STVWDTD Chapter 20

Your Sister Lives in Our House

Nathan Beatus. Third child of House Beatus. The family's cast-off son.

Called the Red Wolf, he was every bit as renowned a battle maniac as Rodrick—the kind who made soldiers tremble before the fighting even started.

While Rodrick held the North, Nathan drifted across Western and Southern territories, inserting himself into every conflict regardless of alignment. His hands showed no mercy. Enemies trembled before battles began, much less after.

The Red Wolf reeked of blood and never settled anywhere—he preferred the drifter's life. Finding him was nearly impossible.

"Rodrick Schwartz. You know I hate you using my full name."

He did. Rodrick ignored it.

He clamped down on the rising madness, eyes shutting and opening again slowly. From his coat, he withdrew a thin cigarette wrapped in dried leaves—a mild narcotic. He lit it. Breathed deep. Let white smoke blur his vision.

Through the smoke, his blue eyes gradually cleared.

"You still ignore people, then. Why are you even here?"

"Diana Beatus."

Nathan's hand, mid-swipe through his wild red hair, froze solid. His face hardened in an instant.

"Say that again."

"I have questions about Diana."

"Single!"

Rodrick raised his gloved hand, and his subordinates understood: Don't move. They backed away, hands still on their sword hilts, obedient to silence.

"Tell me why my youngest sister's name leaves your mouth."

Nathan moved faster than the eye could track. His blade found Rodrick's throat. Blood trickled down.

Nathan's face was inches away, eyes blazing with killing intent.

Rodrick looked bored.

His casual composure made the muscle in Nathan's temple jump.

"Speak carefully. Wrong word, and I slit your throat right here."

So he does care about his sister. Unexpected, honestly. The battle-drunk fool actually had sentiment. Rodrick filed that away.

Diana as hostage material? No. The Black Forest abduction victim? Probably not.

"Clear."

A slow smile spread across Rodrick's face—the wider the anger, the deeper the smile. It was Nathan's tell: he smiled when he was furious.

"And why exactly do you say my little sister's name without flinching? What did you do? Did you—are you actually insane? I know you're blood-mad, but have you genuinely lost it over women now? You kidnapped her?! She was safe in the capital! Even if she's beautiful that's—you die!"

Ha. A serene exhale, smoke curling through the air. His blue eyes rolled, scanning the surroundings.

The mock combat had clearly ceased. Spectators had gathered, utterly enthralled by the show.

"Did you see that? Those weren't human movements—"

"I'm betting one gold on the Commander!"

"No way. Don't sleep on the Red Wolf. Two gold on Vice-Commander Nathan."

Bets were flying. Leading the wagering was Rodrick's own unit.

"Our commander obviously wins! You see that composure? Beautiful!"

"What brings you to our side without warning anyway?"

"Don't matter—bet on our commander! Actually, scratch that. Bet on the Red Wolf. He's on your side anyway."

'Discipline is shot to hell. I'll deal with you lot later.'

"Die!"

Nathan's eyes had completely lost focus. Rodrick pivoted, let the blade pass, and grabbed it anew.

That infinitesimal shift—Nathan caught it instantly, pouring more force into the grip.

"You're Diana's family. I won't spill blood."

"What the—hnnngh!"

Rodrick sidestepped Nathan's follow-up slash, then drove a vicious punch into Nathan's gut—hard enough to lift him off his feet.

"OOOOH!"

The crowd erupted.

"I wasn't going down to that hit—haak!"

Rodrick gave him no rest. Before Nathan could rise, Rodrick brought his sword hilt down hard against Nathan's temple.

The man saw stars. For a moment, they both saw stars.

That was just the beginning of the beating. Nathan became a toy for the madness Rodrick had been drowning in, a convenient target for all that accumulated rage.

The soldiers who'd just won their bets instantly felt the ice. They recognized their captain's expression.

"We should go."

"You think that's possible?"

"If anyone reports back, we're deader. Stupider."

The soldiers hastily evacuated the watching crowd, reading the atmosphere like professionals.

"Hck... you... crazy... stop—"

The fist stopped an inch from Nathan's face. Nowhere visible. Nathan's face remained pristine. Time to stop. He was stopping.

Haa.

Rodrick rose, yanked off his leather gloves, and hurled them away. From his inner pocket, he drew a fresh pair and worked them on methodically.

He kicked Nathan's prone form with the toe of his boot. Twice.

"Stop whining."

"Go to hell. Mad bastard. What warrior ever used fists instead of blades?"

In real combat, you fight with what you have. No blade? Use your teeth. Nathan knew he was spouting nonsense.

He rolled over instead, sprawling flat on his back across the dirt.

He'd apparently forgotten why he was angry in the first place. The fury had deflated. Rodrick lit another cigarette.

"Nathan Beatus. How long has it been since you've been home?"

"Hell if I know. Five years at minimum since I left that place. Why?"

So he'd be ignorant of family news. Rodrick clicked his tongue softly. Useless trip.

"You stay in contact with Devir Beatus?"

"I cut contact with big brother maybe ten years back? Though I heard Vanessa made her triumphant entry into court as Crown Prince consort—she's terrifying. Genuinely."

The memory of Vanessa's venomous gaze made Nathan shudder.

"I'm heading back north."

"Hey! Where are you going!"

"Back to the North."

He'd just asked questions—he never mentioned Diana herself. Typical. The moment Rodrick shut his mouth, nothing would pry it open. Nathan knew this about him. He scrambled to his feet.

Damn. He shook the dirt from his tangled hair and stalked toward the officer coordinating the mock combat.

"Commander, I'm taking leave."

A unilateral announcement. Not a request—a declaration that he was leaving now.

"What?"

"Taking leave. No conflicts brewing anyway, so don't bother looking for me. I mean it."

The middle-aged commander sputtered helplessly. Nathan was notoriously willful, but he'd never abandoned his post before.

"Wait—Nathan, this is sudden—"

"I said don't look for me. Anyone tries to track me? I'll kill them. I mean it."

The threat was chilling enough to shut the commander up. Could anyone even pursue this man?

Normally, desertion meant punishment. But Nathan was a renowned general with significant accomplishments. Few had the authority to punish him. And the backing of House Beatus didn't hurt.

Late night. Dead of night.

The knights who'd ridden ceaselessly finally got a reprieve ordered by their commander—rest that wasn't really rest.

"Our captain was rejected, wasn't he?"

Idle knights clustered around a campfire, gossiping like they'd witnessed the century's greatest entertainment.

"Must've been. Why else come all this way to ask his family for permission?"

The soldiers' battered faces flickered in the firelight—all of them sporting spectacular bruises.

"You heard, didn't you? The lady told the Duke straight out, 'Give me your son!' Can you believe it? That Duke and she didn't even blink!"

The knights had been spared the true beating, technically, but they'd still suffered consequences—martial law and confiscated winnings from their gambling ring. Yet somehow, they found themselves grinning like madmen anyway.

"She's got more guts than half our unit combined."

"One of the Deputy Commander's assistants knew someone in the administrative office, and he said the Duke's eyes got absolutely lethal. But this lady? Smiled like she was chatting about the weather. At the Duke of Schwartz!"

"That's the kind of strength a lady needs to be our captain's wife."

"Once they're married, maybe our captain will actually relax—"

"You."

A voice scraped like nails on a coffin. The knights' hearts stopped cold.

The unfamiliar voice froze them solid. The soldiers' heads rotated slowly, mechanically, like broken clockwork—following the sound.

"Say that again."

Shadows gave way to firelight, revealing the red wolf watching them with blazing crimson eyes, wearing a smile like a predator's snarl.

The soldiers' inner screams were merely that—inner. The terror was real enough.

A second monster?! A second one just like the captain?!

"We—we must've misheard!"

The soldiers scrambled for survival.

"Y-yes!"

"We don't know who you're talking about! P-please, calm down!"

Pointless effort.

"Alright then. Let's spar."

No, gods, why! Nathan was using his captain's subordinates as a stress outlet.

"Nooooo! Mercy!"

"Captain, help us!"

The soldiers' cries for rescue rang out—and Rodrick, perched on a log smoking peacefully, merely tilted his head back.

"Handle it yourselves."

That cold response left the soldiers with tear-filled eyes.

This heartless monster. Go ahead and stay single for life, you cursed bastard!

They cursed inwardly while enduring Nathan's one-sided assault—survival became their sole ambition.