Chapter 63: Lyra Defeats Edgar Farrow

The grand courtyard of the Farrow estate buzzed with the cacophony of battle. Soldiers shouted commands, steel clashed against steel, and the sharp tang of blood filled the air. At the center of the chaos, Lyra Steele advanced with the grace of a predator, her sword gleaming in the midday sun. Her every step was confident, deliberate, and precise, a stark contrast to the frenzied skirmish surrounding her.

Lyra’s blade lashed out in a silver arc, disarming one Farrow soldier with a swift motion and forcing another to retreat. Her Battle Aura, a shimmering golden hue, rippled around her like a protective shield, amplifying her strikes with an almost otherworldly force. The soldiers and martialists loyal to the Farrow Family hesitated when they saw her approach, their fear palpable. She was a Master Martialist, and even the boldest among them couldn’t deny that she was a force to be reckoned with.

Nearby, the Steele Family’s soldiers, bolstered by the Enforcement Members sent by the Royal Court, pushed forward in disciplined ranks. Their banners flew high, the Steele crest emblazoned proudly on them, a stark contrast to the desperate chaos of the Farrow Family’s defenders.

“Hold the line! Do not let them advance further!” one of Edgar Farrow’s captains barked, his voice cracking with strain.

The command barely inspired courage in the ranks. Many of the Farrow soldiers looked over their shoulders, as if calculating the safest path to escape.

Across the courtyard, Edgar Farrow stood at the top of the estate’s grand staircase, a snarl twisting his face. His lance rested against his shoulder, the intricate engravings on its steel shaft glinting ominously. He was a towering figure, clad in polished armor that caught the sunlight, making him seem larger than life. Yet his eyes betrayed him. Beneath the bluster, there was anger—and a flicker of unease.

“You dare attack my family, you whore?” Edgar spat, his voice a low growl. “Your fate should have been to become my woman, to use that sexy body of yours to bear my children!”

Lyra’s eyes turned cold as ice, her grip on her sword tightening. “You will pay for those words, Edgar,” she said, her voice like the frost that creeps across a winter’s dawn. “You will pay for even thinking them.”

With a roar, Edgar launched himself forward, his lance leveled at Lyra in a devastating charge. The force of his movements cracked the cobblestones beneath him, and the sheer momentum of the attack was enough to make any lesser opponent falter.

But Lyra was not a lesser opponent.

She stood her ground, sword poised and her gaze locked on Edgar. As the lance closed in, Lyra twisted her body to the side with an elegance that bordered on supernatural. The lance’s tip whistled past her, grazing nothing but air. Edgar grunted as his attack missed its mark, his body pulling to an abrupt stop.

Lyra didn’t let him recover. She pivoted on her heel and struck, her sword coming down in a diagonal arc. Edgar raised his lance just in time to deflect the blow, but the sheer force of it sent vibrations down the shaft of his weapon and into his arms. He staggered back.

“You’re fast,” Edgar admitted, his voice strained. “But speed doesn’t win wars. Experience does.”

“Experience means nothing when your judgment is flawed,” Lyra shot back. She pressed the attack, her strikes coming faster now, her sword a blur of slashes and thrusts.

Edgar gritted his teeth as he parried her blows, the muscles in his arms straining under the effort. His lance was longer and heavier, designed for power over speed, and it forced him to rely on sweeping counters rather than matching Lyra’s quick attacks. He attempted a horizontal slash, trying to catch her off-guard, but Lyra ducked under it and retaliated with a spinning slash aimed at his exposed side.

“Storm of Blades!” she cried, and suddenly it seemed as if a dozen shimmering swords were attacking Edgar from every angle.

Edgar cursed under his breath, his lance moving desperately to block the relentless strikes. Sparks flew as steel met steel. His armor bore the brunt of some strikes, but Lyra’s attacks were too precise to be fully negated. A shallow cut appeared on his forearm, followed by another on his thigh. Blood began to stain his once-pristine armor.

“I’ve faced worse than you!” Edgar snarled, his voice filled with bravado that didn’t match the panic in his eyes. He thrust his lance forward in a calculated feint, then spun on his heel, sweeping the weapon in a wide arc. It was a veteran’s move, one meant to disrupt the flow of battle.

But Lyra was already a step ahead. She leapt into the air, her body twisting gracefully as the lance passed harmlessly below her. As she came down, she aimed a powerful vertical slash at Edgar’s shoulder.

“Crescent Moon Slash!” she shouted, her voice ringing with authority.

The strike connected. Edgar barely managed to angle his lance to deflect most of the blow, but the residual force drove him to his knees. His armor buckled under the pressure, and a deep gash marred the steel plating on his shoulder.

“You think you can defeat me, bitch?” he spat. “I am Edgar Farrow, the Lion of the Lance! I will not be bested by a mere woman!”

Lyra laughed, a sound like the pealing of bells. “A mere woman, you say? Then perhaps you should learn to respect your betters, Edgar. For I am Lyra Steele, a Master Martialist, and I will not be defeated by the likes of you.”

With a cry, she launched herself at him, her sword a blur of motion. Edgar met her charge, his lance a streak of silver as it cut through the air. The two clashed, their weapons ringing out as they traded blows, each strike a testament to their skill and their power.

But Lyra was the superior martialist. Her every movement was infused with her Battle Aura, a shimmering field of energy that enhanced her strength and her speed. She was a whirlwind, a force of nature, her sword a gleaming arc of silver that cut through the air with a whistling sound.

Edgar, for all his skill and experience, was no match for her. He struggled to keep up, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his muscles burning with exertion. He was a powerful warrior, a formidable foe, but he was outmatched.

As they fought, the Enforcement Members and soldiers of the Steele Family moved through the courtyard, their weapons drawn and their faces set with determination. They clashed with the Farrow Family’s subordinates, their steel ringing out as they traded blows. The Farrow Family’s soldiers were numerous, but they were disorganized and demoralized. They fell before the Steele Family’s forces, their weapons clattering to the ground as they were disarmed and captured.

Meanwhile, Alaric led a private force of the Steele Family’s guards and soldiers, their movements swift and purposeful. They swept through the estate, their eyes scanning the crowds of servants and family members, their weapons at the ready.

“Secure the exits!” he commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative. “No one leaves this estate without my say. I want every servant, every guard, and every member of the Farrow family accounted for.”

The guards under his command nodded, their swords drawn as they swept through the corridors. Alaric’s reputation as a tactician preceded him, and none dared to question his commands. His movements were calm but deliberate, his demeanor one of cold calculation. He approached a group of frightened servants huddled in the corner of the main hall. Their faces were pale, their eyes darting about as if searching for an escape.

“Step forward,” Alaric ordered, his tone leaving no room for refusal. When they hesitated, he narrowed his eyes. “Now.”

One of the servants, a trembling man in his thirties, stepped forward hesitantly. “M-my lord, we’re just servants. We had nothing to do with—”

Alaric silenced him with a raised hand. “Spare me your excuses. Where are the women of the Farrow Family? Where are Edgar’s wives, his children?”

The servant’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Alaric’s patience thinned. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “Do not make me ask again.”

“They’re… they’re in the east wing,” the man stammered, pointing down a long corridor. “The ladies and the children… they locked themselves in the sitting room.”

Alaric nodded curtly. “Good. If you’re lying, I’ll find you later. And you’ll wish I hadn’t.” He turned to his soldiers. “Move out. The east wing is our priority.”

The group advanced, their footsteps swift but measured. The ornate décor of the Farrow estate blurred past them—gilded frames, luxurious rugs, and priceless vases—all of it a testament to the Farrow Family’s wealth. To Alaric, it was a monument to their arrogance.

When they reached the sitting room, the door was bolted shut. Alaric motioned for his men to halt. He took a step forward, rapping his knuckles against the heavy oak door.

“Open the door,” he commanded, his tone devoid of warmth. “This is Alaric Steele of the Steele Family. Surrender peacefully, and no harm will come to you.”

Muffled whispers sounded from inside, followed by silence. Alaric’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “You have ten seconds before my men break this door down. Do you really want to make this difficult?”

Still no response. Alaric sighed and gestured to one of his soldiers, who stepped forward with a large battering ram. “Very well. Break it.”

The first strike splintered the doorframe, and the second sent it crashing inward. Inside, a group of women stood in a semi-circle, shielding several wide-eyed children. Their silk gowns and bejeweled accessories glittered even in the dim light, but their faces betrayed fear.

Alaric stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over them. “Ladies,” he said with mock politeness, “it seems the hour of reckoning has come. You’ll cooperate, or you’ll find out just how little patience I have today.”

One of the women, a striking brunette with sharp features and an air of defiance, stepped forward. “You dare to barge into our home like this? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

Alaric raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “I’m dealing with the Farrow Family, whose crimes have finally caught up to them. I suggest you tread carefully, madam. Your titles mean nothing to me.”

The woman’s bravado faltered. Another, a blonde with trembling hands, stepped forward. “What do you want from us?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Simple,” Alaric replied. “The Farrow Family’s treasures, their deeds, their documents. Where are they?”

The brunette glared at him. “You think we’d just tell you?”

Alaric’s gaze hardened. He stepped closer, towering over her. “Do you have children, madam? Because if you care for their safety, you’ll speak. Now.”

Her eyes widened, and after a moment, she relented. “The vault,” she said reluctantly. “It’s in the basement. Behind the wine cellar.”

Alaric nodded, satisfied. “And the land deeds? I know Edgar Farrow keeps his most valuable documents somewhere.”

This time, the blonde answered. “In the study… behind the portrait of Lord Edgar. There’s a hidden compartment.”

“Good,” Alaric said. “Now, you’re coming with me. All of you. If you even think about running, my men will ensure you regret it.”

The women exchanged fearful glances but followed as instructed, their children clutching their skirts. Alaric led the group down to the basement, his steps purposeful and unrelenting. When they reached the wine cellar, he motioned for his men to search. It didn’t take long for one of them to find a heavy steel door hidden behind a rack of wine barrels.

“Open it,” Alaric ordered. The lock was thick and well-made, but a few blows from a sledgehammer rendered it useless. The door creaked open, revealing a vault filled with glittering treasures—gold coins, silver ingots, and rows of precious gemstones.

The soldiers let out low whistles of admiration, but Alaric remained focused. “Take it all,” he commanded. “Pack everything up. Leave nothing behind.”

As his men began loading the treasure into sacks and crates, Alaric turned to the women. “Now, to the study.”

The group ascended back to the main house, their path marked by the chaos left in the soldiers’ wake. When they reached the study, Alaric pushed the women forward. “Show me.”

The blonde hesitated before approaching a grand portrait of Edgar Farrow. With trembling hands, she lifted the frame, revealing a small hidden door in the wall. Alaric stepped forward and wrenched it open, revealing a stack of aged documents. He rifled through them quickly, his sharp eyes scanning the contents.

“These are the land deeds,” he announced, holding them aloft. “Proof of ownership over the Farrow lands and assets. They’re ours now.”

The brunette glared at him. “You’re nothing but a thief in armor.”

Alaric gave her a cold smile. “Call me what you will. The fact remains that the Farrow Family’s reign is over.”

He turned to his men, who had begun stacking the deeds alongside the treasure. “Load everything into the carriages. Quickly. We’ve wasted enough time.”

As the Steele soldiers worked, the distant sounds of battle grew quieter. Alaric’s attention shifted briefly to the courtyard, where Lyra was undoubtedly finishing her duel with Edgar.

The treasure was soon packed, and the study was stripped bare. Alaric stood in the center of the chaos, his arms crossed as he watched his men secure the spoils. The women and children of the Farrow Family huddled nearby, their expressions a mixture of fear and resentment.

“You’ve done well to cooperate,” Alaric said, his tone almost mocking. “It may save you some trouble in the days to come. Or it may not. That depends on the judgment of the Royal Court.”

One of the women, emboldened by desperation, stepped forward. “Please,” she said, her voice trembling. “Spare the children. They had no part in this.”

Alaric regarded her silently for a moment before nodding. “The Steele Family does not punish the innocent. Your children will be unharmed—provided you do nothing to endanger them.”

The woman’s shoulders sagged with relief, and she stepped back into the group. Alaric turned his gaze back to the carriages being loaded, his expression as sharp and unreadable as ever.

“Let’s move,” he said at last. “My mother will want to hear that everything is secured.”

As the soldiers filed out, the Farrow estate stood stripped and defeated, a hollow shell of its former glory. Alaric followed his men into the courtyard.

Meanwhile, the battle between Lyra and Edgar was reaching its climax.

With a final cry, Lyra launched herself at him, her sword a blur of motion. She struck, her blade cutting through the air with a whistling sound, and Edgar staggered back, his lance snapping in two as he struggled to deflect the blow.

He fell to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Lyra stood over him, her sword pointed at his throat, her eyes cold and calculating.

“Yield, Edgar,” she said, her voice a low growl. “Yield, and I will grant you mercy. Resist, and I will cut you down where you stand.”

Edgar looked up at her, his eyes burning with hatred and defiance. But he knew he was beaten. He knew he was no match for Lyra Steele, a Master Martialist.

With a growl of defeat, he tossed the remnants of his lance to the ground. “I yield,” he spat, his voice a low growl. “I yield to you, Lyra Steele.”

Lyra nodded, her expression unchanging. “Good. Now, stand up. You are under arrest, Edgar Farrow. You and your family will face justice for your crimes.”

As Edgar stood, the Enforcement Members and soldiers of the Steele Family moved in, their weapons drawn and their faces set with determination. They surrounded him, their eyes cold and their expressions unyielding.

~~

The courtyard of the Farrow estate was a chaotic scene, a mix of triumph and grim efficiency. Soldiers moved purposefully, the metallic clanging of armor and weapons blending with the low murmur of voices. The mobile iron cages, towering and stark, stood as a somber reminder of the day’s outcome. Sunlight glinted off the bars, casting long, sharp shadows over the uneven ground.

Inside the cages, the once-proud members of the Farrow Family sat huddled together, their faces etched with anger, fear, and resignation. Edgar Farrow, the patriarch, was seated with his brothers, their wives, and children. His wrists were bound in heavy shackles, and though his posture remained stiff and unyielding, his scowl betrayed the storm of emotions roiling beneath the surface. The occasional glance toward his family was laced with frustration and helplessness.

Nearby, Lyra Steele stood tall, her crimson cloak now dirtied from the battle but no less striking. Her piercing eyes surveyed the scene with a quiet intensity, her lips pressed into a thin line. The victory was theirs, but it was hard-earned, and her body carried the aches and fatigue of the fight.

Beside her stood Alaric, his expression composed but thoughtful. His gaze moved across the prisoners, calculating and sharp, though he said nothing. He waited until Lyra turned her attention to one of the officers before slipping away silently, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he made his way toward Captain Osric Falcrest.

Osric was an imposing figure, his polished armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. His weathered face carried an air of authority, and his voice, though calm, carried enough weight to silence a crowd. He was directing his men, ensuring the prisoners were secured, and overseeing the careful cataloging of confiscated goods. As Alaric approached, Osric turned, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly before softening.

“Alaric Steele,” Osric greeted, his voice deep and even. “You’ve done well today. Is there something you need?”

Alaric inclined his head, his tone measured. “Captain, a word in private, if you don’t mind.”

Osric hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Step aside with me.” He gestured for his men to continue as he led Alaric a few paces away. The din of the courtyard faded slightly, leaving the two men in a pocket of relative quiet.

“What’s on your mind?” Osric asked, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I need your help,” Alaric said bluntly. His voice was low, steady, but with an undertone of urgency. “It’s personal.”

Osric’s brows furrowed, his stance shifting slightly. “Go on.”

Alaric took a breath, his expression unreadable. ” I want you to release some of Edgar’s wives. Quietly. I’ll personally vouch for them in writing, ensure that they’re not involved in the treason that’s brought their family down.”

“That’s a dangerous request,” Osric said, his voice low. “You know as well as I do that the Farrows were involved in treasonous actions. Letting even one of them slip through our fingers could come back to haunt us.”

Alaric nodded, understanding the weight of the captain’s concerns. “I understand. But these women… They had no part in their husband’s schemes. They’re victims in all of this. I’m not asking for them to be released to do as they please. I’m asking for them to be kept safe, under my protection.”

Osric studied him carefully, weighing the request against the risk. “You’re putting your name on the line here, Alaric,” he said after a long pause. “If any of these women cause trouble or undermine the Eloriath Kingdom, you’ll be held accountable. And believe me, I won’t hesitate to punish you if that happens. Is that understood?”

Alaric’s expression remained steady. “Understood, Captain. I’ll make sure there’s no issue.”

Osric’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before he nodded. “Alright. I’ll do this favor for you. But don’t forget the consequences.”

“Thank you,” Alaric said with a small but appreciative smile. “I won’t forget this favor.”

Osric signaled to a few of his men, and together, he and Alaric made their way toward the cages. Inside, the women of the Farrow Family clung to each other, their faces pale, their eyes darting nervously.

As Alaric approached, his gaze swept over them, studying each face with deliberate precision.

He was looking for something specific, something that his Harem God System would signal.

Among the dozens of women, four caught his eye: Evanthe, Zoey, Sigrid, and Elin. Each of them was stunningly beautiful, their bodies voluptuous and curvaceous, with large breasts, curvy buttocks, and thin waists.

They were exactly his type, their appearance values fitting his standards perfectly, each one above 82 and lower than 85.

Alaric pointed them out to Osric, who nodded and signaled to his men. The Enforcement Soldiers moved quickly, unlocking the cages and leading the four women out. The women looked at Alaric with dull, broken expressions, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and resignation.

Evanthe was a striking brunette, her deep blue eyes set against her porcelain skin. Her body was an alluring vision of curves, her large breasts straining against the fabric of her gown.

Zoey was a blonde, her hair cascading down her back in loose waves. Her green eyes were wide with fear, her body trembling slightly as she was led toward Alaric.

Sigrid, a woman with brown hair and fiery red eyes, exuded a quiet intensity. Her curvy body, with generous breasts and a full figure, was hard to ignore.

Lastly, Elin, a raven-haired beauty with piercing gray eyes, moved with a grace that contrasted with her voluptuous hips and slender waist.

As the women were led towards him, Alaric ogled them openly, his eyes lingering on their bodies, the lust in his gaze unhidden. He wanted them to know exactly what he was thinking, exactly what he wanted from them.

“Ladies,” Alaric said, his voice smooth and commanding. “I’ve secured your safety. In return, I ask that you obey me from this point forward. Do you understand?”

The women remained silent for a moment, the weight of their situation hanging heavily between them. Finally, Zoey spoke, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “What will happen to our children? Will they be harmed?”

Alaric met her gaze with a calm, reassuring expression. “As long as you obey my instructions and remain loyal, I will ensure your children are spared. They will not be harmed.”

A visible sense of relief passed through the women, and for the first time, they seemed to relax, their bodies easing as the tension lifted. They exchanged brief glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Evanthe, the brunette, was the first to speak.

“What do you want from us?” she asked softly, her voice laced with both curiosity and fear.

Alaric smiled, his expression smooth as he met her eyes. “I want you to live in one of my private residences in the town near my mansion. I’ll visit you from time to time, and you’ll remain there under my protection. You are not to leave without my permission. Understood?”

The women nodded, their eyes filled with a mix of trepidation and something else—perhaps curiosity, perhaps even interest. Alaric could feel it, the subtle shift in their demeanor. They were beginning to see him not as a conqueror, but as someone who could offer them a sense of security in an uncertain world. And he knew exactly how to fan that spark into a flame.

As he spoke, Alaric activated his Wink of Flirtation skill, a subtle enchantment that worked in an instant. The effect was almost immediate—each of the women blushed, their hearts pounding with a sudden, overwhelming attraction to him. They leaned in just a little closer, their eyes softening as their bodies betrayed their growing interest.

Alaric’s smile deepened, his satisfaction evident. He knew that with this skill, he had them. They were his to command, their loyalty and obedience assured. But even so, he knew he had to tread carefully, to nurture the connection he had begun to form with them. Loyalty could be fragile, but it was a tool that he had to wield with precision.

With a final nod to the women, Alaric turned and made his way back toward his mother’s side. He was excited as he walked because he could feel their eyes following him.

Lyra was deep in conversation with one of the Enforcement Members, her eyes scanning a list of confiscated items. As Alaric approached, she looked up, her expression brightening.

“Alaric, there you are,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and affection. “I was just going over the loot from the Farrow House. It’s quite impressive.”

Alaric nodded, his eyes scanning the list. “Indeed, it is. Weapons, armors, magical potions, magical treasures, magical herbs, rare magical metal ores… the Steele Family is going to be significantly strengthened with this lot.”

Lyra smiled, her eyes gleaming with pride and satisfaction. “Yes, it is. And it’s all thanks to you, Alaric. Your quick thinking and decisive action have secured our family’s future.”

Alaric smiled back, his heart swelling with pride at his mother’s words. But he also knew that he had to keep his recent actions a secret from her. She wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t approve of what he was planning to do with the four beauties he had just saved. And he wasn’t ready to face her disapproval, not yet.

So, he kept the conversation light and casual, his eyes scanning the list of loot, his mind racing with plans and possibilities. He discussed the various items with his mother, their voices blending together in a symphony of excitement and anticipation. They talked about the weapons and armors, the magical potions and treasures, the herbs and ores. They talked about how the Steele Family would use these resources, how they would strengthen their position, how they would rise to new heights of power and influence.

Meanwhile, the Enforcement Members and soldiers continued their work, securing the prisoners, loading the loot onto the carriages, preparing for the journey back to the capital. The courtyard was a buzz of activity, the air filled with the clanging of metal and the murmurs of the gathered soldiers.

As the preparations continued, Alaric’s mind drifted back to the four beauties he had saved. He thought about their voluptuous bodies, their large breasts and curvy buttocks, their thin waists and stunning faces. He thought about the way they had looked at him, the way they had responded to his skill, the way they had blushed and leaned towards him.

He knew he had to be careful, had to be smart about this. He couldn’t let his mother find out, couldn’t let anyone find out. He had to keep this a secret, had to ensure that the women remained loyal and obedient to him. He had to play this carefully, had to make sure that he didn’t make any mistakes.

As the day wore on, the preparations for the journey back to the capital were finally complete. The prisoners were secured in the mobile cages, the loot was loaded onto the carriages, the soldiers and Enforcement Members were ready to depart.

As they prepared to depart, Lyra turned to Alaric, her eyes filled with pride and love. “You’ve done well, my son,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. “You’ve secured our family’s future, ensured our prosperity and our power. I’m proud of you, Alaric. So very proud.”

Alaric smiled, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity and affection. “I promise, I won’t let you down. I’ll continue to work hard, to ensure our family’s success, to make you proud.”

Lyra smiled back, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “I know you will, Alaric. I know you will.”

As they made their way to their carriages, Alaric’s mind was already racing with plans and possibilities. He thought about the four beauties he had saved, about the secret residence he would set up for them, about the visits he would make, about the pleasures he would enjoy.

As the carriages rolled out of the Farrow estate, the wheels rumbling over the cobblestones, the soldiers and Enforcement Members marching alongside, Alaric looked back one last time. He looked back at the grand estate, at the courtyard filled with the remnants of the battle, at the mobile cages filled with the members of the Farrow Family.