Chapter 113: The Noble’s Daughter

Chapter 113: Chapter 113: The Noble’s Daughter

POV Switch: Paul

Paul walked away from the group, his footsteps carrying him in a different direction from the others.

His hands were in his pockets, the posture casual and unguarded. His posture was slouched, the stance relaxed and unbothered. His expression was tired, the features drawn and weary. He looked like a man who had given up on life, his demeanor speaking of exhaustion and resignation.

He walked through the streets of Silverbrook, his steps slow and measured. Past the stalls, the wooden structures laden with goods. Past the crowds, the people moving with purpose. Past the buildings, the structures tall and imposing.

People stared at him, their eyes following his form.

Mostly women, their gazes lingering.

They looked at his face, the features handsome and refined. At his hair, the strands dark and thick. At his body, the form lean and muscular. At his posture, the stance relaxed and confident. They whispered to each other, their voices low and excited. They giggled, the sounds high and giddy. They blushed, the color rising to their cheeks.

Paul ignored them, his expression unchanged.

He was used to it, the attention a constant companion.

He had been handsome his whole life, the features a gift from birth. He had been admired his whole life, the attention a constant presence. He had been desired his whole life, the longing a perpetual shadow.

It was exhausting, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him.

He kept walking, his footsteps steady. He was looking for a map, his eyes scanning the stalls. Or a caravan, his ears listening for news. Or some information, his mind seeking knowledge. Something useful, the goal clear. Something that would help them on their journey, the purpose defined.

He passed a stall selling maps, the wooden structure laden with parchment. He stopped, his footsteps coming to a halt. He looked at the maps, his eyes moving over the drawings. He examined them, his fingers tracing the lines.

They were decent, the quality acceptable. Not great, the craftsmanship average. But decent, the maps functional.

He reached into his pocket, his hand emerging with coins. He pulled out his coins, the metal glinting. Eight silver, the amount counted. He counted them, his fingers moving over the metal.

He was about to buy a map, his hand reaching for the parchment, when a woman stepped in front of him.

She was beautiful, her features striking. Tall, her height towering over most. Slender, her body lean and graceful. Long blonde hair, the strands flowing like liquid gold. Bright blue eyes, the color vivid and piercing. Perfect skin, the complexion flawless. Perfect smile, the expression confident and arrogant.

She wore fine clothes, the fabric luxurious. Silk, the material smooth and shimmering. Jewels, the gems sparkling. Gold, the metal gleaming. She looked like a noble, her appearance speaking of wealth and status.

She looked at him, her eyes moving over his form. His face, the features handsome. His body, the form lean. His posture, the stance relaxed.

She smiled, a confident, arrogant smile that spoke of entitlement. "You," she said, her voice commanding. "You’re handsome."

Paul sighed, a long, tired sound. He muttered under his breath, his words barely audible.

"Being handsome is such a pain."

He looked at her, his eyes meeting hers. At her fine clothes, the fabric luxurious. At her perfect face, the features flawless. At her arrogant smile, the expression entitled.

Then he looked behind her, his gaze shifting.

Two slaves stood there, their forms still and submissive. They were human, their race evident. They were male, their gender clear. They were thin, their bodies gaunt. They were pale, their skin colorless. They looked like they hadn’t been fed in a long time, their forms speaking of neglect and abuse.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening.

The woman spoke, her voice confident. "I am Lady Ashworth," she said, her words carrying weight. "Daughter of the owner of this city. And I command you to fall in love with me."

Paul stared at her, his expression blank.

"What?" he said, his voice flat.

"You heard me. Fall in love with me. I am beautiful. I am rich. I am powerful. You should be grateful."

Paul was silent, his expression unreadable. He looked at her, his eyes studying her face. At her arrogant face, the features twisted with pride. At her entitled posture, the stance radiating superiority. At her cruel smile, the expression cold and predatory.

Then he spoke, his voice low and hard. "You disgust me."

The woman blinked, her expression shocked. "What?"

"You disgust me. You’re arrogant. You’re entitled. You’re cruel. You treat people like objects. Like slaves. Like property."

He looked at the slaves, his eyes meeting theirs. At their thin bodies, the forms gaunt. At their pale faces, the color drained. At their hopeless eyes, the expression empty.

"You should never talk to me again."

The woman’s face went red, the color flooding her cheeks. Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating. Her mouth opened, the jaw dropping.

"You... you can’t talk to me like that!" she shouted, her voice high and sharp. "I am Lady Ashworth! My father owns this city!"

"I don’t care."

"I can have you killed!"

"I don’t care."

"I can have you tortured!"

"I don’t care."

The woman screamed, a loud, piercing sound that echoed through the streets. She raised her hand, her arm swinging. She was about to slap him, her palm open.

Paul grabbed her hand, his fingers closing around her wrist.

He squeezed, his grip tightening.

The woman screamed, a loud, piercing sound. Her face went pale, the color draining. Her eyes went wide, the pupils dilating.

"You... you’re hurting me!" she shouted, her voice cracking.

Paul didn’t let go, his grip steady. He squeezed harder, his fingers pressing into her flesh. The woman screamed louder, her voice rising.

"Stop!" she shouted, her voice desperate. "Stop it!"

Paul didn’t stop, his expression unchanged. He looked at her, his eyes cold. Dead.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice low and hard. "You’re going to leave me alone. You’re going to walk away. You’re going to forget this ever happened."

The woman was crying now, tears streaming down her face. Her perfect makeup was ruined, the mascara running.

"Or what?" she spat, her voice defiant despite the tears.

Paul squeezed harder, his grip tightening. The woman screamed again, her voice breaking.

"Or I’ll break your hand," he said, his voice flat. "Then your arm. Then your face. Then your life."

The woman was sobbing now, her body trembling. Her face was a mess, the tears and makeup mixing.

"Slaves!" she shouted, her voice desperate. "Attack him! Kill him!"

The two slaves moved, their steps reluctant. They stepped forward, their bodies tense. They raised their fists, their hands shaking.

Paul let go of the woman’s hand, his fingers releasing. He turned, his body spinning. He raised his hand, his palm open. A wind barrier formed, the air solidifying.

The slaves punched, their fists swinging. Their fists hit the barrier, the impact absorbed. They bounced off, their bodies stumbling back.

Paul moved, his body blurring.

He punched the first slave, his fist connecting. The man flew backward, his body tumbling. He crashed into a wall, the stone crumbling. He didn’t get up, his form still.

He punched the second slave, his fist connecting. The man flew backward, his body tumbling. He crashed into a stall, the wood splintering. He didn’t get up, his form still.

The woman stared, her mouth open. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated.

Paul walked toward her, his steps slow. He knelt beside her, his knees touching the ground. He looked at her, his eyes cold. Dead.

"If you try any dumb shit," he said, his voice low and hard, "I will kill you."

The woman was silent, her body shaking. She was scared, her face pale.

Then the city guards arrived.

They ran toward them, their steps quick. Their swords were drawn, the blades gleaming. Their faces were angry, the expressions hard.

"This is the city guards!" one of them shouted, his voice carrying. "You are under arrest for attacking a human!"

Paul looked at them, his eyes moving over their forms. At their swords, the blades sharp. At their angry faces, the expressions hard. At their drawn weapons, the threat clear.

He sighed, a long, tired sound.

"Great," he muttered, his voice resigned. "Just great."