Count William didn't die immediately. The bolt had been too fast, piercing through his chest and leaving a gaping wound the size of a bowl, yet sparing his other vital organs. However, he wouldn't survive for long; the loss of blood from such a wound was fatal, and no one could heal it in time.
William clearly understood this as his eyes flickered, then dulled. He glanced down at the crossbow bolt lodged in his chest and let out a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle. "Thus, the true peril... is one thou canst not flee from... for... 'tis too... too swift..."
These were his last words. A violent, agonizing cough followed, and a flood of blood surged from the wound. William's body spasmed once before he closed his eyes. His head, in his final moments, turned toward Edward, as if he wanted to say something. But it was too late.
Standing behind William, Edward was drenched in cold sweat, staring in terror at the long crossbow bolt that had impaled William. His throat tightened, and he struggled to swallow. At that moment, his mind was blank, and one single thought echoed in his head: It's not him who's dead... it's not him...
Yes, it's not him.
Earlier, both he and William had sensed danger, and both had ducked behind a stone. Nothing had happened, and William, ever the proud noble, had stood up first, reprimanding him. Edward, who had no such dignity to uphold, had stayed hidden, still uneasy. And then... the crossbow bolt came!
A single, fatal strike, and William was dead.
It was William who had stepped out from behind the stone, and if Edward had followed him, it would have been his body pinned to the ground instead.
At least, at least it's not me...
Edward felt a deep sense of relief, but it was overshadowed by a chill that ran through him, a terror that spread from his feet to his head. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread — the shadow of death still loomed over him.
He didn't know who had fired the bolt, but he had a strong suspicion. After all, only his brother, Richard, could have fired such a bizarre, long crossbow bolt. Every encounter along the way seemed to have been orchestrated by him.
Now, the question was: What was Edward supposed to do?
The specter of death hung over him, keeping him from stepping out from behind the rock. He feared another bolt might come for him next. But hiding was not a solution. He knew Richard's temperament well — his brother was a monster with no mercy.
Yes... a monster!
Edward trembled, paralyzed by fear, and could think of no way out.
What should I do? What should I do?
He repeated the question a thousand times in his head, but no answer came.
Despair settled over him as his soldiers and knights began to react.
It took more than ten seconds for them to process the sudden death of Count William and come to terms with the reality of the situation. Then, the knight, Lanret, unsheathed his longsword with a sharp motion and shouted, "Alert! We have enemies!"
Immediately, Knight Huck followed suit, drawing his sword and issuing orders. "Everyone, take cover from the attack. Rum, you take a squad ahead to scout. The rest of you, prepare for battle!"
"And you, you, you!" Huck pointed at several soldiers. "Protect the Count's body. If anything happens to it, you'll pay with your lives!"
The soldiers, reluctantly tasked with guarding the body, exchanged glances at the terrifying wound in William's chest. Their silent exchange seemed to say, How much more damage could it take? But Huck wasn't about to let this distraction derail the order of the moment.
He quickly turned away from the soldiers and, with a sense of urgency, moved toward Edward. Placing a hand firmly on his shoulder, Huck looked at Edward's panicked face, disappointment flashing across his own. But it was replaced with a grim determination as he spoke: "Listen, Edward... I know you're scared, but there's something you need to understand. The Count had no direct male heir. With his death, you, as his closest nephew, are the only one who can inherit his title and lands."
"Of course, there's a good chance you won't be able to hold the land together, and it might fall apart or be taken by others. But right now, you have to step up and lead us. You're the only one who has the right to command us. If you don't, the entire group will fall apart."
Hearing Huck's words, Edward looked around at the soldiers, whose faces were a mix of confusion and fear. Even the knights were visibly uneasy.
Edward's gaze turned back to Huck, his voice trembling slightly as he asked, "So... what should I do?"
Huck took a deep breath, his face serious. "First, you need to calm everyone down. I've already sent someone to scout out the enemy. If the situation looks bad, you need to be ready to lead us into battle. Otherwise, soldiers without confidence will just surrender."
Edward's eyes widened, and he anxiously looked at Huck. "So... will you surrender?"
"I won't," Huck shook his head firmly, glancing at William's lifeless body. "No matter what kind of ambush we're facing, no matter how bad things get, I'll fight my way out. I'll take the Count's body back to White Valley Castle and bury him in the family tomb. The Count saved my life, and he's the one who promoted me to knighthood. I swore an oath when I became a knight, and I'll honor it no matter what."
Edward fell silent, a complicated mix of emotions swirling inside him.
To be honest, he wasn't sure how he felt. In the past, he had wished for William's death. But now that it had come to pass, he saw just how fragile he was without his uncle's support. Without the Count, he was a drifting reed, looking strong but fundamentally weak.
However, William's death wasn't entirely without benefit.
At least now, he had inherited a vast estate, the loyalty of hundreds of soldiers, and the governance of thousands of serfs. He had wealth. If he could also seize his father Baron Leo's land, and trade it with Lanster to consolidate both territories, he could become a Marquis — a twenty-year-old Marquis!
Though he doubted his ability to hold onto such a title, just the thought of it was exhilarating.