In a day already marked by unprecedented events, Julien found himself reeling for the third time, each revelation more jarring than the last. The court, a space of routine and predictability for seven years, suddenly transformed into a stage for the unexpected. Hugh, who had always been something of a thorn in Julien's side, an adversary, had now revealed a much darker intent. The idea that Hugh harbored a desire for Julien's demise was a thought regarded as inconceivable, that left Julien shaken for a good moment. Not in a million years would he have suspected such levels of rancor.
As Hugh brandished his dagger, its blade glinting menacingly in the dim light, he lunged towards Julien with a dangerous intent. In that split second, Julien's eyes flickered towards the count, a silent plea for aid. Seemingly comprehending the urgency of the moment, the count, with an uncanny perception that contradicted his undead state, swiftly interposed his arm between Julien and the impending strike.
The dagger found a new target. It plunged deep into the count's arm, burying itself deep in the semi-rotted flesh. The weapon now was ensnared, as if gripped by the very decay it had pierced. Hugh's surprise was palpable, his murderous thrust halted by the unexpected intervention.
Hugh staggered back, his eyes wide with horror as he beheld the consequence of his actions: "Oh... Oh my God!" he gasped, the dagger still embedded in the count's arm. His gaze shifted frenetically between Count Robert and Julien, his face contorting into an expression of sheer desperation and bafflement. "Count Robert, I... Why?" he stammered, his voice trembling, as if his mind was grappling with the odd situation.
Meanwhile, Philippe, who had been a silent witness to the unfolding drama, was jolted into action by the sheer gravity of the situation. "Oh God..." he whispered, his voice barely audible, reflecting his shock. Suddenly finding his voice, he shouted, "Hugh, what have you done!?" In a burst of panic, he flung open the door behind him and fled, his footsteps stomping the stony floor, echoing down the corridor.
The count now turned towards Hugh with an almost mechanical movement. His expression remained as empty and devoid of life as ever, contrasting the panic and chaos around him. Hugh, now frozen in place, found himself locked in a gaze with Count Robert: For the first time, he truly peered into those haunting eyes, only to be met with a pair of milky white orbs, sunk deep into their sockets. The sight was unnerving, almost like staring into an abyss.
With a jerky yet unrelenting motion, the count's unscathed arm reached towards Hugh. His hand, imbued with an unexpected strength, clamped around Hugh's neck and lifted him off the ground. Hugh, caught in a mix of shock and terror, was momentarily paralyzed, his survival instincts trapped beneath the weight of his disbelief and fear.
Hugh struggled for air, his words coming out in strained gasps as the count's grip held him suspended. "What are you doing, count Robert?" he managed to choke out, his eyes bulging in desperation. "Put me down!"
From behind the animated corpse, Julien's voice cut through the tension, steady yet clearly shocked from the near-fatal encounter: "You dare to attack us, and now you issue commands?" he asked incredulously. "Why would you attempt such a thing, Hugh? What drove you to this madness?"
"I know everything, Julien!" Hugh's voice rose to a frantic yell, his fear momentarily overtaken by fervor, "I'm aware of your dark blood rituals! You're a fiend, Julien, corrupting the very essence of the count and the countess! You've enslaved their bodies, their souls, manipulating their minds to your devilish will!"
Elevating Hugh further off the ground, the count's grasp tightened. Julien's face became harsher, his voice a low, dangerous timbre: "Where did you learn of these accusations?" He demanded, his tone reflecting the severity of the situation.
Gasping for breath, yet with a twisted sense of triumph, Hugh managed a raspy reply: "So you don't deny your misdeeds, you demon!" He wheezed, a smug, desperate smirk playing on his lips. "Know this, Julien – it's not just me. The entire court whispers of your unspeakable acts!" His smile widened, a grotesque display under the circumstances. "My dagger was but the first attempt. Know that a hundred more lie in wait, eager for a chance to find their mark in your treachery!"
With a sudden, puppet-like jerk, the count hurled Hugh against a nearby wall with a force that was startling for a corpse. Hugh's body collided with a sickening thud, his head striking the cold stone. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his threat silenced for the moment.
In the aftermath of this borderline surreal encounter, Julien fought to maintain his composure; He quickly exited the council room, the count's heavy steps echoing behind him. He wanted to head towards his residence to gather provisions for the journey ahead, but the realization that his dark secrets were now murmurs in the ears of every courtier weighed heavily on him. His departure, initially planned for dusk, now seemed overdue.
Walking briskly, Julien muttered to himself, "Did Gregorio even specify a meeting point?" The time to find the old man and confront whatever fate awaited him was drawing near, perhaps sooner than he had anticipated.
As they neared the castle's exit, a sudden, curious thought halted Julien in his tracks. He turned to the count, eyeing the wounded arm with a mix of intrigue and concern. "Did that hurt? At all?" he asked, his voice had a blend of almost scientific curiosity and a faint tinge of empathy. The count, as expected, offered no response.
Julien hesitated for a moment before carefully extracting the dagger from the count's flesh. The wound it left was grotesque, a deep gash marring the decaying skin, yet eerily devoid of any blood. "What does your body even do with all the blood we've fed you?" Julien pondered aloud, more to himself than expecting any answer. The mysteries of the count's undead physiology seemed endless. "No pain, no blood..." he mused, his words trailing off.
Shaking off the morbid fascination, Julien refocused on the task at hand. "Well, let's keep moving," he said, a note of determination creeping back into his voice. With that, they resumed their escape.
Julien, dagger clutched tightly in his left hand, felt a sense of relief as they navigated the deserted corridors of the castle; The count's silent, looming presence was a constant shadow at his back. The emptiness of the halls was quite welcome, allowing them to move unhindered, avoiding further encounters like the one with Hugh.
However, as they rounded a corner, Julien's brief stroke of luck faltered. In the distance, just before the exit gate, standing as grim sentinels, were two guards. Clad in decent armor, their shields raised in a defensive posture, they blocked Julien's path. The swords they wielded were not merely for show; their points were directed menacingly towards Julien, a clear sign of their intent.
Julien's heart quickened as he assessed the situation. With the count's imposing figure behind him and danger squarely in front, he realized that stealth and luck would no longer suffice. Confrontation was inevitable. “Julien Mazars, stop right there!” One of them shouted, “we cannot let you leave this place alive!”
"My lord!" the second guard exclaimed, his voice quivering with a mix of fear and resolve. He brandished his sword more forcefully, though his hand betrayed a slight tremor. His eyes darted between Julien and the count, trying to make sense of the bizarre situation before him. "Is he holding you hostage?" The guard then shouted, his gaze now fixating on the dagger in Julien's hand.
Julien and the count came to a standstill, facing the two armored guards. The disparity in their situations was stark: The guards, clad in armor and adept with sword and shield, presented a formidable challenge; In contrast, Julien and the count, dressed in their usual attire and armed only with a single dagger, were at a clear disadvantage. Despite the count's apparent strength and his immunity to pain, Julien knew they were outmatched.
He needed to devise a plan, and quickly. A realization, however, soon dawned on Julien as he assessed the guards' stance: They believed he was holding Count Robert hostage – a misconception that might be turned to his advantage. "Perhaps if …" Julien pondered.
In a swift, calculated move, Julien darted behind the count, positioning the dagger at the neck of the undead noble. "Take one more step, and the count meets his end!" Julien bellowed, his voice laced with feigned hysteria. He maneuvered the count forward, inching towards the guards with calculated steps, his eyes wild with a convincing display of desperation.
The guards, taken aback by the sudden escalation, hesitated. "Wait!" one of them exclaimed, his voice a mix of caution and concern. "Don't be rash! Release the count!" His sword lowered slightly, a sign of his uncertainty and his willingness to negotiate, however perplexed he was by the situation.
“I can assure you he is going to live if you can assure me that I’ll live as well!” Julien replied, adding more insanity to his acting, drawing closer and closer.
The guards exchanged looks, their expressions betraying their attempt to navigate this unprecedented situation: "What if we consider imprisonment?" suggested one guard, his tone cautious yet hopeful. It was a proposal that apparently strayed from the protocol, born out of the desperation of the moment.
"Yes!" the other guard quickly chimed in, seizing the idea. "Perhaps we can advocate for your imprisonment rather than a death sentence," he continued, his words a blend of negotiation and plea, "spare the count, and we can assure a fair hearing for your case." Feigning inner turmoil, Julien acted as if he was deeply conflicted. He appeared to wrestle with the guards' offer, his grip on the dagger wavering ever so slightly. "Can you... can you promise me that?" he asked, his voice deliberately stuttering to convincingly convey vulnerability, while slowly moving forward.
Encouraged by Julien's seeming hesitation, the guards stepped forward slightly, the voice of one of them now firm with a newfound conviction: "Yes, absolutely!" He declared, sensing the potential to defuse the situation, "lay down your weapon and release the count. Then we can discuss this more reasonably."
Adopting an expression of confusion and apparent defeat, Julien slowly released his grip on the count. Under the guise of surrender, he subtly signaled the count with a barely perceptible glance, instructing him to advance towards the guards. The count, ever obedient to Julien's commands, began to move with his characteristic, morbid gait.
"Wait!" Julien suddenly exclaimed, now feigning regret: In that moment, he handed over the dagger to the count, as if surrendering himself completely to the now even more disadvantageous position. The count seamlessly continued his silent approach, positioning himself behind the unsuspecting guards.
"Just surrender, Julien, and we can—" The guard's words were abruptly cut off as a strangled gasp escaped his lips. A gruesome sight unfolded as a bright red stream of blood gushed forth uncontrollably from his mouth, tainting his shocked face.
"Jean!" The second guard, horror-stricken, whipped around to face his companion, his voice laced with disbelief and panic. But before he could process the scene or react further, Julien seized the moment of distraction: With a swift movement, Julien's clenched fists found their mark, striking the unsuspecting guard right in the face.
Julien, then, wrenched the sword from the weakening grip of the dying adversary. He turned around, brandishing the stolen blade menacingly towards the remaining guard. "Don't move!" He commanded, "or you'll join your comrade!"
Caught off guard and reeling from the sudden turn of events, the surviving guard was momentarily frozen in shock, but as the reality of his comrade's fate sank in, a blind fury overtook him. Clutching his sword with renewed determination, he lunged at Julien, a guttural scream tearing from his throat.
His charge, however, was short-lived: As he closed in on Julien, the count, silent and efficiently, plunged the dagger into that guard's back as well. His scream was abruptly silenced as he crumpled to the ground.
In the wake of the violent struggle, the guards lay sprawled on the cold stone floor, their life ebbing away amid shallow, bloody puddles. Julien, then, hastily grabbed a shield from one of the fallen men: an important addition to his defense. Turning to the count, Julien issued a silent command, gesturing towards the remaining sword and shield; The count promptly equipped himself with said arms as well.
Emerging from the confines of the castle, Julien and the count were greeted by an unsettlingly tranquil scene. The castle grounds, usually bustling with activity, were desolate, shrouded in an unnatural stillness. The only figure in sight was Gregorio, standing serenely by a horse, leisurely feeding it an apple.
"Where is everyone?" Julien called out as he hastened across the yard towards Gregorio.
"Running errands," Gregorio replied cryptically, his tone the usual nonchalant as he now busied himself with adjusting the horse's saddle. "Are you ready to depart?" he inquired, not lifting his gaze from his task.
Julien met Gregorio's enigmatic demeanor with a resigned understanding. Without a word, he moved to the horse beside Gregorio's, beginning to prepare the saddle as well; He and the count would share this single mount. The contrast between his weary spirit and the animal's lively pace was striking, their departure breaking the solemn quiet of the castle grounds.
