Chapter 97: The Ash Wolf
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Half a day away from Gravehold, there was a mercenary camp hidden beside a broken watchtower.
The place did not look impressive from far away. There were rough tents, tied horses, drying clothes, weapon racks, cooking fires, and tired men sitting around with bowls in their hands. But anyone who looked carefully would know this was not a common bandit camp. The tents were placed in a defensive circle. Guards stood near the trees. The horses were kept close to the inner camp so they could not be stolen easily. The weapons were old but well cared for. These men were not nobles, but they survived by killing, guarding, chasing, and being paid for all three.
This was the camp of the Ash Wolf Mercenary Company.
Their leader was Brant Ashwolf, a hard man with a scarred face and a loud voice. He had spent most of his life selling swords to nobles who smiled in front of the law and hired dirty hands behind it. He was not a great man, but he was useful to many people. His company was not large enough to fight a noble army, but it was good enough to chase a fallen family through roads and forests.
Two days earlier, a young man sat inside the second largest tent of the camp and read a small letter.
His name was Merrick.
He was in his mid twenties, tall, handsome in a rough way, and always careful with his clothes even in a dirty camp. His hair was brown, his jaw was clean, and his eyes were the kind that looked honest when he wanted something. He was not the leader’s son, but he was treated almost like one. Brant had taken him as a student years ago because Merrick had talent with a sword, quick feet, and a tongue that knew how to sound respectful.
Merrick had also promised to marry Brant’s daughter.
That promise had made his position even stronger.
He read the letter again.
The more he read, the tighter his fingers became.
The letter was short.
House Vardros survivors had reached Gravehold. Only four were confirmed alive. Jenny Vardros. Jake Vardros. Lucard Vardros. Knight Captain Peter. Manager Jeff was dead. Several hired men were also dead. The one who killed Manager Jeff was likely Lucard.
The letter did not say much more.
It did not need to.
Merrick stared at the words until the paper wrinkled in his hand.
"Lucard Vardros," he whispered.
His voice became colder.
Manager Jeff had been his elder brother.
To the Vardros family, Jeff had been a servant who betrayed his masters. To Merrick, Jeff had been the elder brother who always found ways to earn money, even if the ways were dirty. Jeff had written to Merrick before the attack. He had said the Vardros house would fall soon. He had said the young heir Jake was valuable. Some nobles wanted the boy alive, and if Jeff captured him first, they could sell him to the highest bidder. A fallen noble child with a family seal, bloodline rights, and inheritance claims could become very expensive in the right hands.
Jeff had been supposed to capture Jake and bring him to Merrick.
After that, Merrick would arrange the sale.
A noble buyer would pay well. Maybe Karswell. Maybe another family. Maybe someone from farther away who wanted Vardros blood for marriage, hostage rights, or hidden family documents. Merrick did not care. Gold was gold. A crying child was easier to carry than a heavy chest.
But Jeff had failed.
Now Jeff was dead.
Merrick crushed the letter in his hand.
A young woman entered the tent without knocking.
She was nineteen years old, with dark red hair tied high, sharp eyes, and leather armor fitted close to her body. A short sword hung at her waist, and two throwing knives were strapped near her thigh. She moved with confidence because this camp belonged to her father. Men stepped aside when she walked. Some because they respected her. Some because she had broken teeth before when they did not.
Her name was Lysa Ashwolf.
She was Brant’s only daughter.
She looked at Merrick and immediately noticed his expression.
"What happened?"
Merrick quickly lowered his head as if fighting deep pain. He did not hide the letter fully. He let her see enough to know it was serious, but not enough to read everything.
"My brother is dead."
Lysa’s face changed. "Jeff?"
Merrick nodded slowly.
She stepped closer. "Who killed him?"
"The bastard Lucard Vardros."
Lysa frowned. "The mudblood son from that fallen house?"
"Yes."
She crossed her arms. "I heard he was useless. Weak body, no magic, no sword talent. People said he could not even protect himself properly."
Merrick laughed bitterly.
"That is what everyone thought. My brother believed it too."
Lysa looked at the letter in his hand. "What happened?"
Merrick did not answer at once. He looked away, letting grief cover calculation. He had learned long ago that silence made lies look heavier.
"My brother was sent to help in the matter around House Vardros," he said at last. "He was supposed to bring the boy away before other nobles took him. The boy could have been used in negotiation. Jeff wanted them to survive and save the brother and sister. But that bastard wanted to be the heir of the family. So he killed my brother and took control of Jake Vardros."
That was all false.
It left out the part where Jeff had betrayed his masters, hunted Jenny and Jake, and planned to sell the boy like an animal at market.
Lysa’s eyes became colder. "And Lucard killed him?"
"Yes. Not only him. The men with him too."
"How?"
"I do not know," Merrick said. "The letter says Lucard changed somehow. Maybe he had a hidden helper. Maybe House Vardros left him some cursed tool. Maybe the dead old baron hid something in that bastard’s hands. But my brother is dead because of him."