My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 409 Character

Morning came, soft light creeping past the shutters and warming the wooden floors, yet Riley slept like a baby—deep, peaceful, undisturbed.

The faint scent of blood still clung to him, but his breathing remained steady, almost serene.

Nothing weighed on his mind. Nothing troubled his conscience.

Everything was under his control, exactly as he wanted it.

Downstairs, however, the inn was a different world entirely.

Whispers ricocheted around the common room.

Patrons huddled into tight circles, some pacing, others gripping mugs of ale with trembling fingers despite the early hour.

No one dared venture outside—not with fifteen corpses piled behind the inn like discarded sacks of grain.

The discovery had drawn half the district in a frenzy.

Then the heavy front door slammed open.

"Make way! Officers coming through!" someone yelled.

Boots thundered inside.

An officer in a polished chestplate stepped forward, his blue cape marking his rank.

His name was known around the city—Nicolas Redding, captain of the Bone Sentinels, a man famous for being relentless and annoyingly thorough.

Behind him were at least two dozen soldiers, each armed with longswords, spears, and crossbows.

Their expressions were carved from stone, their steps disciplined.

Every one of them had scars—on their faces, on their hands, on their armor.

Men who had fought bandits, beasts, criminals... and lived.

Nicolas’s sharp gaze swept across the lobby, finally settling on the trembling innkeeper.

"Are you telling the truth?" Nicolas asked, his voice low yet carrying across the room.

"The one who did this—who slaughtered fifteen members of the Night Watch Gang—is still inside your inn? Sleeping in one of your rooms?"

The innkeeper swallowed hard. Very hard.

He wiped his palms on his apron, took a breath, and forced himself to speak.

"H-He is, Master Nicolas. He never left. He... walked upstairs last night like nothing happened." The man’s voice nearly cracked.

"He’s with four women. He rented the biggest room on the second floor. First door to the left."

Around them, silence fell like a blanket.

A few guests gasped. One woman covered her mouth. Someone muttered, "Four women...? Gods help them."

Nicolas’s brow tensed. "He slaughtered fifteen armed men, and then simply went to bed?"

The innkeeper nodded rapidly. "Y-Yes, Captain. Just... just like that. Didn’t even breathe heavily."

Another soldier snorted in disbelief. "He must be bluffing. No one kills fifteen trained thugs alone."

A veteran beside him replied quietly, "I saw the bodies. No hesitation marks. Clean cuts. Whoever did it... wasn’t normal."

Nicolas lifted a hand, silencing them.

The captain’s eyes went to the stairs—narrow, creaky, and poorly lit. A perfect chokepoint.

Dangerous for both attacker and defender.

"Please... please just take him away. Before he brings my whole inn down with him."

"Alright. Let us handle it from here. You stay down here," Nicolas said, placing a steadying hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder before motioning for his men to follow.

"Form up," he ordered. "Shields in front. Two crossbows behind. We approach slowly. If he’s asleep, we take him quietly. If he’s awake..."

The rest of that sentence hung in the air unspoken, but everyone understood it.

The soldiers snapped into formation. The innkeeper backed away so fast he nearly tripped over a stool.

Patrons pressed against the walls, clearing a path like farmers fleeing a stampede.

Sweat glistened on foreheads. Someone whispered a prayer.

The captain drew his sword with a soft metallic hiss.

"Move."

The first group stepped onto the stairs—each footfall heavy, deliberate, filled with tension.

Step by step they ascended, weapons raised.

Every creak of the wooden steps echoed through the building.

The closer they got to the second floor, the more suffocating the atmosphere became.

They moved as a single unit—disciplined, cautious, and tense.

At the end of the hallway, Nicolas stopped in front of the designated door.

The air felt thick here, as if the building itself knew what kind of monster might be behind it.

Even the flickering wall torches seemed nervous, their flames shivering.

Nicolas took a breath, lifted a gauntleted fist, and knocked.

A heartbeat passed.

Two.

Then the latch clicked.

The door opened to reveal Riley.

He stood casually, almost lazily, as though he had just woken from a nap—which, in truth, he had.

His clothing was plain: a simple black shirt hugging his lean frame, black trousers that allowed movement, nothing luxurious nor ceremonial.

But on him, the simplicity only emphasized his presence.

His face was something out of an artist’s dream—strikingly handsome, unfairly so.

A couple of soldiers instinctively straightened their posture.

Even Nicolas blinked before catching himself. But it wasn’t the beauty that froze them.

It was the eyes.

Calm. Still. Confident. As if the world itself was merely background noise to him.

As if a legion outside his door meant nothing.

For three entire breaths, everyone stood frozen, staring.

Nicolas forced himself to recover first.

"Are you Riley?" he asked, maintaining authority, though his tone betrayed a sliver of caution.

"Yes, I am," Riley answered without a hint of tension.

Nicolas cleared his throat. "Were you the one who killed the fifteen men outside the inn?"

"I did." Riley nodded, as if confirming he’d had breakfast.

The hallway erupted in silent shock. Several soldiers widened their eyes.

The two at the front exchanged glances. One of them mouthed...

He admitted it? Another subtly reached for his weapon, knuckles whitening.

Nicolas’s jaw clenched.

He had expected denial, excuses, panic—anything but calm acknowledgment.

"In that case," Nicolas said slowly, "you’ll need to come with us. You don’t get to butcher fifteen people in this city and walk away."

There was no threat in his voice, just protocol. Law. Responsibility.

"Okay," Riley said easily, as though agreeing to step out for a quick errand. "Let me just tell my friends something."

The soldiers stiffened, uncertain if they should allow that.

Nicolas held up a hand, signaling them to stand down.

Riley turned away from them, walked down the hall with steady footsteps, and stopped at another door.

He knocked lightly.

A moment later, the door cracked open. Evelyn peeked out, hair messy, eyes still foggy from sleep.

The moment she recognized him, confusion replaced drowsiness.

"Riley? What’s going on? Who are all these—"

He didn’t let her worry.

He gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"Order something nice for lunch," he said gently. "I’ll see you all later."

Evelyn blinked, stunned. "Lunch? Riley—wait—what do you—?"

But he had already turned away, leaving her standing in the doorway with her mouth slightly open, her heart suddenly pounding for reasons she couldn’t name.

The soldiers watched him return with the same slow, unwavering steps. No fear. No hesitation. No guilt.

He stopped in front of Nicolas, hands relaxed at his sides, as if he were simply ready to go on a morning stroll.

And that, more than the confession, sent an uneasy chill through every man in armor.

Riley walked in the middle of the armored formation, surrounded on all sides by Master Nicolas and two dozen city soldiers.

Steel glinted in the morning sun, boots pounded against the stones, and the procession cut through the street like a knife through still water.

Yet in the very center of it all, Riley remained the picture of calm indifference—hands loose at his sides, face unreadable, eyes half-lidded with boredom.

His relaxed composure only made the scene more surreal.

People parted from the road, some out of fear, others out of curiosity.

Heads poked out of windows, shop doors creaked open, and whispers rippled through the gathering crowd like wind through dry leaves.

"Look at that idiot," one man said, almost gleeful. "He has no idea what’s waiting for him down in the dungeons."

"He’ll be begging for mercy by the end of the day," another added.

"The Night Watch Gang won’t let this slide," someone whispered ominously. "They’ll get to him, no matter what."

But others had a softer tone.

"What a shame... he’s so handsome," a young woman murmured, clasping her hands. "Such a waste."

"Imagine killing fifteen men and not even sweating. Gods... he looks so normal," another person said, unable to reconcile Riley’s appearance with the carnage he had caused.

Even the soldiers escorting him exchanged hushed comments.

Some stared at Riley as if trying to understand what sort of creature he was.

"He’s walking like this is nothing," one muttered.

"Either he’s fearless... or he’s too stupid to realize what he’s done," another replied.

"Or," a third soldier whispered, voice low, "he knows something we don’t."

Riley paid none of them any mind.

He simply walked, eyes forward, as though he were strolling toward a tavern rather than imprisonment.

Eventually they reached the city dungeons—a squat stone structure built partly underground, its walls cracked from age and moisture.

Moss clung to the sides, and the iron gate looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

The moment it creaked open, a wave of stench hit them full force.

The smell was foul and violent—rot, waste, mold, blood, sweat, and something worse.