Chapter 30 Fitran Memories (1)
When the beautiful night no longer feels right on the skin of humankind, a thunderous roar echoes, whispering the passions of the heart into the flames. Is that a sign of an approaching storm? The animals, filled with fear, hide hesitantly behind the ancient trees that serve as a resting place for the wingless insects. Suddenly, lightning strikes loudly, creating an atmosphere of tension among the animals; the law of the jungle is enforced amid the inevitable chaos.
Amidst the storm's roar, a young man stands transfixed in front of a woman who has just become a victim of a nobleman's crime in the middle of the street. He gazes at the woman lying there with an empty stare, tears flowing like arrows piercing his heart, witnessing the unuttered pain.
Indeed, the storm is raging. Many can only stand in silence, captivated by the sorrowful sight, wondering if the fear of the storm is just a step away from the greed of humanity. How cruel it is for them to treat a girl as if she were merely a doll. This country is indeed like a puppet, lacking rules or boundaries for its people's behavior, where every action seems free from moral sanctions.
"Hey hey... Tomorrow night we will play again, young master," said an old man with a mustache, his hoarse voice brimming with warmth. He was the coachman of the noble's carriage, his wrinkled face telling tales of a long life filled with experiences. The horse pulling the carriage, Homer, The Horses of Hera, was one of three legendary immortal horses, alongside Quintus Smyrnaeus The Horses of Amador and Quintus Smyrnaeus The Horses of Amato, radiating a magical aura.
Behind him, a young man was seen adjusting his sweat-drenched clothing, adding a dramatic flair to his appearance. He was a handsome and charismatic young nobleman with exceptional skills in everything he undertook. No woman could resist his charm. He was Lord Alfonzo Walter Caesar, a renowned warrior celebrated for his conquest of the castle of Pendomium. For his bravery, he was bestowed the title of Duke.
However, when he encountered the girl selling matchsticks, her brave rejection of his advances ignited Lord Alfonzo Walter Caesar's wrath. In a fit of madness, he committed unimaginable acts of cruelty, forcing the girl repeatedly as she desperately waved her hands, pleading for help from those around her. Ironically, the onlookers watching this heartbreaking scene merely whispered among themselves, as if trapped in their own world, ignoring her screams and panic. Even his peers remained indifferent; although they were all considered the dregs of society, they were like owls longing for the moon, unaware that the 'moon' they yearned for was someone struggling to find her own identity, just like that unfortunate girl.
"How about it, sir? Are you satisfied?" the coachman asked with a wide, insincere smile that seemed to reflect a false sense of satisfaction.
"I am somewhat satisfied, even though the smell of her body is revolting. I suppose I should have the maids prepare a bath filled with rose petals; I want to soak all night," Alfonzo replied in a cynical tone, envisioning the moment of indulging in luxury that sharply contrasted with the suffering of the girl.
Then they moved away from the spot. Before they climbed into the carriage, Alfonzo carefully noticed a young man handing a cloth to the girl. Witnessing this moment ignited his fury, and he pointed his index finger at his coachman, commanding in a thunderous voice to eliminate the boy. The coachman quickly obeyed, not out of respect, but from a gnawing fear in his heart, fully aware that his master was not someone to be debated with regarding what he considered his own.
"Hey... what are you doing?" the coachman shouted, raising his club high with malicious intent to strike the young man. In an instant, the girl stepped forward, trying to protect him. However, instead of retreating, he pushed her away, his eyes cold and filled with determination, as if ready to face the threat head-on.
Slash...!