarely seen. The right-hand man was assigned to the important tasks and followed the head discreetly.
The left-hand man had accompanied the Earl from the capital to here, but he had left in the middle to take care of the man who hit Arthur with the stone.
"Young master!"
The servant's voice brought Arthur to his senses.
"Ah, yes."
Arthur followed him, leaving the hall quietly.
'My father must have had him killed.'
It was his specialty to manipulate people. The guards must've already killed and disposed of him. The evidence behind it, was the arrival of his left-hand man. Richard.
Richard was merely the watcher of the scene.
The Earl uses others to get rid of someone. He never does anything himself. He only uses people as pawns and then discards them, so that when caught, they can't harm him in any way.
'What a manipulative man he is...'