A Gorgeous White

Chapter 311: Unearthing Intents

Moulin remembers the early days when he was welcomed to the Fraunces Manor. Especially a certain seer who threw a dagger at him at first meet, defensively hiding behind the reason of seeing if Moulin was indeed an ability wielder. The memory was vividly clear within his mind. Countless interactions flashed the moment Moulin met the eyes of the seer. And it all began to solidify his familiarity with the man wearing glasses.

It was Colahn, his family's Seer.

Moulin blinked in surprise. Eight years have passed, the person should have forgotten Moulin, for he was already presumed to have perished the day the Fraunces estate fell. For Moulin, who had just slept throughout those eight years, the past was still evident in his mind as if everything that had transpired had just occurred yesterday. However, it wasn't the same for those people whom he had left behind.

Emlen noticed his younger brother's stare, and his eyes widened. "Ah!"

He turned to Colahn and spoke with a faint smile, "Colahn, this is difficult to explain, but I promise to tell you everything afterwards. This..." Emlen gestured to his brother with a soft smile. "... Is Mouli-"

"Third young master Moulin..." Colahn muttered. His expression remained in shock. Eyes wide as if he couldn't believe it. As one of the people who had mourned for Moulin's death, the fact that the young master was standing before him, grown, healthy, and beautifully handsome as he always was, made Colahn think he had died and was now meeting the young master in the underworld. This... was unbelievable!

Before he could even express his unfathomable confusion, Moulin revealed a soft smile and spoke. "It is good to see you again, Colahn."

"Ah-h." Colahn mentally broke down. "Y-Young master."

Crash!

A loud noise sounded within the small room. It hastily caught the attention of all the occupants in the room. Moulin turned his head, and his eyes widened when he spotted three people gaping at him with wide eyes. An empty jug of water had fallen on the ground.

A woman with long dark curls and eyes of amber and two identical men with similar hair color. However, the other man bore bright green eyes like fresh grass, and the other had fresh blue ones. Smudges of dust and grime were noticeable on their stunned faces. The green-eyed man, leaning against the wall because of his injury, looked as if he saw a ghost.

Moulin slightly squinted his eyes at them. Indeed, he couldn't forget those faces, those looks. His time in the Leonile Manor was most apparent in his mind. And the faces of his senior, honorable sentinels were more unmistakable. Tessley Vernallia and the Twins of the Leonile Guild, Troid and Tyve.

"Moulin," Emlen called. "Bring out the salves and healing tonics. We must hurry." Despite that, he didn't want to interrupt his little brother's laborious recollection. This wasn't the time to reminiscing. There were other important things to take care of at this moment.

"Yes, brother," Moulin muttered a side apology before turning around and kneeling beside a table at a corner of the vast room. He began to pull out bottles and salves from the void pouch he carried.

Emlen then counted the survivors of the outpost with a severe expression. Most of the people were injured and wounded. And almost all of them looked starved. From Colahn's explanation, they had a decent meal ever since Lord Artus transferred them from the dungeons in the kitchen. Fortunately, Lord Artus relocated them in time before those orcs could even have a bite of them. Emlen furrowed his brows as he glanced at Artus, who was calmly staring at the group of maeruthans.

A while later, Moulin felt someone kneel beside him to help him collect the vials and healing salves.

"Let me help," Mellano spoke as he crouched down and began taking the items on the rugged floor. He furrowed his brows as he glanced behind him where Artus was conversing with Moulin's brother as well as with a few people.

After a few minutes, Moulin and Mellano began uncorking the vials one by one. They worked silently until Mellano broke the silence between them.

"The Orcan Lord of these walls is Lord Artus's brother." He said softly.

Moulin paused briefly. His eyes flashed as he glanced at the young man kneeling beside him. He's the brother of the orc that enslaved humans and the target to be assassinated by Malyana and Nhero? Confusion and cautiousness filled the silver pools within Moulin's pupils. He turned his head. If he and the orc were related, how come Artus was helping them?

As if reading Moulin's mind, Mellano continued. The shadows enshroud his downcast eyes. "They are brothers, but Artus knows his brother must be stopped. They were once a proud tribe in Skilis, peaceful and dignified, but that was until the Kron entered the land of Skilis. The High Lord wanted to ensure their tribe kept their dominance as they have before the Kron. He couldn't accept the fall of their tribe."

Moulin drew his eyebrows together. "Will he accept the death of his brother?"

Mellano stared at Moulin and nodded. "Yes, that is why he's been supporting Malyana in the dark. I couldn't have sent the supplies and communicated with Malyana without his help. He..." Mellano stopped before sighing.

'Why didn't he tell me sooner that he was one of Malyana's allies?' Moulin internally thought. He shook his head.

Moulin abruptly turned his face to him and spoke with a low voice that was neither gentle nor cold, "Why do you tell me this?"

A pause. After a moment, Mellano lowered his head. His hands clenched around the full bottles in his arms. "I don't want to gain anything from you or any of your people. But... I only want to know how you would end the High Lord."

"We have no reason to interfere with the struggles here in Gaclan," Moulin replied before he rose from the ground. He didn't break his gaze on the young man kneeling beside his feet, looking up to him with pure eyes. "All I know is that Nhero and Malyana are likely the ones to decide this Orc's death."

In a split second, Moulin swore he saw a flicker of anxiety passed through Mellano's eyes. Moulin thought the man would look relieved. Relieved that the source of their suffering and abuse would finally perish. Confusion filled the youth's silver eyes. 'Why?'

"I see..." Mellano muttered. His hands clenched, and like Moulin, he rose from the rugged floor. "Most likely... it would be Malyana who would take the High Lord's head."

With furrowed brows, Moulin looked at him. "What?"

Before he could ask further questions, Emlen's call interrupted the two men.

"Moulin, come."

His brother's hurried voice entered Moulin's ears. Taking one last glance at Mellano, who had already shifted his attention elsewhere, Moulin turned his heels and approached his brother. He passed the bottles, salves, and healing aids to the men and women, tending their injuries. Most of the people who came to him were as silent as the nightly wind, they would stare at him with eyes of disbelief, and it wouldn't stop even when they walked away from him.

"It... is really him, right?"

"I am certain."

"You two shut up and take care of your wounds."

Moulin turned his head to the three Leonile sentinels who met his gaze. They flinched, surprised, but they didn't look away from him as if to absorb every bit of Moulin's features and convince themselves that Moulin was indeed alive. Moulin revealed a faint smile to them, eyes curved softly.

Moulin immediately returned to his brother's side. His elder brother was conversing with Artus with a dim expression. Concern washed through Moulin's eyes as Emlen received his presence.

"This man wanted to know everything about Malyana's plan. It seems the letters sent to him by Malyana lacked the specifics of the assassination." Emlen said to him with a straight face. Turning to the Orc, he added with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps, she just couldn't trust you. You 'are' the High Lord's brother."

Moulin glanced at Artus. It seemed Artus had already revealed his identity to Emlen. Moulin wasn't surprised that his brother immediately began to be even warier of him. Emlen's grey watchful eyes assessed the orc in front of him carefully.

"Perhaps, that isn't the only reason..." Moulin spoke. As his words fell in the air, he slowly turned to Mellano, who had approached them. Emlen turned to his brother with a questioning gaze.

Moulin faced Mellano as he spoke carefully. "Tell me what we don't know."

"..." There was hesitation in Mellano's eyes. "You wouldn't believe me. Even if I say it, it won't change the fact that the High Lord has to die."

"Tell us," Moulin said. He wasn't too concerned about who would be killing the High Lord of Gaclan City.

Mellano sighed. He gave a side-glance at Artus before finally speaking his mind. "Malyana will take the High Lord's head. She will kill him, and she won't let anyone aside from her, murder the Orcan Lord."

"I failed to see how significant that information is to us." Emlen narrowed his eyes.

"You don't understand!" Mellano surprisingly raised his voice, grabbing the attention of everyone around them. Only Moulin wore a cold exterior.

The young man continued, "She wants revenge. And if the High Lord is attacked before his pride, there would be no stopping the massacre brought by his pride. More innocent people will be lost. The Lion Pride is loyal to those who lead them. Successful, or not, Malyana should not be the one to end the High Lord. She will doom the involved into this situation."

"..." Moulin stared at Mellano. His thoughts veered to the servants and human performers involved in the banquet. He knew nothing about the affairs between the orcs and their tribe. 'If what Mellano was saying is true, then the other maeruthans...

Moulin turned to Artus in the confirmation. There was a grave expression on the beastman's face, and he nodded to Moulin.

Emlen narrowed his eyes. "This..."

"If not her, then who will end him?" Moulin asked. "Surely, there must be someone who can."

...

A deaf silence settled between them. Clouded by tension and uncertainty, they stood a few seconds dwelling in silence.

"I will do it."

...

Moulin raised his head. His gaze landed on Artus. "You... will kill your brother?"

"I am next in line. The pride will not be in a rage if I end him. They will acknowledge the powerful. And if I am successful, they will accept me as the next Orcan Leader of the pride."

Moulin furrowed his brows. This decision shouldn't be light for Artus. "Are you sure? It is your brother whose life you will be ending."

Moulin could see it. He could sense itthe scent of helplessness. The loss, but the determination about the task he was going to do was strong. Moulin could not trust Artus's hesitation. However, to avoid more losses, Artus should be the one to kill the High Lord and not anyone else.

Artus nodded.

Settling the matter, Moulin charged Mellano to lead the captives out of the castle. The communicating stones have disintegrated, so there was no other way for Moulin and the others to contact Hadrian and his group. They would have to join them in the hall where the festivity was located.

"We can fight alongside you." Tessley Vernallia suddenly spoke. The two other sentinels rose behind her, hearing about their Lord Hercullio between the discussion. Somehow, Moulin felt nostalgic witnessing their courageous commitment to fight alongside their Lord. 

"You are in no condition to fight." Emlen declared. "Go with the others if you want to be useful. Aid in the escape."

Unable to refute, the three could only be led away by Colahn and the others.

"Do you know the way?" Artus spoke softly to Mellano.

The young lad nodded, "Yes. Be safe.."

Artus nodded. His eyes softly gazed at the departing back of the young man as he watched him join the people, leading them to venture the secret tunnels of the walls in the Red Palace.

"We have to go..." said Moulin, ignoring the ominous feeling he felt inside. Time will never wait for them. 

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