Ethan's new manor stood on a rise, its stone walls catching the golden hues of the setting sun. From the high vantage point, he could see the entire town stretched out below, the lake glistening like a silver mirror. The sight stirred something in him—a sense of responsibility and an ever-growing list of plans formulating in his mind.
Beca approached quietly, her brow furrowed. "My lord, we've searched everywhere. There's no silver."
Ethan's gaze sharpened. "Are you certain?" He turned, his mind already racing.
His senses heightened as he strode purposefully into Waladr's rooms. This one particular room, dimly lit by a lone window, smelled of dust and neglect. His fingers traced the edges of the furniture, seeking the telltale signs of a hidden cache. He stopped at the bed, then knelt, pulling the loose floor bricks aside. Beneath it, his hand found a latch. He pulled it open, revealing a hidden door in the floor.
Both Callwen and Beca exchanged glances, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in their eyes. "Underground?" Callwen whispered, his voice tinged with curiosity. .
Ethan descended the creaky wooden steps, the air growing cooler with each step. The faint smell of earth and time filled the space. As the flickering torchlight illuminated the underground chamber, the glint of gold and silver greeted them—a veritable hoard of wealth, locked away for years. Chests overflowed with coins, goblets,gemstones and ornate crosses.
Ethan knelt beside a chest, running his fingers over the cold metal and took the gemstones and crystals putting them in his pockets, This cannot be Waladr's family's generational wealth.... he said inwardly with disbei. This was in fact Roger Mortimer's wealth. He had hidden it when he founded the town a century ago, in 1310. He founded the town with the aim of bringing stability to the Penllyn area, which was experiencing disorder and unrest at the time.
He stood, lifting an intricately crafted cup covered in gold. The weight of it was solid in his hand, a testament to the wealth it represented. Turning to Callwen, he handed it over. "Bring all of this up."
Callwen took the cup, his fingers curling around it as if it were a living thing. As Ethan left the room, Callwen lingered, his eyes fixed on the open chests. He dipped his hands into the glittering coins, letting them slip through his fingers like water. The metallic clink echoed in the small space, a sound that spoke of power, legacy, and greed.
"Nobles truly own this world," he muttered, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
Beca, unimpressed, began tidying the scattered items, her movements brisk and efficient. She showed no interest in the glittering treasure that entranced Callwen.
Callwen watched her, gesturing toward the chests. "You've never seen this much money in your life, have you, witch? Or are you just in shock?"
Beca straightened, her eyes narrowing. "Don't get any funny ideas, scoundrel. If you even think of—"
"Fine, fine," Callwen interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. With a final glance at the wealth before them, he closed the chests, sealing the fortune away once more
---
Ethan stepped into the local church, the air heavy with incense and the sound of faint murmurs. The sacred space was open, with only a few wooden chairs scattered around.
He requested the audience of Father Noah, and after a few moments, a younger priest appeared, nodding before quickly disappearing with Ethan behind the curtains.
As Ethan entered the room, Father Noah was in his chair, his stoic face and deep-set eyes scrutinized the young lord carefully. The priest's voice was calm, though his posture slightly tense. "What brings you to this holy place, Lord Ieuan?"
Ethan's response was measured as he stated he came for a confession. The confession was underway, "Father, I have sinned... Men have died because of me. The traitors, those who plotted against my family and me—they are dead because of my hand. Their sons, too... but yet I feel...."
Father Noah paused, considering the weight of Ethan's confession. "The men you speak of," he said slowly, his tone deliberate, "were treasonous, and their actions betrayed not only your father but our cause. They conspired against the very throne they swore allegiance to. They were, our enemies. What happened to them is not a matter of sin, but of justice."
Ethan's gaze grew colder as the priest spoke. "Treasonous," Ethan repeated, his voice hard. "Then why are you not dead, Father?"
Father Noah's heart skipped a beat, the calm facade slipping for just a moment. "W-What are you implying?"
Ethan's fingers tightened around the chair, his eyes never leaving Father Noah's face. "You have conspired against me, have you not? Speak, why is treasonous cunt not like you dead like them."
The priest's breath quickened. A sheen of sweat broke out on his brow. His heart raced, the color draining from his face. Ethan's presence was overwhelming, almost suffocating. He felt trapped.
Ethan's face shifted, his features elongating, eyes darkening, and his skin rippling as if something monstrous lurked beneath. His once-human visage contorted into a grotesque parody of a devil, a vision of terror that seemed to seep from the depths of nightmares.
Father Noah gasped, his body stiffening, eyes wide with abject horror. The transformation before him was unholy, a sight that made his blood run cold. He clutched the armrests of his chair, his knuckles whitening.
Ethan leaned closer, his breath hot and heavy, voice a rasping growl. "Confess!" he demanded, the words dripping with menace.
Father Noah's mouth opened, but no sound emerged at first, the weight of fear choking him. "I... I have never betrayed you," he finally managed, his voice quaking. "I have only served God. I..."
"Confess!" Ethan roared, rattling the priest. His devilish visage twisted into a sneer, teeth sharp and glinting like daggers.
Father Noah trembled violently, unable to tear his gaze away from Ethan's demonic transformation. "It was the English!" he cried out, voice cracking. "They paid me and Simon! Tribute... for silence, information. They...."
Ethan's monstrous face loomed closer, yet his voice softened, dripping with a sinister calm. "Where are they, Father?" His grip on the priest's shoulders slackened, though the intensity of his gaze never wavered.
Father Noah's heart pounded in his chest. His body, drenched in sweat, felt weak. "Two... a man and a crippled woman, they are fishermen... they live by the lake," he confessed in a whisper, tears streaming down his face. "Please! I've told you everything."
Ethan straightened, his form reverting to its human guise, the devilish visage melting away as if it had never been. He smoothed his coat, his expression serene once more. "Thank you, Father," he said, his tone almost cordial, as he stepped back. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
Father Noah slumped in his chair, his body shaking with relief and dread. In the next moment his face twisted with rage. "You... you will pay for this! You are a devil! You think you can escape judgment?"
Ethan turned slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded the priest. "What is it you said again ealier, Father? That there is a devil in all of us?"
The priest recoiled as Ethan took a step closer.
Father Noah froze, a cold sweat pouring down his face as he sensed something shifting in the air. Ethan stood over him, his posture relaxed yet commanding, exuding an unsettling calm.
The priest's lips quivered as he spat in Ethan's direction, but the young lord didn't flinch. Instead, he glanced down as a small insect like creature with sharp edges glinted in the dim light.
Father Noah's eyes widened in horror as he felt the little creature gently pressed against his skin, piercing through his robes. His body jerked, and a grotesque transformation began to take place. The hair on his face thickened rapidly, growing long and wild, covering his features, his hands, his arms. The transformation was painful—he screamed as his body twisted, fur sprouting where it had never been before.
The door suddenly flung open, and the other priests rushed in, drawn by the sound of Father Noah's screams. But when they entered, they saw nothing but chaos: Father Noah, his body covered in thick hair, trembling in his chair.
Ethan, his face blank but his eyes hard, acted startled and fell back onto the floor, pretending to point. "Ah! A devil!" he cried, his voice laced with mock horror. "Father Noah has turned into a devil!"
The priests gaped at the sight, frozen in shock as Father Noah writhed, muttering incoherently.