The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 349: The March Through the Capital

Jolthar walked calmly in the center of the formation. His mind was already working ahead, planning and analyzing. This was clearly orchestrated—the timing too perfect, the charge too calculated.

But they had made a mistake. They had arrested him publicly, in front of hundreds of witnesses, including two of the most prominent women in noble society.

The story would spread through the capital by nightfall. And Jolthar had shown no fear, no guilt, only calm confidence. That would matter in the court of public opinion, which sometimes influenced the actual courts more than evidence did.

Behind him, he could hear Cleora and Raayani speaking urgently to each other, already making plans.

Good.

At least they agreed on something and stopped arguing with each other.

A small smile crept on his lips as he watched them.

They wouldn’t sit idle while he was detained. And that was exactly what he needed: them free and able to move while he dealt with the legal charade from inside.

The soldiers marched him through the gates and into the capital proper. The great city spread out before them, buildings rising on either side of the wide avenue. Normally, Jolthar would have taken time to appreciate the architecture and the energy of the massive city.

But now his thoughts were focused elsewhere.

-

Jolthar walked with steady steps, his shackled hands held loosely before him. The soldiers formed a rigid formation around him, their boots striking the cobblestones in unified rhythm.

The captain led from the front, his red plume bobbing with each stride. They moved through the wide avenues of the capital, drawing eyes from every direction.

The young man’s mind churned with calculations. He could escape this easily enough. The thought wasn’t born of arrogance but simple assessment. These soldiers were competent but not exceptional. He had faced worse odds in darker places.

A sudden strike, a few precise movements, and he could vanish into the city’s labyrinth of streets and alleys before they organized a proper pursuit.

But then what?

Jolthar’s jaw tightened slightly as he thought it through.

If he ran, he would be branded a fugitive. Guilty in the eyes of the law, regardless of truth. Tekkora would suffer for it.

Cleora would suffer for it.

Everything they had built, the transformation of a dying village into a thriving city, would be tainted by accusations of harboring a murderer.

No.

Running was the coward’s option, and it played directly into the hands of whoever orchestrated this arrest.

He needed to see the board clearly.

Someone had moved against him, but he didn’t know the full scope yet.

How deep did this conspiracy run? Who could he count as allies in the capital?

The barony had gained a reputation and influence, but reputation was a double-edged sword. Success bred jealousy as readily as it earned respect.

By allowing himself to be arrested, he was forcing everyone to show their positions. Those who supported Tekkora would have to act. Those who opposed them would reveal themselves through action or convenient silence.

Within days, he would know exactly who stood where.

And there was another consideration.

Jolthar’s eyes flickered to the buildings they passed and the people watching from windows and doorways.

The capital was the heart of the empire.

Everything that happened here carried weight and meaning.

If he caused chaos now, broke free violently, and fought against imperial soldiers, he would be declaring war on the system itself. That would unite people against him who might otherwise remain neutral.

Better to play the role of the wrongly accused but law-abiding citizen. Better to let the corruption show itself while he maintained the moral high ground.

The march continued.

They passed through a merchant district where vendors called out their wares. The sounds faded as people noticed the procession of soldiers.

Conversations stopped mid-sentence.

Heads turned.

Fingers pointed.

At first, they wondered who it was, and gradually, people seemed to recognize him.

”That’s him,” someone said in a carrying whisper.

”The one from the papers.”

”Jolthar Kaezhlar,” another voice confirmed.

”The young baron from Tekkora. I read about him just last week.”

The papers had indeed covered the barony extensively.

The rapid development, the innovative policies, and the unusual leadership structure, all of it had been reported across the empire. Jolthar’s face had appeared in illustrated broadsheets more than once. Some articles praised the transformation of Tekkora. Others had been more skeptical, questioning how such success could be achieved so quickly.

He was known as the youngest man to ever achieve this feat, and more importantly than that, he was called the lover boy of the baroness.

Now those same people watched him being marched through the streets in chains.

The disconnect was visible on their faces.

This was the man who had turned a forgotten village into a prosperous city?

This was the young leader who had challenged traditional noble structures? Why was he being treated like a common criminal?

”What did he do?” a woman asked her companion.

”Murder, I heard. Some old baron.”

”Murder? Him? Doesn’t seem the type.”

”Everyone’s the type if pushed far enough.”

The speculation spread like ripples on water.

By the time Jolthar’s procession reached the next district, people were already lining the streets, drawn by rumor and curiosity.

The news was traveling faster than the soldiers could march.

Jolthar kept his expression neutral, but internally, he noted this with satisfaction.

That’s more like it.

Let the word spread.

Let everyone in the capital know what was happening.

Sunlight killed shadows, and whatever plot had been hatched against him would have a harder time succeeding under public scrutiny.

*

In a different part of the capital, in a mansion of dark stone and narrow windows, Hernais Rothgard stood in his study.

The room was lined with books he never read and decorated with art he had inherited rather than chosen.

A servant had just delivered the news, speaking quickly and nervously before retreating.

Hernais stared at nothing in particular, his mind racing.

Jolthar Kaezhlar had been arrested.

The plan was working.