All Chapters of The Useful Son In-Law: Chapter 81
- Chapter 90
253 chapters
Chapter 81: Fire In The Streets
Clara’s words echoed through the council chamber long after the meeting had ended. Michael fights even now. And soon—soon he will return. It was the promise she clung to, the thread that kept her upright when fear clawed at her chest. But outside those walls, the city stirred like a hive struck by a stick.By midday, the whispers had become shouts. Citizens gathered in the square, shouting against hunger and broken promises. Banners hastily painted on rags waved above the crowd: Bread, not lies! and Down with the council!The guards, restless and divided, stood uncertain at the edge of the swelling mass. Some raised their shields, as duty demanded. Others lowered their eyes, as if ashamed. And a few, Clara noticed with a sinking heart, stood among the crowd instead of against it.At the center, the scribe lifted his arms, his voice carrying above the roar.“People of the city! How long will you starve while they sit fat in their halls? How long will you pray to a phantom who does not
Chapter 82: Ashes Of Trust
The city had not slept.The echoes of steel on stone, the cries of the wounded, and the bitter smoke of torches still lingered in the streets. Dogs barked uneasily at shadows, and mothers clutched their children close, whispering prayers into the night air that carried the faint, acrid tang of blood. By dawn, the cobblestones bore the scars of the night’s violence. Though water had been thrown across the square, crimson streaks clung stubbornly, like bruises that no scrubbing could erase.Silence hung heavy over the city—not the silence of peace, but of exhaustion, fear, and waiting. Every shuttered window seemed to hold a pair of watching eyes. Every alley seemed to conceal a whisper.Clara stood at the balcony of the council hall, her gaze fixed on the square below. She wore no jewels now, no bright gowns. Her dress was plain, her hair tied back, as if she wished to make herself one with the weary people. And yet she could feel their eyes on her. Not with admiration, not even with h
Chapter 83: Shadows On The Battlefield
The battlefield stretched like a graveyard under a steel-gray sky. Charred wagons lay splintered across the plain, arrows bristled from broken shields, and the stench of blood mingled with smoke that clung stubbornly to the air. The wind carried with it a low moan—the sound of wounded men, scattered and forgotten, each cry a fading plea to heavens that no longer seemed to listen.Michael stood among them, his armor battered, the crest long obscured by mud and blood. He leaned on his sword like a crutch, breath harsh, his body a map of bruises and shallow cuts. Around him, his company—the remnants of what had once been a proud host—gathered in ragged silence.Fewer than a hundred remained. Once they had been a thousand.He scanned their faces. Hollow-eyed, starved, burned by both sun and frost, yet still they looked to him. Not because he was invincible—his limp betrayed his weakness—but because he had not abandoned them. He ate what they ate, bled as they bled, fought where they fough
Chapter 84: Blood And Iron
The clash came like thunder. Steel slammed against steel, arrows hissed overhead, and the cries of men rose in a storm of agony and rage. The battlefield became a furnace where hope and despair melted into one.Michael fought at the front, where the danger was fiercest. His sword was no longer polished silver but a streaked thing, dark with blood, chipped at the edge, yet it sang in his hands with grim purpose. Every swing was a prayer, every block a vow—if his men must die, they would not die alone.The enemy pressed hard, ranks upon ranks, their armor gleaming, their numbers overwhelming. Yet Michael’s line did not break. Exhausted, starving, outnumbered three to one, they clung to their ground like wolves cornered with nothing left but teeth.“Hold!” Michael’s voice tore from his throat. He struck down one foe, then another, his body screaming with pain but his will unbending. “For the city! For your brothers!”Haran fought beside him, his axe a whirlwind. “They’re trying to split
Chapter 85: The Serpent In The Square
The morning dawned heavy with unease. No birds sang above the rooftops, and even the merchants, who once filled the square with their cries, spoke in hushed tones, their stalls half-shuttered. The rebellion of the past nights had left scars not only on the streets but in the hearts of the people.Clara felt it in the air as she stepped out of the council hall. The silence of mistrust was louder than any shout. Whispers trailed her like a cloak, scraps of words carried by the breeze: “She lies… Michael is gone… hope is dead…”Jonathan fell in step beside her, hand on the hilt of his blade. His sharp eyes darted across the gathering crowd. “They look at you as though you were their gaoler, not their guardian,” he muttered.Clara’s jaw tightened. “Then we must remind them who we are. Not lords above them, but people among them.”Jonathan’s voice was low, grim. “And if they will not listen?”“Then we must make them see.”---By midday, the square filled. The scribe had seen to that. He st
Chapter 86: The Shadow’s Grip
The days that followed were restless ones. The city did not sleep, though its people pretended to. They lit their lanterns through the night, gathering in small clusters along alleyways and squares, whispering in tones that were neither fully loyal nor fully rebellious. The rebellion had not yet taken flesh, but its breath was in the air, sharp and unrelenting.Clara felt it every time she stepped into the streets. Eyes followed her—not with the warmth that once accompanied her presence, but with a suspicion that bit deep. Mothers clutched their children tighter, vendors pulled their wares back behind shuttered stalls, and the soldiers at the gates no longer saluted her with crisp assurance. Their gazes slid away, as if loyalty itself had grown too heavy to bear.In the council hall, her father studied maps with a furrowed brow, his hands trembling slightly when he traced the lines of the outer defenses. Jonathan leaned against the wall, his sharp eyes restless, as though watching sha
Chapter 87: The First Fracture
The square no longer belonged to the council. Clara could feel it with every step she took upon its cobblestones. What had once been a place of gathering—where merchants sang of their wares and children chased one another through fountains—was now a stage, claimed by whispers and threats.It began subtly, with small gatherings at night. Men and women huddled near the fountain, listening to the scribe’s low voice. By morning, they dispersed like mist, leaving behind the faint scent of rebellion in the air. But now the gatherings grew bolder. They came in daylight, not shadows, their voices rising above the usual market cries. The scribe no longer crept—he strode into the square as though it were his hall, speaking to all who would hear.Jonathan was the one who found him first that morning. He stormed into the council chamber, dust clinging to his boots, fury burning in his eyes.“He stands in the square!” Jonathan spat. “Not whispering—shouting! The people gather by the dozens, listen
Chapter 88: Among The Ashes
Clara did not sleep that night. Long after the council had dispersed, she remained on the balcony, staring into the city below. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimneys, curling like questions into the sky. Beyond the rooftops, the walls loomed, silent sentinels against an enemy that never slept.But it was not the army outside that kept her awake—it was the one forming within.The scribe’s words clung to her ears like burrs: They suffer while you command sacrifice.And she knew, in a way, he was right. She had spoken of courage from the council hall while mothers scrounged for crumbs in the alleys. She had lifted her chin with conviction while children wasted away on thin rations. If hope was to endure, it could not be given from afar. It had to be carried into the streets, shoulder to shoulder.When dawn came, she made her decision.“I will walk among them,” she said as she tightened her cloak. “I will live as they live until Michael returns.”Jonathan’s protest was immediate. “You ca
Chapter 89: The First Stone
The city’s mood was a tinderbox, and the scribe had been striking flint for days. It took only a spark.It came on a gray morning when the sky hung low and heavy, smothering the city in a restless stillness. Clara was carrying buckets of water from the well for an elderly man when she felt the eyes upon her—hard, unblinking. The people were watching, not with curiosity, not with kindness, but with suspicion sharpened to a blade’s edge.The whispers came first, coiled like snakes through the alleys.“She spies for the council.”“She eats our bread but keeps her gold hidden.”“She waits for us to trust her, then she will betray us.”Clara straightened, water sloshing against the sides of the bucket. Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to keep walking. She would not answer anger with anger.Then, without warning, something struck her shoulder. She stumbled, the bucket tilting, water spilling onto the cobblestones. Slowly, she turned.A stone lay at her feet.The crowd behind it was
Chapter 90: Council Of Shadows
The council chamber smelled faintly of smoke and oil, for torches had been lit early though the sun still hung above the walls. Heavy shadows clung to the corners, as though even daylight had lost the will to reach inside.Clara sat at the long table, her cloak draped over her wounded shoulder. The bruise throbbed, but she bore it silently. Jonathan stood at her side like a sentinel, his jaw set, his hand never far from the hilt of his sword. Her father sat opposite, eyes rimmed red with exhaustion.The chamber was filled with murmurs. Councilmen leaned toward one another, voices sharp, fearful. The events in the square spread faster than fire through dry fields. They all knew what had happened. Clara had nearly been stoned by her own people.At last, her father’s hand struck the table, silencing the room. “We can no longer pretend this city is whole. The people turn against us. The guard falters. The enemy outside is patient, for they see that we rot from within. If we do not act, th