My Crybaby Father is the Kingdom's Worst Villain
Chapter 51: Recruitments?

Chapter 51: Recruitments?

The Next Morning

The sun had barely begun to rise when the camp stirred with quiet efficiency. Soldiers moved through the clearing, securing their gear, dousing the last embers of the fire, and packing the supplies for the journey back to the estate. The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp earth and burnt wood, mingling with the faint rustle of armor and whispered conversations.

Esteban stood near the edge of the camp, arms crossed, watching the preparations unfold. His sharp eyes scanned each movement, ensuring everything was in order. A soldier tightened the strap on a saddle; another adjusted the packs on the supply horses. Everything was running smoothly.

The flap of a tent rustled behind him, and he turned just as Ramiro emerged, stretching with a yawn that quickly turned into a grimace. His dark hair was disheveled, his sharp features slightly drawn—he looked like a man who had spent the night wrestling with something far less tangible than sleep.

Esteban raised a brow. "You look like you didn’t get much rest, my lord."

Ramiro ran a hand down his face, exhaling. "You think?" His brow furrowed, and he rolled his shoulders as if shaking off the remnants of exhaustion.

Esteban’s gaze flickered with mild amusement. "Let me guess... Luzia?"

Ramiro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She had a lot of questions about her mother. All night." His voice held no annoyance, just a weary acceptance.

Esteban studied him for a moment before asking, "Did it bother you?"

Ramiro shook his head, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not at all. It felt... good to talk about Dahlia again. To remember things I hadn’t thought about in a long time." His gaze turned distant, as if caught between the past and the present. Then, his expression shifted slightly—something unreadable flickering across his face. "But you know what’s funny? Luzia never asked about me. Never wondered what I was like before I met Dahlia. It’s like she only cares about her mother."

Esteban snorted, shaking his head. "You are impossible, my lord."

Ramiro huffed. "What?"

Esteban smirked. "Only you would complain about your daughter loving her mother too much."

Ramiro opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning. He let out a resigned sigh. "Maybe."

Esteban clapped him on the shoulder. "Anyway. We have a long ride ahead."

Ramiro nodded, glancing toward the tent where Luzia was supposedly sleeping. Or more likely, pretending to sleep so she could eavesdrop. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a knowing smirk before turning back to his men.

"Luzia, we’re moving out soon."

Inside the tent, Luzia’s eyes snapped open. Damn it. How did he know? She shifted slightly, glancing to her side, where Roldan—still curled up in his baby dragon form—watched her with unblinking, slit-pupiled red eyes.

"What are you staring at?" she muttered, pushing herself upright.

"You," Roldan said flatly. "You finally decided to stop pretending."

Luzia scowled. "Oh, shut up."

"You do realize you’re terrible at faking sleep, right?"

She shot him a glare. "Excuse me?"

Roldan flicked his tail, unimpressed. "Your breathing pattern was all wrong, and you kept shifting like you were waiting for something. Any fool could tell you were awake."

Luzia scoffed, rolling her shoulders. "Well, clearly not any fool, because my father was the only one who caught on."

Roldan tilted his head. "Master, with all due respect, he figured it out in three seconds. That is not something to brag about."

Luzia groaned, rubbing her temples. "Why am I taking sass from a baby dragon first thing in the morning?"

"Because you make it too easy," Roldan replied, stretching his wings with a smug little hum.

Luzia narrowed her eyes. "Remind me to find a mute dragon next time."

"Good luck with that," Roldan snorted. "Now hurry up. Unless you want your father to drag you out of here himself."

Luzia grumbled under her breath but stood anyway, rolling up her bedroll.

As Luzia stepped out of the tent, Roldan trailing at her heels, she immediately noticed the shift in the camp’s atmosphere. The usual disciplined efficiency had given way to murmurs and side glances. A group of unfamiliar soldiers, clad in Duke Alejandro’s colors, had just ridden in, their horses still dusted with the dirt of travel.

Ramiro, standing near Esteban, narrowed his eyes at the new arrivals. Confusion flickered across his face—he hadn’t sent for reinforcements.

Esteban, ever the pragmatic one, stepped forward. "State your business," he demanded, his voice carrying over the clearing.

One of the soldiers, a grizzled man with a neatly trimmed beard, dismounted and saluted. "We come on the Duke’s orders," he announced. "We were sent to assist Duke Ramiro in his battle against the Maisbeast in Tormar."

Silence stretched between them. Ramiro’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

Before he could speak, another voice cut through the morning air.

"But I sent the Duke this request a day ago, and you only arrive now? Did the Duke wish for my lord’s death?"

Aurelio stormed toward the newcomers, his usual composed demeanor cracking with rare fury. His sharp eyes burned with accusation, and his voice carried an edge that silenced the murmurs around them.

Luzia, standing slightly apart from the gathering, watched with arms crossed. Her gaze flicked from the soldiers to her father, then to Esteban, who was watching them just as carefully.

’Obviously, Duke Alejandro wants my dad dead,’ she thought. A day late. Right when we were meant to die. This wasn’t an accident. This was a choice.

The timing was too convenient. If they had arrived any later, they would have been collecting bodies, not offering help. The so-called reinforcements weren’t late by accident—they had been deliberately delayed.

Ramiro exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. "So, the Duke sends aid," he said at last, his tone unreadable. "How generous of him."

Luzia didn’t miss the way his fingers curled into a fist before he forced them to relax.

The lead soldier shifted uncomfortably. "We rode as soon as we received word, my lord."

"Liar," Luzia muttered under her breath.

Roldan flicked his tail beside her. "Blunt as ever, Master."

She ignored him, her sharp eyes fixed on her father. She wanted to see how he would handle this—how he would respond to a Duke who clearly saw him as expendable.

The soldier who had been speaking turned sharply at Luzia’s words, his brow furrowing. "Excuse me, my lady, what did you say?"

Luzia met his gaze without hesitation, her arms still crossed. "I said that duke of yours is a liar," she repeated, her tone flat and unapologetic.

Murmurs spread among the nearby soldiers, but Luzia didn’t care. She had seen enough to know what was going on.

The lead soldier stiffened at Luzia’s accusation, his fingers twitching near the hilt of his sword. A few of his men exchanged uneasy glances, their shoulders going rigid as murmurs spread through the ranks. One, younger than the rest, swallowed hard and looked toward his superior, as if waiting for permission to respond.

Luzia didn’t back down. She met the lead soldier’s gaze with unwavering defiance. "You heard me," she said, voice cold. "Your Duke is a liar."

A sharp exhale from one of the soldiers. Another’s jaw clenched, his hand tightening on his weapon before he caught himself and forced it to relax. The tension in the air grew thick, and for a moment, it seemed like someone might actually step forward and challenge her.

Then the lead soldier spoke, his voice carefully controlled. "Watch your words, my lady," he said, though there was no true fire behind it. "We came as soon as we could."

Luzia scoffed, her smirk widening. "Is that guilt I hear?"

A flicker of something passed through the soldier’s expression—annoyance, maybe, or something deeper. He squared his shoulders but said nothing.

Aurelio stepped forward, his sharp gaze flicking between them. "Late reinforcements are as good as no reinforcements at all," he said, his voice laced with biting disdain. "If you expected gratitude, you’re in the wrong camp."

For the briefest second, Luzia saw it—hesitation, doubt, a crack in their resolve.

They know.

Maybe not all of them, but at least some of Alejandro’s men were aware that this delay was no accident. And yet, they had still ridden here, still played their part.

Ramiro finally broke the silence, his voice deceptively calm. "Since you’ve arrived so generously late," he said, lacing his words with mock gratitude, "you might as well make yourselves useful. We’re heading back."

The soldiers hesitated.

Aurelio narrowed his eyes. "Unless, of course, your Duke gave you new orders?"

The lead soldier hesitated for just a second too long.

Then he shook his head. "No, my lord. We will follow your command."

Ramiro exhaled through his nose. "Good." He turned on his heel, already heading for his horse. "Try not to drag your feet this time."

Ramiro exhaled slowly, schooling his features into careful neutrality. But beneath the surface, a quiet storm brewed. Alejandro’s delay was not mere incompetence—it was a message. A calculated insult wrapped in feigned benevolence.

So, this is the game he wishes to play?

His gaze swept over the soldiers, lingering just long enough for them to feel the weight of his scrutiny. They flinched, however subtly, and he did not miss it. A lesser man might have let it pass, but Ramiro was not a lesser man.

I have entertained Alejandro’s slights long enough. He forgets that a cornered wolf does not beg—it bites.

His jaw tensed, though his expression remained composed, the flicker of a smirk barely touching his lips. He would not lower himself to outrage. That was the folly of weak men. No, he would act as he always had—with precision, with patience, and with the certainty of a man who knew exactly where to drive the knife when the time came.

If Alejandro wished for my death, he should have ensured it. Now, he has given me reason to remind him why I am still standing.

Ramiro turned sharply, his cloak sweeping behind him. Yes, he thought. A conversation with Alejandro is long overdue.