Part 1
The copper-sweet tang of blood mingled with the rhythmic hiss of rain tapping against the windowpanes. Philip's heart hammered erratically as he took in the grim tableau before him—four bodies sprawled across the manor's elegant parquet floor. A solitary candle, gripped by a figure whose features were half-hidden in shadow, threw wavering halos across overturned furniture, shattered porcelain, and spent brass cartridges.
Swallowing his dread, Philip forced himself to look more closely.
One intruder lay sideways, eyes staring blankly, a perfectly round entry wound just above his left eyebrow. The back of the man's skull was a grisly ruin, blood pooling darkly in the candlelight. Two meters away, another attacker lay face-down, a single neat puncture positioned precisely through the chest—likely obliterating his heart given the weak, bubbling froth still escaping from the wound.
Two shots, two kills. No wasted ammunition, no hesitation.
Philip's stomach tightened painfully. Whoever fired had surgical precision.
Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his gaze to the shadowy figure holding the candle—and froze in disbelief.
"L-Lydia?"
Half-lit, half-shadowed, her familiar matronly warmth was completely absent. Instead, she wore an expression of cold detachment, mouth set in a thin line of clinical disinterest as she casually slipped the still-smoking pistol into her apron pocket as if it were no more than an errant knitting needle.
Is that really Lydia? Philip thought wildly, unsure whether to feel relief or outright terror.
Without a word, Lydia began walking towards him, her heels unnaturally quiet against the blood-slicked floor.
Natalia moved first, gliding fluidly between them with feline grace. She planted herself firmly, barefoot and bold, her shoulders squared protectively. In the dim candlelight, clad in a flowing satin nightgown, she looked like some sculpted Amazon of ancient myth—beautiful, fierce, and utterly incongruous in the modern, bloodstained chaos.
"Stay back, Miss Lydia," Natalia warned softly, her voice silk wrapped around steel. Instinctively, she drew Philip close behind her, inadvertently pressing his shoulder deep into the plush softness of her ample bosom.
Philip's mind briefly malfunctioned. So, this is what Bella felt like… Wait, am I seriously thinking about Twilight at a time like this? Embarrassment surged, chased swiftly by memories of teenage cringe: reading the entire saga multiple times just to impress some girl in high school. I blame the concussion entirely.
Lydia paused mid-step, her cold demeanor slipping briefly into confusion. Then, her features softened, and she tilted the candle upward, clearly attempting a flattering angle. "Oh, dear. Did the lighting make me appear menacing?" Her voice regained its usual, comforting warmth. "It is me, Lydia."
Natalia remained unmoved, extending her free arm outward in an unmistakable warning. "I apologize, Miss Lydia, but I won't allow harm to come to Master. Not even from you." Reflexively, she tightened her hold, pressing Philip more firmly against the sculpted curves of her toned figure.
At that precise moment, Philip found himself trapped between profound panic and confused delight. In other words, for Philip, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Best, because of Natalia, worst, because they might be in lethal danger.
Lydia blinked, then gave a small, embarrassed cough. "Ah. Of course, you're frightened." She executed a graceful curtsey, only somewhat diminished by the four fresh corpses at her feet. "Allow me to clarify some things."
She turned out the pocket containing the pistol as if it were merely holding sewing thread. "You see, Master Philip, I deliberately maintain the facade of a harmless governess precisely to ensure any would-be assassins underestimate our defenses. I am your last line of defense. If my capabilities became open knowledge, it would compromise your security." She smiled serenely, if somewhat unnervingly. "Hence, I must make sure any party with questionable loyalty to Master Philip who witnessed my martial skills must be … removed. Regrettably, these gentlemen met that particular criterion tonight."
Natalia's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You dispatched four attackers with perfect cranial and cardiac punctures at ten paces, in near-darkness."
"Yes, just part of my diverse skillset as Master Philip's secret bodyguard," Lydia replied modestly, waving one gloved hand dismissively. "Had I truly intended Master Philip harm, it would take no additional effort to fire an extra shot."
Philip exhaled shakily, finally finding his voice. "Lydia," he said at last, still breathing hard, "where on earth did you learn to do that?" He gestured weakly toward the downed men.
Lydia turned to him, candlelight dancing across her composed features. A faint, wry smile curved her lips as she ignored a speck of blood at her sleeve cuff. "Let's just say the Duchess taught me a thing or two."
Philip raised an eyebrow in shock. "My grandmother?"
To his surprise, Lydia laughed—a warm, genuine chuckle of humor. She stepped closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Yes, why else do you think she was picked to take care of Empress back then? Anyways, you two and Albert are the only living souls in Yorgoria who know of my martial skills." She tapped the side of her nose playfully. "Let's keep that between us, shall we? Unless you want your security to be compromised."
Natalia nodded eagerly, eyes shining. "I won't tell a soul! That was amazing, Miss Lydia. You moved like a—like a tiger!"
Lydia's cheeks pinked slightly at the praise. "Thank you, dear. Though I certainly hope such lethal talents won't be frequently required."
Natalia finally lowered her protective posture—but not before pulling Philip even closer as a final, possessive insurance. Lydia watched them, a subtle glint in her eye as she privately approved of Natalia's fierce devotion. After all, Lydia mused silently, if she'd been forced to eliminate those intruders to safeguard Master Philip's future, she might as well have put the moment to good use, testing Natalia's loyalty.
Outside, the wind rattled insistently, a distant bell chiming midnight as if heralding an uncertain future.
Part 2
A sharp, authoritative knock echoed through the manor's dim corridors, shattering the uneasy silence. Albert swept into the room, every bit a commanding officer stepping onto the stage of a decisive battle. Candlelight danced across his weathered features, his posture radiating both discipline and understated bravado, as though he relished orchestrating the defense of Redwood's sprawling orchards.
He regarded Philip, Lydia, and Natalia with a swift, assessing glance. "Master Philip, Lydia, Natalia—" he began without preamble, his voice cutting cleanly through the room's tension. "The situation at our orchard's borders is more critical than anticipated."
Philip swallowed, still pale from earlier events, his thoughts haunted by the echo of gunfire and the memory of intruders' bodies sprawled lifeless on the manor floor. "How bad is it, Albert?"
Albert adjusted his uniform collar crisply, betraying only a hint of tension beneath his practiced calm. "The fences of our orchard are robust in certain areas, but they've fallen into neglect in others—wide gaps exist, practically invitations for agile intruders. Several entrances are now blocked by crowds gathering rapidly. Our staff spotted armed protesters and questionable figures mixed among them."
Lydia exchanged a wary glance with Natalia, stepping closer to Philip protectively. "Protestors? What exactly are they protesting?"
Albert's mouth twitched into a grim smile. "Everything, it seems. Some wave placards demanding 'Yes to Republic, No to Avalondia!' Others nearby counter with signs like 'Bring Back Imperial Justice—End Corruption!' And scattered among these ideological factions are groups chanting simpler slogans: 'Nobles are Parasites,' and 'Return the Wealth to the People.' In short, Redwood has become an accidental rallying point for diverse, contradictory grievances."
Natalia stepped forward, concern etched deeply in her eyes. "Then the intruders we faced—were they aligned with these protestors?"
"Unlikely," Albert answered sharply, a seasoned edge coloring his voice. "More probably, they were opportunists—skilled bandits taking advantage of tonight's chaos. They're blending into legitimate demonstrations, using the confusion as cover."
Philip exhaled, pressing his fingers to his temples, battling the onset of a headache. "So, the Redwood estate is caught in the middle of genuine discontent and violent criminal opportunism. And here we are, without power or law enforcement."
Albert nodded gravely. "Precisely. Yet I've taken precautions. Some Orchard staff are already en route to downtown Yortinto—thankfully unaffected by the power outage—to secure reinforcements from private security companies and alert the local police. The police, of course, will likely have received similar pleas from multiple estates tonight."
Philip sighed. "So, we're likely at the bottom of a long waiting list."
"Correct," Albert conceded, a subtle edge of dry humor entering his tone. "Private security offers immediate relief, but at considerable expense. Thanks to the recent sale of the hotel chain, we have sufficient funds—but prolonged reliance would severely strain our reserves."
Outside, distant voices swelled through the rainy gloom, their fervent chants punctuated by occasional angry shouts. Albert's face tightened, the distant rumble of unrest audible even through the manor's thick walls.
"These protestors," Philip murmured anxiously, "what exactly fuels their anger?"
Albert met his gaze steadily. "Genuine grievances mostly—heavy taxation imposed by Avalondia, widespread unemployment, perceived local corruption, and deep resentment toward nobles who are seen as symbols of the Avalondian yoke. Yorgoria simmers with discontent beneath the surface, and tonight, the Redwood estate inadvertently became one of their stages."
"But why here?" Natalia asked softly, her expression fiercely protective.
"Because," Albert said simply, "given the Duke's prominence at the Imperial court in Avalonia. Redwood symbolizes the empire's dominating oppression in their eyes—fairly or unfairly. And tonight's blackout provided the perfect storm."
"Then we must ensure no violence breaks out," Lydia said firmly. "Negotiation is vital."
"Exactly," Philip agreed urgently. "We can't risk provoking a riot."
Albert straightened, his demeanor becoming even more commanding. "I've stationed staff strategically to observe and report rather than engage. But if demonstrators attempt forced entry, we will act."
Philip nodded, anxiety fading slightly under Albert's capable direction. "Yet, without power, we're vulnerable—relying on candlelight and limited manpower. If reinforcements fail to arrive promptly..."
Albert interrupted gently. "Master Philip, you must remain safely inside with Lydia and Natalia. Staff morale hinges on seeing you safe and sound. I'll handle external defenses personally."
Philip offered a rueful smile. "Reduced to hiding in my own home... the irony."
"Prudent, Master Philip," Lydia reassured softly. "Leadership often means strategic patience."
A roll of distant thunder echoed, deepening the tension. Outside the main gates of the orchard, torches glowed amidst mist and rain, illuminating faces twisted by anger, desperation, or simple curiosity. Voices rose louder, discordant and raw, carrying fragmented demands through the night.
Albert peered toward the orchard gate through a nearby window. "They're fractured—demanding independence, imperial rule, justice against nobles—but unified in frustration. If provoked, they'll ignite."
Lydia's face paled. "We're witnessing the empire's entire crisis unfolding right before our eyes."
"Indeed," Albert said softly, eyes narrowing with resolve. "Yet the estate will withstand this storm. At dawn, reinforcements should arrive. Until then, I'll maintain order."
"You're a peculiar mix, Albert," Philip observed fondly. "Part heroic guard captain, part meticulous accountant."
Albert bowed slightly, a glint of humor returning. "Only because necessity demands it, Master Philip."
Natalia glanced uncertainly between them, clearly wrestling with unspoken questions. Lydia gently squeezed her shoulder. "Stay focused, dear. Protect Master Philip—that's our primary task tonight."
Natalia nodded firmly, her expression resolute once more.
"We hold firm," Lydia affirmed, voice clear and strong. "If riot breaks out, we will be sure to guard Master Philip out."
"I'll return to coordinating our defenses," Albert announced, moving briskly toward the door. "Remain vigilant."
As Albert strode swiftly through the manor's shadowed corridors, servants moved urgently past, quietly preparing makeshift defenses. At the main orchard entrance, the torchlit crowd surged against the gate, chanting, yelling, and waving placards, their desperation and anger palpable.
Albert swung onto his waiting horse at the stable, cloak billowing dramatically. Lanterns cast a spectral glow, illuminating his determined face as he galloped toward the orchard's main gate. Torchlight blazed ahead, revealing the massive, restive crowd pressing forward against the orchard's fences.
Drawing himself tall, Albert rode slowly into their view, reins steady in his gloved hand. Protestors halted briefly, their chants faltering into uncertain murmurs as they confronted the commanding figure silhouetted by lanterns and shadow.
"Citizens of Yorgoria," Albert called out, voice clear, authoritative, yet respectful. "I understand your grievances. You suffer unjust burdens, corruption, and hardships that must be addressed—but violence tonight solves nothing. Redwood's gates are no enemy's fortress."
A voice shouted defiantly, "You're Avalondian puppets!"
Albert's calm gaze swept the crowd, meeting each pair of angry eyes steadily. "We are neighbors, not enemies. Violence tonight endangers your cause, serving only criminals lurking amongst you. Step back, let reason prevail—and together, we can ensure your voices are heard."
For a heartbeat, silence held, thick and fragile—then shattered violently by a single gunshot echoing sharply through the night.
Albert jerked backward; the bullet narrowly missed him as it whizzed past, grazing the shoulder of his coat and leaving a thin trail of smoke in its wake. Chaos erupted instantly. Screams of panic and fury rose into a cacophony as some of the crowd surged forward, while others scattered in confusion and fear. Then, more gunshots were heard.