The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 279: The festival of Deity king

As servants appeared to attend them, Lord Bertelot paused beside Jolthar. ”We’ll speak again, young man. I find myself curious... about what truly drives someone of your capabilities.”

The statement held both acknowledgement and warning—recognition of Jolthar’s unusual competence coupled with lingering suspicion about his deeper motives.

Jolthar inclined his head respectfully. ”I look forward to it, Lord Bertelot.”

As the party moved toward the door, Nora caught Jolthar’s eye, a slight smile acknowledging his victory. Their shared goal of securing Tekkora’s development had advanced significantly.

The investment would ensure the forge’s completion, validating their vision for transforming the forgotten outpost into a centre of metallurgical innovation.

Cleora and Jolthar stood there, watching the old man walk out of the hall with Nora and Roblan on either side.

Cleora moved closer to Jolthar and said, ”I wish I could devour you now.”

”What now?!” Jolthar was genuinely surprised as she turned to look at her face. Her expression was in between happiness and ecstasy.

”Even I wouldn’t dare speak to my father the way you spoke. And it was the first time that he acknowledged someone in the field of trade,” Cleora added as she wrapped her arms around his arm.

There were two guards at the doors, and no one was present except for the two. But Cloera was not minding them.

She turned his head, looking in the eyes, ”I can’t wait any longer. You need to do something about my fire inside, which you ignited.”

Jolthar’s cheeks were turning beet red, her smell filling nostrils.

Then she moved in closer, her lips touching his, indulging in a deep kiss. Her hand snaked its way towards his trousers.

She could feel his bulge as she caressed it on the fabric. She let out a moan into his mouth as her tongue was pushed into his. The wet noise of their kissing filled the room, drowning out any other sound. Jolthar’s hands began to explore her body, his desire matching hers with every touch. Their passion continued to build, consuming them both in a fiery embrace.

The guards were at the entrance; they could hear the noise, but they didn’t dare to look.

Cleora moved back, breathing heavily as she tried to compose herself, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she whispered, ”We should probably find a more private place next time.”

Jolthar chuckled, his hands still lingering on her curves as he replied, ”I couldn’t agree more.”

***

Two days later, in the last week of April 1824, it was an auspicious time for the empire and its people. Somewhere in the city of Avyaburgh, not far from the barony, the city was brimming with people.

The golden light of late afternoon bathed the alabaster spires of Avyaburgh in a warm glow, casting long shadows across the bustling streets filled with revelry.

Today marked the sacred birthday celebration of Deity King Inadrys, ruler of Illumarhen. It was an occasion of their deity, their divine protector.

Citizens and visitors alike donned their finest garments, adorned with symbolic jewellery that caught the sun’s rays—golden medallions embossed with the sacred eight-pointed star, silver brooches shaped like falcons, and gemstone-encrusted circlets representing Inadrys’s divine crown.

The Temple of Inadrys dominated the city skyline, its towering gokraums reaching toward the heavens like the fingers of a supplicant.

Each of the twelve pillars had been carved from a single piece of marble, their surfaces depicting the legendary twelve trials of Inadrys in intricate relief. Mythical beasts, heroic battles, and divine interventions spiralled upward along each column, telling stories that every child in Avyaburgh could recite by heart.

The gokraums themselves were architectural marvels, layered pyramidal structures adorned with thousands of carved figures, each painted in vibrant hues that had been refreshed for the festival. At their peaks, golden flames burned day and night, visible from every corner of the city.

Streams of people flowed through the temple’s grand eastern entrance, bearing offerings wrapped in cloth—traditional gifts of incense, precious metals, exotic fruits, and handcrafted tokens.

Priests in robes accepted these tributes, placing them at the feet of the massive golden statue of Inadrys that dominated the central chamber.

The statue depicted the Deity King seated on his celestial throne, one hand raised in blessing, the other holding the Orb.

Moving steadily toward this magnificent structure was a procession that parted the festival crowds without effort—not through force but by the natural deference shown to nobility.

Lord Eude led the way, a middle-aged man with a stern countenance, his silver-streaked hair pulled back tightly in a warrior’s knot.

His dark blue robes were trimmed with silver thread that caught the light as he walked with measured steps. The sigil of House Veyrane was prominently embroidered on his chest.

To his right walked Lorryll, a young man with sharp features.

On Lorryll’s right glided Liliana, his wife. Her beauty remained striking, with high cheekbones and piercing eyes that betrayed her heritage as the daughter of Patriarch Segarus Naemarys.

Several paces behind this trio marched four figures that drew wary glances from the festival-goers—the Crimson Blades, mercenaries hired to ensure Lord Eude’s protection.

Their leader, Gales, was a broad-shouldered man with a face marked by numerous scars that told stories of battles survived.

Among the four guards, one figure stood out—Preeyonka, the half-elf woman whose mixed heritage was evident in her slightly pointed ears and unnaturally graceful movements.

”Have you heard about what happened in the barony?” Lorryll asked, his voice low enough to remain private despite the surrounding crowd.

Eude’s mouth tightened momentarily. ”I did. That brat must have had really good luck to escape the grand mage, a second in command of the Naemarys clan.”

At this mention, Liliana’s composed expression faltered for a heartbeat, and a complicated mixture of emotions crossed her face—hurt and anger.

But the lapse lasted only a moment before her noble mask slipped back into place. Her steps never faltered as she walked beside her husband.

When she learnt the news of her uncle dying in the barony, she was surprised. She wasn’t aware of what he was doing in the barony of Tekkora. But after his death, she knew. Lodawg went to kill Jolthar, and she also got to know that her family was now interested in Jolthar.