12 Carl Armford

Several miles away from the capital of the Lumeira Empire, a cavalry of a dozen horses advanced along the road. The knights astride them were clad in resplendent amber armor, adorned with the emblem of the Lumeira Empire engraved on their chests.

"I can't believe it," grumbled a young man with brown hair, barely twenty years old. He rode the most magnificent horse among them and was clearly in charge of the cavalry, despite his youth.

"Lord Carl, you shouldn't complain. Your father, Lord Armford, personally requested you for this mission. Shouldn't you be happy?" remarked a woman slightly older than him, with a wry smile.

Carl shrugged with a scoff. "Seina, I'm the son of the Great Bradley Armford, the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Army of Lumeira. People expect a lot from me, yet father chooses to send me on some random task in the slums."

"It's not a random task, my Lord," Seina retorted, giving him a disapproving look. "There have been reports of murders committed by a gang exploiting children for their own gain in the slums south of the village of Aurham. The villagers must be terrified and may fear further attacks. This could also be an opportunity to restore order in those slums, where many children have reportedly disappeared."

"I know. Knights have already been dispatched, but they haven't found any leads," Carl replied.

"You see, my Lord, it's a chance for you to showcase your talents to your father. If you succeed in this investigation," Seina tried to uplift Carl's spirits.

Seina had been Carl's loyal companion for ten years. Hailing from a small barony, she had been raised to be Carl's maid, but more importantly, she acted as his bodyguard. Trained by the finest senior knights, she had even earned praise from the Holy Sword of the Empire, Abraham Defeus.

"Yeah, maybe…" Carl sighed. Despite Seina's words of encouragement, he couldn't shake the feeling of regret that his father placed so little trust in him.

It seemed as though his father only sent him away from the capital on rare occasions, perhaps to prevent him from embarrassing him in front of the important nobles there.

Since childhood, Carl had been admired by other children simply for being Bradley Armford's son. He was talented and intelligent, like his father, but Carl didn't seek the admiration of others. He wanted his father to be proud of him, to look at him with that same admiration.

He had worked hard to earn his father's approval, but despite his efforts, his father continued to send him on 'ground' tasks. It wasn't that he despised the work, but it felt beneath his status and the expectations others had of him for the future.

His thoughts were interrupted as they reached the slums in question. As they entered, all eyes turned towards them.

The houses stood dilapidated, supported only by a few pillars. The residents had sickly complexions and malnourished bodies.

Carl's gaze lingered on the children with hollow cheeks and vacant eyes. Their parents would hurriedly pull them away from the road as the knights passed, watching from a safe distance.

'This... is even more serious than I imagined.'

Carl had anticipated the conditions to be poor, but the reality was even worse. As someone who had been raised in the capital with access to abundant resources and high-class food, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

The villages they had passed through were also struggling, but the contrast between the slums, the villages, and the great cities like the capital city of Eden was stark.

The prevalent poverty gripping the region was primarily exacerbated by heavy taxation. Those dwelling in the impoverished districts, known as stews, were exempt from these taxes, given their dire circumstances. Unable to even secure daily sustenance, these areas were perilous and inhospitable, prompting the affluent to turn a blind eye.

However, in comparatively prosperous villages, taxation persisted. While these communities fared better than the stews and could afford the levies, some villagers found themselves unable to meet these financial obligations. Consequently, they faced a stark choice: either abandon their homes for the exempt status of the slums or endure the burden of taxation.

After a short journey, they arrived at a clandestine passage nestled within a dimly lit thoroughfare.

"Young Lord Carl," a knight hastened forward, offering a salute.

Acknowledging the gesture, Carl gazed past the knight. "Is this the place?"

"Yes, Milord. Please follow me. We've secured the entire area."

"What about the imprisoned children? They haven't been allowed to escape, have they? I instructed them to remain inside," Carl asked.

Despite the seemingly heartless nature of his demand, Carl was adamant about preserving any evidence or eyewitnesses.

"They're all inside, Milord. As you requested, we've ensured their well-being. They're gathered in the main hall, but..."

"But?" Carl raised an eyebrow, sensing a hint of unease in the knight's expression.

"It would be best if you saw for yourself, Milord," the knight responded with a conflicted tone.

"Stay here," Carl commanded his knights, forging ahead with Seina close behind. Though Carl had initially hesitated to involve Seina in such a grim environment, he knew her well enough that any attempt to dissuade her would be fruitless.

Navigating the narrow, dimly lit street proved challenging, but the knights had diligently cleared a path for Carl's advancement.

Eventually, they arrived at a dilapidated house, its decrepit appearance befitting of its location in the slums.

Upon entering, a noxious odor assaulted Carl's senses, a nauseating blend of blood and the already pungent stench of the surroundings.

The interior was constructed of wood, much like the exterior, its concealed nature making it an unlikely destination even within the confines of the slums.

Several knights clad in armor were already inside, meticulously inspecting the premises.

Seina's expression darkened as she surveyed the scene, her eyes alight with anger at the sight of over thirteen malnourished children, their ages spanning up to twelve, receiving treatment from a healer.

The children appeared emaciated, their bruises and state showing the hardships they had endured.

Tears streamed down their faces as the knights offered gentle reassurance.

"Where were they found?" Carl asked, his voice edged with concern.

"In separate cells throughout the building. They were confined when we discovered them. They're unsure of what transpired here," came the response.

"Hmm. Show me the cells," Carl asked.

"Yes, Milord," the knight replied.

Carl turned his gaze towards Seina. "Seina, you should stay with the children."

"But I—" Seina began to protest.

"I'm just going to look around. Stay with them," Carl interjected, his eyes rolling at her evident overprotectiveness. He was well aware of her desire to assist the children.

"Right," Seina responded with a somewhat awkward smile, immediately lending a hand to the healers attending to the children.

As Carl prepared to depart, he glanced back and noticed a healed child among the group.

"Hey, girl," he addressed an eleven-year-old girl nearby.

"Y-Yes?" the girl responded, a hint of panic evident in her voice as the young man with a commanding presence singled her out.

"Could you accompany me for a moment?" Carl offered a friendly grin.

Caught off guard by Carl's sudden change in demeanor, the girl felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Yes!"

"What's your name?" Carl demanded as they began to walk.

"O-Olivia, my... Lord," Olivia replied hesitantly.

"Alright, Olivia. Now, tell me, I heard that you were all forced to rob any unfortunate visitors here, is that true?" Carl asked.

Olivia lowered her head in shame. "...yes. Not just newcomers, but mostly residents of this area. Even though it's rare to find more than a few copper coins on them..."

Carl observed that Olivia displayed a certain level of education in her manner of speech, as well as a conscience, evident from her evident shame over her actions.

"So, none of you heard anything about... the massacre, if I can call it that?" Carl asked further.

"W-We did hear some noises... but it was pitch black, and we just assumed... it was..." Olivia's expression twisted into one of disgust as she hugged herself, clearly disturbed by some memories.

Noticing Olivia's discomfort, Carl refrained from pressing further as they arrived at their destination: the cells.

Each cell was designed for solitary confinement, cramped yet sufficient for children of their size.

Surveying the area, Carl found nothing of significance initially, but then his attention was drawn to a particular cell. Unlike the others, its metal bars had been cleanly severed.

"What happened here?" Carl directed the question to Olivia.

Peering into the cell, Olivia shook her head. "I... don't know."

Carl crouched down, his brow furrowing as he examined the severed bars on the ground. It was evident from their position that they had been cut from the inside, likely with a sharp weapon. Considering the size of the cell, only a child could have been inside.

"Do you know who was in this cell, Olivia?" Carl asked.

"Um...sorry. My cell was a bit further away, and we weren't allowed to communicate unless necessary, or else they would... punish us," Olivia explained.

Carl wasn't surprised by this revelation. It was a common tactic among gangs in the slums to prevent interaction between children, fostering dependence and discouraging rebellion or escape.

Standing up, Carl examined the small portion of the severed bar he had picked up. "Do you remember the names or faces of all the children here, Olivia?"

"Um...I remember most of the faces, but only a few names," Olivia replied uncertainly.

"Good," Carl said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though his focus remained on the bar in his hand.

'Could a child be capable of cutting through metal bars so easily in isolation? Had he or she somehow acquired a weapon? And if so, was he or she responsible for the massacre upstairs? Really…?'

Carl found it difficult to believe, but he couldn't shake the feeling that whoever had been in that cell was somehow connected to the events that had transpired in this place.