Francisco was exhausted.

Yet that Afternoon, after discovering an alternative to Watt's steam engine, he felt an unmistakable sense of happiness. Fatigue weighed heavily on his body, but his mind was alight. After all, he had not only dismantled one of the pillars of British industrial hegemony—he had truly understood the principles of the steam engine itself.

By the time he returned home, he would likely be capable of industrializing New Granada.

The thought steadied him.

Of course, worry lingered in the back of his mind—Antioquia, his father's fall, the uncertainty of it all. But Francisco trusted that once his grandfather managed to reunite with him, together they would become one of the strongest forces on the continent. And after hearing of Spain's defeat in Europe, that future felt closer than ever.

Spain simply no longer had the strength to abandon the European mainland in an attempt to reclaim the Americas. Without its colonies, Spain could still be a great power—but without Europe, there was no Spain.

When Francisco reached the inn, he immediately noticed something unusual.

Several men were drinking loudly near the common room tables. Their presence felt out of place. This was a refined establishment, one that catered to wealthy merchants, scholars, and minor nobility. Even Francisco's servants stayed at a cheaper inn on the other side of town and walked here each day.

The men, however, were burly and broad-shouldered, their accents rough, their posture rigid. They looked more like soldiers than gentlemen.

Francisco gave them little thought.

Perhaps they were newly arrived from Toulon after the defeat, seeking advantageous marriages among prominent families. It was not unheard of.

"Could you bring me some beer and send it up to my room?" Francisco said to the innkeeper. "And some lunch as well—I'm rather hungry."

The innkeeper hesitated.

It was subtle, but her hands trembled slightly as she nodded. "Of course, sir. I'll have it sent right away."

Under normal circumstances, Francisco would have noticed. But months of relentless work and exhaustion dulled his instincts. For the first time, he ignored it.

He climbed the stairs and wento towards his room.

The moment he moved out of sight, their conversation stopped.

"That's him," one of them said quietly. "The one the British Crown is interested in. We'll have to be extremely careful when we take him to London."

Another frowned. "Why not just involve the Göttingen authorities? Wouldn't it be easier to invent some crime and have him transferred? This is still British territory, isn't it?"

The others scowled at him.

"Are you an idiot?" one snapped. "Leaving aside that the King's authority here is more symbolic than real, Göttingen is an international university. They are obligated to protect their students. If Hanover starts arresting foreign scholars, no one will send their sons here anymore—and the entire Electorate would rebel."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "The King cannot afford to lose Hanover. Not now. Not with the French winning battles."

The soldier shook his head in disbelief. "Honestly, this is madness. The British king kidnapping a student from a university founded by his own crown—and doing it quietly? It sounds ridiculous."

No one laughed.

"Well, you'd better forget everything you've heard here," one of the men said quietly. "Otherwise, you might end up in a very bad situation. I've already taken several rooms in this inn. We'll start planning the extraction tonight. Some soldiers are backing our mission—but once things begin, you'll need to be careful."

The men nodded in silence and dispersed to their rooms.

Unaware of any of it, Francisco took a long, hot bath. When his lunch was brought to his room, he thanked the servant politely. He glanced out the window at the darkening sky and knew Catalina would not arrive until later.

He drank the beer.

A moment later, he frowned.

An unnatural heaviness settled over him. His limbs felt distant, unresponsive. He tried to stand, but the strength left his legs, and he slumped back into the chair.

Darkness followed.

The door opened.

Several men entered swiftly and without a word. Rough hands seized Francisco, and a coarse sack was pulled over his head.

"The objective is secured," one of them whispered. "We're leaving through the back. And kill the innkeeper—she knows too much."

The men hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded and moved toward the stairs.

At that moment, the door downstairs swung open.

One of Francisco's servants stepped inside.

His name was Hugo. He didn't speak German, but he came to the inn often—always with the same excuse. After lunch, he claimed he was checking on his young master, but in truth, he liked to flirt with the innkeeper.

"Hey, Charlotte," he said cheerfully. "You look as beautiful as the first day I saw you. Are you finally going to accept my invitation to dinner?"

Usually, Charlotte only giggled, more out of politeness than understanding. Hugo didn't mind—he came every day so she wouldn't forget him.

But today, she didn't smile.

She looked around nervously, her hands trembling.

Hugo frowned.

He had seen that expression before—on people who were being threatened. His posture changed instantly. Wealth, rank, or noble titles meant nothing to him; if there was even the slightest chance that his young master was the one in danger, he would not take the risk.

Without hesitation, he drew a pistol and fired toward the street.

BOOM.

The kidnappers went pale.

"Damn it—run!" one of them shouted. "We've got the objective! Draw your weapons—we're fighting our way out!"

They rushed toward the first floor. Hugo fired again, the shot striking one of the men in the torso and ending his life. The others reacted instantly, returning fire. Three—perhaps four—bullets tore into Hugo's body. He collapsed to the floor, motionless.

But the alarm had worked.

Soldiers nearby, drawn by the gunfire, began converging on the inn. When more shots rang out, they stormed inside, weapons raised. The crack of pistols echoed through the building as chaos erupted.

The kidnappers retreated toward the basement, firing back as they moved. The soldiers pressed hard. They could not allow such violence in one of the most prestigious districts of Göttingen. If word spread that men could be abducted here, no one would dare come.

Below, one of the kidnappers held a young girl hostage, a pistol pressed against her head.

The innkeeper knelt before him, sobbing, begging in broken English for mercy.

The man stared at her coldly.

"Come on, Roger," another shouted. "We have to go. One of his servants drew attention—we can't stay any longer!"

The man shoved the little girl aside and frowned."Where is Jackson? Wasn't he with you?"

The other kidnapper cursed under his breath."He was shot by the servant. He took us by surprise."

"Fuck." The man glanced at the kneeling innkeeper, her sobs echoing in the cellar. His lips twisted in irritation."Can I kill this bitch? I'm tired of her crying."

"Do it quickly," the other replied coldly. "We need to leave. The guards are coming."

The man tightened his finger on the trigger, his eyes cold and devoid of mercy. He did not care about the screams or the approaching boots of the law; he wanted blood. But before he could fire, a thunderous crack echoed through the stone cellar.

A lead ball tore through the air from the top of the stairs, striking the kidnapper squarely in the temple. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Hugo stood at the threshold, the smoking pistol trembling in his hand. Blood soaked his shirt from his own wounds, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He looked at the mother and child, a flicker of relief crossing his face.

"At least I could save her," Hugo wheezed, his voice thick with pain. "But the young master… it seems impossible. They have him."

Moments later, the cellar flooded with the blue uniforms of the Göttingen City Guard. Bayonets leveled, they initially swarmed toward Hugo, their shouts a confusing blur of German. But as the lamplight fell on his face, the commanding officer hesitated. Hugo's distinct mestizo features—so similar to those of the famous student they had been ordered to protect—dispelled their doubts.

"Der Diener von Francisco!" one soldier shouted. The servant of Francisco!

Understanding the gravity of the situation, the officer barked orders. Two men lifted Hugo, carrying him toward a physician, while the rest rushed back toward the street.

Outside, the iron-rimmed wheels of a black carriage shrieked against the cobblestones. The kidnappers had no intention of fighting a war; they already had the prize.

"Go! Drive!" the leader shouted, shoving the unconscious Francisco onto the floor of the coach.

The whip cracked. The horses reared in terror and bolted through the narrow, fog-filled alleys of the university town. Behind them, guards scrambled onto their mounts, hooves pounding like a drumroll against the night.

Back at the inn, the silence was more terrifying than the gunfire. A sergeant knelt before the innkeeper, who cowered in the corner, shielding her daughter.

"Who were they?" the sergeant demanded harshly. "Names. Where are they taking the Spaniard?"

The woman glanced at the dead man on the floor, then toward the fading echo of the carriage. Her lips trembled, but she only pulled her daughter closer. Her eyes were wide with paralyzing fear.

She knew these men were not common criminals.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.