Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World-Chapter 241: Ayla, Mara and Lysa

Conradin's caravan marched for days, using the dense woods to conceal their trail as they pushed steadily toward the capital. They halted only to sleep, and by the time the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, the men were already on their feet, ready to move again.

The three captive women were kept bound, forced to march barefoot after their boots had been ruined during their 'escape'. Their feet bled with every step, small wood splinters digging deep into their flesh, a misery unknown in the frozen North, where the ground was always sheathed in ice. Even so, their lives had been harder long before they became Shadow Guards. They knew hunger. They knew tragedy. They knew winter. This kind of pain was nothing new. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

When the night began to cloak the skies again, the caravan stopped to set up camp. The sisters were dropped near a tree, the rope bruising their wrist as they began pulling splinters from their feet, not forgetting to fake small cries of pain whenever a soldier passed nearby.

But unlike the previous nights, one of the soldiers, one who often lingered close to the noble, broke away from the others and approached them. Seeing him coming, the three huddled together, embracing each other like frightened animals, their faces twisted into perfect masks of terror.

"Get up!" - The soldier barked, his voice rough and commanding as he seized them by their arms, lifting them with ease. The girls, weakened by nearly five days with little more than crumbs to eat, offered no resistance - "Baron Conradin wishes to meet you."

They stumbled along as they were dragged toward the main campfire, where Conradin waited.

He did not look well. His brown hair and forehead were drenched in sweat, his face was flushed with fever, and deep rings of fatigue darkened his eyes. His once luxurious crimson coat was gone, and in its place a simple travel cloak hung loosely over his frame. The dark bandage on his shoulder looked worse than before, angry and swollen…maybe an infection.

As soon as they arrived, the soldier shoved the sisters roughly to their knees in the mud near the fire, then stepped back with his sword resting across his shoulder.

"Names" — Conradin said, pain evident in his voice as he shifted uncomfortably, his hand briefly brushing his injured arm.

The three women exchanged quick, fearful glances, like cornered animals searching for the first to be sacrificed.

At last, the eldest sister, a tall blonde with cheeks smeared in dried blood and dirt, lifted her chin. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable, and even her posture, rigid and desperate, was convincing.

"Ayla, my lord" — she said, her voice trembling. She nudged the girl on her right. "Mara." - Then, the girl on her left - "Lysa."

Conradin's gaze didn't waver, not minding the fear in their eyes.

"Where are you from?" — he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, locking onto Ayla's face.

She hesitated, then spoke, her voice filled with emotion - "We lived in the pinewoods north of Kovichen Village, my lord. We never left it." - Her eyes dropped instinctively, her mouth tightening into a sorrowful line, a perfect imitation of shame and grief.

Conradin frowned. - "Kovichen sits under Baron Koss, does it not? I believe he is one of those loyal to the betrayer… Prince Halvar, right?"

"We-we never saw the baron," — Ayla said hurriedly, her voice trembling. "Our father was only a simple healer. People came to our door for tinctures and shallow treatments... nothing else."

Conradin kept his eyes fixed on her, cold and unyielding, as if trying to pry the truth straight from her soul. He didn't blink. He didn't move. It was clear he didn't believe a word of it.

On the side, Mara swallowed hard, as if unable to bear that gaze - "Bandits raided us at dusk. Masks. Black cloaks." - her voice cracked as tears streamed down her cheeks - "They wanted money... and herbs... potions to treat one of their colleagues. F-Father gave them the key to our safe, but they still beat him... until he died."

Conradin didn't spare her a glance. He only repeated with a cold and thoughtful voice - "Coins and potions."

"Yes, my lord," — Ayla stepped in quickly, covering for her sister, whose voice had broken into shallow gasps.

"They turned everything upside down, and then..." — she hesitated, biting her lip hard, also struggling to keep the tears from falling — "they set the hut on fire. Father... he was still inside."

Conradin arched a brow, unimpressed. Every word seemed more like a lie than a speck of truth - "And how exactly did you escape alive?"

"They said something about Baron Koss craving new blood... that he would be pleased with us as a present" — Ayla said, her voice trembling with what seemed like barely contained fear - "We waited until nightfall... when their guards relaxed. Then we ran toward the forest as fast as we could. Luck... or the gods... must have brought us to your grace."

"Indeed…that sounds like something that Koss would do." - Conradin's lip curled slightly, his gaze locked on Ayla - "But, you want me to believe that three fragile girls outran a dozen men? Men capable enough to escape from my own pursuit?"

He paused for a moment, before continuing - "Maybe I should take a few of your fingers to make the truth come easier."

He stood up sharply, reaching for the dagger at his belt. But the moment his arm extended, pain flared through his body. The dagger slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.

"Fuck!" — Conradin roared, clutching his shoulder with his good hand — "THIS FUCKING—"

He staggered a step back, gritting his teeth. It felt like worms were crawling beneath his skin, burrowing into his muscle, gnawing at his nerves the moment he tried to move.

"Your grace, maybe we can help," — Ayla said, seizing the opening without hesitation.

In anger, Conradin turned toward her, his hand still clamped against his shoulder. Black pus was leaking through the bandages, staining the cloth dark. His face twisted in rage.

"WHAT THE FUCK CAN YOU DO, WOMAN? DO YOU EVEN KNOW A SINGLE HEALING MAGIC?" — he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. The pain seemed to strip away what little reason he had left - "MAYBE WE SHOULDN'T JUST TAKE A FINGER, MAYBE WE SHOULD CUT THAT FILTHY TONGUE OF YOURS TOO!"

"N-no, your grace..." - Ayla stammered, keeping her voice low and pleading, trying to calm the man down - "As I said... we are daughters of a healer. We've been studying under our father since we could walk. Maybe we can take a look... maybe we can help."

Conradin glared at her, distrust blazing in his fatigued eyes. But the agony gnawing at his shoulder was too much to ignore. They were still days away from the capital. If he collapsed before then, everything would be lost.

The soldier who had brought the sisters stepped forward, hand twitching toward his sword to silence the girl.

"Stop" - Conradin growled, lifting his good hand stiffly - "Try anything foolish..." — he glared at Ayla, voice cold as iron but furious as fire - "and I'll pin you and your sisters to a tree and leave your bodies for the wolves. Loose her."

The guard hesitated, jaw tight, but obeyed. With a rough motion, he sliced through Ayla's bindings.

She rose slowly, blood and mud smeared her legs and hands. She cautiously stepped near the noble, afraid to meet his eyes.

"C-can you sit down, your grace?" - she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Compared to him, she was small, barely reaching his chest.

Conradin scowled, but the pain in his shoulder made the choice for him. He lowered himself onto a flat stone near the firepit, teeth clenched in frustration. He was a mage. A noble.

"Then, if you permit me..." - Ayla said softly, stepping closer. She reached for the bandages. Conradin gritted his teeth, the rough cloth stuck to his skin, tearing away flesh as she peeled it back.

The moment the bandages fell away, a foul stench hit the air, thick and rancid, like a corpse left too long in the sun. Even the seasoned soldiers on the other fireplaces recoiled. Conradin himself felt like vomiting, pinching his nose with a pale face.

The wound was worse than Ayla thought. The flesh around it had turned black, swollen and soft, weeping pus down his arm. Beneath the skin, corruption twisted like vines.

"It's a poison, your grace," — Ayla said, inspecting the dark pus by scent.

"I KNOW IT'S A FUCKING POISON!" — Conradin roared, slamming his good fist into the ground — "DO YOU KNOW HOW TO TREAT IT?"

Ayla took a small step back, feigning fear.

"Y-yes, your grace. It's a venom common among the spiders in the woods near our home. Our father... he always made sure we carried antidotes. I... I think I still have some with me. May I apply it?" - she asked, carefully offering him the choice.

Conradin glared at her for a long, tense moment, breathing heavily. Then he turned toward the soldier still standing by. - "If she tries anything funny," - he said coldly - "behead the other two where they stand."

"Do it, woman," - he commanded.

Without another word, Ayla rummaged inside her torn, fur-lined robe and pulled out a small leather pouch. She opened it to reveal a fine white powder.

"This is Bear Powder, your grace," — she explained quickly — "A remedy developed by my grandfather to fight all kind of venoms. It can neutralize multiple poisons... including this one."

Indeed, Bear Powder was known as Orc Powder. It was a antidote, a treatment, developed by the barbarians during long centuries of living inside the Frozen Forest. It functioned well against the poison that covered Leier's dagger.

"It might hurt a little..." — Ayla added cautiously.

Without waiting, Ayla sprinkled the powder directly into the open wound. The effect was immediate.

Conradin howled in agony, his body jerking violently as Ayla pressed her fingers deep into the wound, making sure the powder reached the poisoned flesh. It felt like knives were twisting through his nerves, but the pain lasted only moments.

Then, suddenly, there was nothing. No burning. No gnawing. No agony.

Conradin slumped slightly, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow. Carefully, he flexed his shoulder. No pain.

Ayla wiped her bloodied fingers on her torn skirts and straightened herself - "Your Grace, this antidote needs to be applied three times a day for the next three days, your grace," — she explained - "If not, the infection will return... and your arm may fall off."

Conradin rotated the shoulder again, testing it. A small, satisfied grunt escaped him. He barely looked at her as he barked toward the soldier - "Bind them again."

The guard hesitated, as if confused, but obeyed. As the sisters were tied again, Conradin waved lazily at the guard.

"Feed them" - he said - "Give them meat. I need them healthy."