Morning light poured through the windows. Arvind blinked awake, warmth brushing his face. With a soft groan, he stretched, then rose from bed with practiced ease.
Downstairs, cheerful voices greeted him.
"Good morning, my lord!"
"Morning!"
He returned their smiles with a nod. The maids bustled about, picking up where they left off the night before. Their energy reminded him of loyal dogs in sunlight—eager, alert, and oddly heartwarming.
Still shaking sleep from his thoughts, he stepped into the hall. A simple breakfast of warm bread awaited him. As he ate, the weight of the day began to settle on his shoulders.
"Morning, my lord," Anika said brightly, stepping in with a smile brighter than usual. "Did you sleep well? Today's your first official day as lord of Ravengarde. Congratulations. I hope your reign is long and full of joy."
Her joy felt genuine—her entire presence lighter. She, too, had changed since arriving here. No longer the frightened girl from the old castle. They'd both been reborn in this place. She giggled softly at the thought, shoulders trembling with amusement.
Arvind chuckled. "Hmm... I don't see Shankar. Could you ask him to meet me in the study?"
"Yes, my lord."
With a quick bow, she vanished down the hall.
He finished the last of his meal and stood. There was no time to bask in comfort—his list of tasks was long, and winter was coming. If they weren't prepared, no noble would offer help. More likely, they'd swoop in like vultures.
Weakness had no place in this world.
He stepped into his study. The old wooden chair creaked beneath him, dragging a sigh from his lips.
I should replace this before it collapses.
The room was bare—no fine shelves, no ornate scrolls. Just a newly scrubbed space and a desk that smelled faintly of oil.
He clenched his fist.
First things first: I need to know exactly what we brought with us. Only then can I lay the foundation.
He was nervous, yes—but the kind that sharpens rather than shakes. This wasn't a dream anymore. He was the central pillar now. If he failed, so would Ravengarde.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"My lord, may I enter?"
"Yes, Shankar. And drop the formality—we've known each other since we were kids."
Still composed, Shankar entered and took a seat, as calm and efficient as ever.
Arvind wasted no time. "Give me a full inventory of everything we brought from the castle."
Shankar nodded, eyes briefly scanning the ceiling as he recalled.
"We brought enough wheat to last six months… though with the additional seventy civilians, it may only last three. That's not counting the native population, either. If they draw from the same stock, things could turn grim. I recommend surveying nearby land for potential expansion."
He paused.
"As for the civilians—most are bankrupt commoners. Some are skilled artisans, but not many."
Arvind grimaced.
So food is the first crisis. I don't even know how many villages Ravengarde has...
He nodded. "Continue."
"We have ten warhorses—not including Aldric's—and twenty draft horses for hauling. You also insisted we bring extra tools and equipment, which we did. Two craftsmen came with families: a blacksmith and a carpenter. We've also stored twelve crates of weapons—swords, shields, and the like—ready to outfit a basic knight squad."
He leaned forward slightly.
"We brought all the scrolls and books as you asked. Your breathing manuals were kept separate. You'll be pleased: the Hale Family Breathing Technique, and a complete basic training set for Levels One through Three."
Arvind's chest swelled.
Having a rich father really is different.
If he had to buy those techniques himself, ten thousand gold might not even be enough. The Hale method alone was rumored to reach Level Six—Sky Knight level. Top-tier in the kingdom.
"And the knights?"
"Thirty-nine apprentice warriors. All have the potential to break through and become junior knights. And Aldric, your appointed commander—he's already Level Two, and may reach Level Three soon."
Arvind nodded slowly, absorbing it all.
These warriors were his sword. But raw power wasn't enough. He needed loyalty—and for that, he'd need to earn it. Especially from Aldric.
By noble standards, a baron should be a Level Two knight with at least a dozen Level Twos under his banner, supported by Level Ones and dozens of apprentices. Arvind was far from that—but so was the competition. Ravengarde was so forgotten, even goblins didn't bother raiding it.
No one would come unless there was something to take.
Politics weren't the threat. Beasts were.
If I want to grow into a towering tree… I'll need to own this forest.
He took a long breath.
Shankar rose and gave a parting note. "Faelan and Aldric await your instruction. Today's your first strategic meeting. Listen more than you speak, and don't hesitate to ask questions."
Then he bowed and left to manage the unloading.
Alone again, Arvind sat still, gathering himself. Meeting Aldric still left a pit in his stomach—but there was no avoiding it.
He stood and squared his shoulders.
Time to lead.
The two men stood before him.
Arvind greeted them with a calm wave.
"I believe you both know me," he said. "But I'd still like to hear your introductions—starting with you, Faelan."
Faelan straightened, voice steady.
"Faelan Langley, my lord. Born to a merchant family under the Count of Silverhold. My siblings followed the trade route, but I pursued scholarship. I served as a city clerk in the Silverhold administration. I'm grateful for the chance your father gave me… and honored to serve under you."
Arvind nodded. Most of that he already knew, but hearing it aloud—he felt the weight of it. Faelan wasn't just some scholar. He was a man who'd chosen this path.
Then he turned to the other man.
Aldric's voice came short and sharp.
"Aldric Steelheard. Former captain, Hawk Knight Order. Now your knight-commander. I'll protect you. That's all."
His tone gave nothing. His eyes flicked across the room like he was already mapping exits and threat zones.
Arvind didn't press. "Yesterday, three locals from Ashford visited. If we're to understand Ravengarde, we start with them."
Faelan nodded. "Information first. We'll know what needs fixing—and who stands with us."
Then, more hesitantly: "Though I do worry about their real motives…"
"Hmph. Worry?" Aldric scoffed. "If they resist, we crush them. They should be grateful a real lord has finally arrived to clean this place up."
Faelan stiffened. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. His throat closed.
Arvind noticed.
He'd known men like Aldric all his life—strength-first, reason-second. Asking them for advice was like asking stone to bend.
Still, he kept his tone calm.
"No. We won't use force unless we have to. We live here now. So do they. Faelan—you're coming with me to meet them. Let's find out what kind of men they really are."
Faelan nodded.
Aldric remained stiff. His silence said more than words: Why talk when power decides everything?
But Arvind understood. Aldric wasn't posturing. He'd grown up where weakness meant death—where strength wasn't pride, it was survival. This land was his chance at rising above it. He'd die before letting it slip.
Arvind clenched his fist behind his back.
I have to earn their trust. If I'm careless now, I'll lose more than their respect—I'll lose everything.
---
The carriage rattled quietly as it rolled toward the old town hall.
Faelan sat across from him, silent. His eyes drifted from the road to the trees, thoughtful.
Did I make the right choice? Putting faith in this boy? Can we really build something here?
He wasn't young anymore. No wife. No children. Just this fragile hope that Ravengarde could become something.
They stopped. Knights dismounted ahead to clear the path.
The building before them was crooked and sun-faded—its wooden structure sagging, the sign long gone. It looked like a tavern someone forgot to finish.
What kind of nobles worked here before? They couldn't even build in stone?
Inside, three men waited—the same local leaders from yesterday.
Arvind stepped forward with quiet authority.
"I am Arvind Hale, Baron of Ravengarde under the Kingdom of Larnhelm. I've come to bring change—a future where your children live safely, and your families don't fear the night. I want to reconnect Ravengarde to the kingdom."
"Connect?" one of the men—a grizzled warrior—spat on the floor. "To that kingdom of pigs? You'd need to be one to want that."
Arvind's brow furrowed. The words stung—but not as a threat. As disrespect. A noble was still a noble.
Faelan stepped in smoothly. His voice was calm, diplomatic.
"What my lord means is: trade. Infrastructure. We'll rebuild the roads. Fix the harvest. The beasts roaming the borders—we'll deal with them. We're not asking for obedience. We're offering a chance."
He turned his gaze to Bramir—the quietest of the three. A level-headed man, by Faelan's read.
Bramir didn't speak. But his nod—small and unsure—was a beginning.
"Let's work together," Faelan continued. "You don't have to like nobles. But you know what this place needs."
The guard captain—the one who had spat—folded his arms. His men stood behind him, eyes wary. Their posture was disciplined, hardened by real fighting.
"We've protected Ashford without help," the captain growled. "We buried the dead, fed the hungry. And now some pampered noble shows up with dreams and speeches?"
He stepped forward. "We don't want your help. Or your banners. We'll defend our land our way. Stay out of Ashford's affairs—or else."
One of Arvind's knights flared. "How dare you—!"
Steel hissed. Swords drew.
Ravengarde's knights surged forward, eyes flashing. Ashford's guards met them with blades already raised.
A breath away from blood.
Arvind's heart pounded.
One wrong move—one blade drawn too far—and blood would paint the floor of the town hall.
He opened his mouth to speak.
But before he could—
"Hold it!"
Bramir's voice cracked through the tension like a whip.
"We're speaking to the lord baron. Not some back-alley bandit."
The warrior captain crossed his arms but said nothing. He didn't look pleased to be called out.
Then, Eldrin stepped forward. Calm. Measured. His voice didn't rise—but it cut through the air.
"My lord," he said, bowing slightly, "if you truly seek peace, integrate us. Make my father steward of Ashford. The people respect him—he can mediate between your rule and their needs."
He looked Arvind in the eye.
"As for me and the guards—give us roles. Let us serve. Under your banner. That's our demand."
Silence.
The guards shifted. Some looked between Eldrin and their captain. Arvind saw it clearly: hesitation. Doubt. A sliver of hope cracking through the hostility.
But the leader grit his teeth. Frustration twisted his features. He cursed his men in silence—how easily they turned at the scent of new opportunity.
Arvind remained calm, weighing everything.
He didn't trust them yet. Not fully.
But the door had opened.
"I'll place you under Faelan's administration," he said carefully. "You'll start as a clerk. Prove your worth, your loyalty—and you'll rise. That's how I lead."
A pause. Then:
"I'm not like the others."
And that was the truth. He couldn't afford to hand out power to strangers, no matter how persuasive their words.
---
Elsewhere in Ashford...
The morning had started with peace.
Civilian families walked the camp's perimeter, marking plots for new homes. One grizzled farmer knelt to feel the soil. His hand trembled—rough fingers brushing over the earth like something sacred.
"Good land," he whispered. "May almighty dues forgive me, but this might be a place to live."
But not far away—peace cracked.
The townsfolk, heading to their own fields, noticed the activity. Their eyes narrowed. Conversations quieted, then sharpened.
"Wait—that's our land, isn't it?"
"Who gave these outsiders the right?"
"They call us mud. Look who's crawling now."
The tension swelled fast.
Their harvest had already been poor. Magical beasts had ruined the late crop. Now nobles showed up with wagons full of new mouths and new demands?
Enough.
A man shouted—then shoved another to the ground.
A woman screamed as her husband took a blow to the jaw.
A child rushed to help—only to be flung aside.
Some civilians tried to intervene—but they were outnumbered, overwhelmed.
Spit flew. Boots kicked. Rage ignited.
The townsfolk walked off, leaving bruises and blood behind. The civilians—frightened, humiliated—stood in stunned silence.
Then one stood.
Then another.
And rage replaced fear.
A bold voice rose:
"Enough waiting. If they want to treat us like dirt—we'll show them we're still standing."
A group formed.
And they marched toward Ashford.
---
They didn't make it far.
Aldric was already patrolling the town's perimeter when he saw them. He arrived just in time to catch the chaos mid-flare—bodies colliding, shouts cracking through the air.
No hesitation.
Aldric surged into the crowd like a hammer through straw.
He didn't draw blood—but bones cracked beneath his fists. Joints dislocated. Spears snapped in half. He struck townsfolk and civilians alike, breaking the fight with blunt, exacting force.
CRACK.
A man dropped, clutching his ribs.
THUD.
Another hit the dirt, dazed.
The screams swelled, then scattered.
By the time the dust settled, silence ruled again.
Aldric stood alone at the center—blood on the ground, fear in every eye.
No one dared speak.
To the townsfolk, it looked like the noble's promise had already soured. Their help was met with violence.
---
Back at the square...
A guard burst in, breathless.
He sprinted to the warrior captain's side and whispered something urgent.
The man's expression twisted.
His aura flared—raw and furious. His skin darkened, blotched with violet streaks, as if something unnatural stirred inside him.
Without a word, he turned and stormed away.
His men scrambled to follow, unsure what had just happened.
Arvind's gaze narrowed.
Something had changed.
He looked to Faelan, then mounted his horse.
"Follow them."
The knights fell in line.
The baron of Ravengarde rode on—not toward comfort, but deeper into the storm.