Chapter 2: I got Reincarnated, but My Wife is Now My Mother! - Chapter Two
"Thank you, Alfred. I'm forever in your debt," the Count expressed with a tone of gratitude.
Alfred, the Count's loyal servant, quickly dismissed the notion. "I won't hear of such things, Asa Stephan Martindale. It is both my duty and honor to serve a noble house as distinguished as yours, Milord. My only regret is not being there to protect your wife and son from those despicable ruffians," he replied, his voice heavy with sincerity and a hint of remorse.
"You are more than just a servant; you are a trusted friend and an invaluable advisor," the Count responded, his voice reflecting a deep-seated respect for Alfred. "Unfortunately, I must leave shortly to attend to this matter with the ruffians. Son, I'd like you to join me in the dungeon. It's important for you to understand and decide the fate of those who dare attack our family."
I inwardly groaned, 'Damn, I didn't expect to be dragged into this.' Reluctantly, I followed him out of the room. Rising from my bed made my head spin momentarily, but I quickly regained my composure. It was crucial not to show any weakness until I fully understood the nature of this place and time.
The Count led the way, his stature nearly matching mine, only slightly taller. As we walked, I couldn't help but notice his resemblance to someone from my past – he bore a striking similarity to my great-grandfather. The surroundings confirmed my earlier suspicions; we were indeed in a castle or estate that belonged to the Middle Ages. The floor beneath our feet and the walls surrounding us were made of cold, hard stone. Torches mounted on the walls provided a flickering, orange glow, their presence unnoticed in rooms filled with sunlight but now evident in the dimly lit hallways.
As we proceeded, the hallway was adorned with luxurious blue rugs, their rich color contrasting with the stark stone. Banners in hues of blue, white, and gold hung from the walls, adding a regal touch to the otherwise austere environment. Men clad in bone white plate armor, their chests covered in blue, patrolled the corridors. Each one bore the insignia of a silver horse. This symbol was repeated on all the banners and armor of the men-at-arms, signifying the heraldry of the noble house.
The air in the castle was thick with history and tradition, each step echoing against the stone floor. The men we passed nodded in respect to the Count, their faces a blend of loyalty and discipline. The atmosphere was charged with a sense of purpose and duty, reflective of a time when honor and loyalty to one's house were paramount.
As we neared the dungeon, the air grew colder and the light dimmer. The sound of our footsteps seemed to grow louder, the only noise in the otherwise silent corridor. The weight of the Count's words hung heavily in the air – the decision that lay ahead was not just a matter of justice but a lesson in the responsibilities and burdens that came with being part of a noble lineage.
The journey to the dungeon was not just a physical one but a passage through time and tradition, a reminder of the values and expectations that governed the lives of those born into nobility. As the Count's son, I was not just an observer but a participant in this legacy. This legacy now required me to face the realities of justice and retribution in a world vastly different from the one I knew.
'The realization that I had indeed died and been reincarnated into this world solidified with each step I took alongside the Count. This was no gathering of cosplayers; this was a different reality, a different time. We descended a long, winding staircase that delved deeper into the heart of the castle. With each step, the light from above faded, plunging us further into darkness. The air grew colder, and the echoes of our footsteps against the stone steps seemed to grow louder and more ominous.
After navigating several flights, we arrived at our destination. Before us stood imposing double doors, large and daunting, guarded by four armored men. Their expressions were stern and unyielding, their postures exuding a sense of danger and discipline. Further back, shrouded in shadows, another set of four guards stood in what appeared to be a prayer or meditation. It was clear they were not just guards but warriors of a higher caliber, their silent vigil adding a solemn weight to the atmosphere.
As the Count approached, the doors were opened with reverence and precision. The respect and loyalty the guards displayed towards him were palpable, their actions speaking volumes of the Count's status and influence. Inside, the dungeon revealed itself as a long corridor flanked by cells on both sides. Some were larger compartments capable of holding about twenty prisoners, while others were smaller, solitary cells.
We bypassed the larger cells, turning down a corridor lined with individual ones. The haunting sound of screaming echoed from further down the hall, sending chills down my spine. The agonized cries painted a vivid, unsettling picture of what fate might befall those imprisoned here.
One of the warriors stepped forward, keys in hand, and unlocked the door to one of the cells. Following suit, the others began to open several more cells, one by one, until a total of seven doors stood ajar. My heart sank as I came to a chilling realization about the identities of these so-called 'Ruffians.'
From the cells emerged seven individuals – four young men and three women. Their appearances were disheveled, the toll of their captivity evident in their weary eyes and haggard faces. As they stepped into the dim light of the corridor, I could see the fear and uncertainty that gripped them. They were not hardened criminals or seasoned warriors; they looked to be ordinary people, perhaps in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The young men were of varying heights and build, but all shared a look of confusion and fear. The women, too, bore expressions of apprehension, their gazes darting around as if seeking an escape or understanding of their situation. Their clothes were tattered, and their bodies bore signs of neglect and possible mistreatment.
The Count observed them silently, his face an unreadable mask. The dungeon's atmosphere was heavy with tension, each prisoner's hesitant steps echoing off the stone walls. I stood beside the Count, a witness to this grim procession, my mind racing with questions about the fate that awaited these individuals and the role I was expected to play in their judgment.
As the prisoners gathered in the center of the corridor, under the watchful eyes of the guards, the weight of the moment settled upon us all. This was more than a mere confrontation; it was a crossroads of justice, mercy, and the harsh realities of a world governed by feudal laws and noble decrees. In this dimly lit dungeon beneath the ground of a medieval castle, the lines between right and wrong, justice and vengeance, were blurred. I found myself at the heart of this moral quandary.
They couldn't be older than me. 'My God, they're just kids!' They wore what amounted to rags. Flashes of struggle come rushing through my mind. The whole scene plays in front of me like a movie on fast-forward. Everything that happened, I understand. These are the people that attacked us. 'Were these my memories?'
"That one is the leader, and those two are her siblings," a warrior revealed.
"Execute the others at once. My son will decide the fate of those three," Count Asa said coldly.
There was no hesitation in the men under his authority. Immediately, they escorted the malnourished men down the hallway. Further toward the screaming. A sinking feeling nags at my stomach. The three women never once looked at me. It was hard to tell what they looked like in this dark lighting. Two of them were clearly teenagers.
"Son, this woman is the mastermind behind the attack on you and your mother. I leave her and her ilk's fate in your hands. Whatever you choose will be lawful and righteous. The choice is yours, Asa Sung Martindale," Count Asa explained.
A sense of dread fills my stomach. 'How can I decide their fate? Yet, I have to. This man called Count Asa would execute them without a second thought. The man that is supposed to be my father.' The lives of three people are in my hands. There is only one thing I can do.
"Make them my slaves," I whispered.
I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try. At least I could look after them. Then I could find out why they attacked us. The memories I have shown them were trying to get out valuables. Not harm or kill us. It was a random encounter with no meaning other than the wrong place for them and us. I could see the reasons behind their attack.
The true motives of what they were after. Four people have already died from that mistake. My father looks over me for a moment. I could tell he was considering what I asked. The weight of it is totally apparent to me. This world isn't like what I know. It's not some fantasy. There are real consequences here—long-lasting repercussions for any choices made. This is the real world I live in.
The Count seems satisfied with the measure of my resolve. He nods to the armored prison guards. They immediately take the three women away. For a moment, I glimpsed the mastermind looking at me. There was a sense of absolute confusion, but more than that was a look of sheer and utter horror in her eyes. A cross between desperation and hopelessness crept into her eyes as she was being taken away. 'My God, what kind of world is this?'
"Hmm, enough with this serious business. You've decided and that is enough for me. Now, if you're up to it later. You have your training to continue. I know you must understand how important defending yourself is," my father said.
"Yes, I do," I whispered.
'If it's this bad for them, What could happen to me out there in the world?' I have to prepare for whatever this world throws at me. For Abigail's sake, I must find a way to protect us.
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