My Boss Tried to Drag Away a Barefoot Orphan Who Unlocked the Town's Sacred Sword — Then His Son Handed Me the Sealed Letter That Ended His Family's 50-Year Reign
The air in Harlan Croft’s private manor office was always thick with the scent of old money and cigar smoke. Elias hated it. He hated the silence, too, when his father wasn’t there, a silence that felt heavy with secrets.
Tonight, the manor was quieter than usual. Harlan was busy organizing his armed overseers, preparing for the showdown at dawn. Elias knew this was his only chance.
He moved silently through the polished halls, his boots barely whispering on the thick rugs. The office door was unlocked, a small oversight in his father’s otherwise meticulous preparations.
Inside, the dim light from a single gas lamp barely chased the shadows from the corners. Elias went straight to Harlan’s massive oak desk, its surface usually cluttered with ledgers and maps. Tonight, it was pristine.
His eyes scanned the wall behind the desk, settling on the heavy iron safe concealed behind a sliding panel of dark wood. He knew its combination. He’d watched his father open it a hundred times, memorizing the clicks and turns.
His hands trembled slightly as he spun the dial. *Left, right, left again.* Each click echoed in the vast, empty room. He remembered Harlan’s father, his own grandfather, sitting in this very chair, his face a mask of stern control.
The heavy door of the safe swung open with a soft thud. Inside, stacks of ledgers, deeds, and official-looking documents were neatly arranged. Elias knew what he was looking for. He’d seen it once before, years ago, when he was just a boy, tucked away in the back.
His fingers brushed against a dusty, leather-bound folder. It was old, the leather cracked and worn. He pulled it out.
Inside, nestled among other forgotten papers, was a sealed letter, its wax seal intact. It was yellowed with age, addressed simply: “To the next Guild Master of Pine Ridge.” And below, in faded ink, “Silas Montgomery – 1878.”
This was it. The very letter he’d heard whispers about, the one his father always dismissed as a myth.
A wave of nausea washed over him. This was a betrayal, a profound act against his own blood. But the faces of the terrified mill workers, the desperate look in Arthur’s eyes, the quiet suffering of that small boy – they spurred him on.
He tucked the folder into his coat, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He didn’t take anything else. Just the letter.
Slipping back through the silent manor, Elias felt a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. He scaled the back garden wall, dropping lightly into the alleyways behind the manor. The cold night air invigorated him.
He moved quickly, avoiding the main thoroughfares, keeping to the shadows. The threat of his father’s overseers was constant. If he was caught, the consequences would be severe.
He found Arthur and Toby in Clara’s apothecary, the dim light from a lamp barely reaching the windows. He slipped inside, the heavy folder clutched in his hand.
“Arthur,” Elias whispered, his voice raspy. He pulled the leather folder from his coat. “I have something.”
He held it out, the sealed, ancient letter from Silas Montgomery trembling slightly in his grasp.
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