At the edge of the field, Aldric stood, still processing the chaos from earlier, when the furious warrior stormed toward him.
"STOP!" the man roared.
Aldric turned, brows raised—too late to speak.
The warrior's sword came down with full force.
Aldric blocked just in time, boots skidding back four steps. His jaw clenched.
"Bastard," he muttered.
His fighting spirit flared—raw and sharp. His sword lit up with a cold, bright edge.
He struck back. A clean, punishing blow.
The warrior staggered but didn't fall. He dodged, retaliated, and sliced through Aldric's cloak with ruthless precision.
That was enough.
With a sharp breath, Aldric raised his blade and unleashed it:
Sky Slice.
A shimmering arc of sword-light ripped the air in half.
The warrior's shoulder tore open. Blood poured. He bit down a scream and ripped cloth from his cloak to staunch the wound.
His men stepped forward—but didn't speak. Didn't draw. Silence said more than words.
They had just seen the line—and the fangs behind it.
---
By the time Arvind and Faelan arrived, the skirmish was over.
The warrior stood bloodied, breath ragged, shoulder soaked in red. His guards hovered protectively.
Arvind's eyes narrowed. His voice dropped.
"What happened here?"
Aldric shrugged like it was nothing.
"He charged me. No warning. What was I supposed to do—stand still?"
He dusted his cloak, gaze calm, unapologetic.
Arvind said nothing. Part of him felt... satisfied. That man had challenged him, belittled him. Now he limped in silence.
Still—Aldric's timing. The place. The message.
Too public. Too loud. Too soon.
He clenched his jaw.
The warrior turned, grim-faced, and limped off. His men followed, fuming—but obeying.
Only Bramir and Eldrin remained behind.
Faelan exhaled into his hand. Damn it, Aldric. Did you have to pick now?
Whatever goodwill they'd earned today had just been cracked—perhaps beyond repair.
---
"Respected Lord Baron—" Bramir began, but Arvind raised a hand.
"Not here. Follow me."
He led Bramir and Eldrin aside.
"I'll consider both of you for appointments," he said quietly. "But first—I need unity. I need calm. You both know this land better than I do. If anyone can steady things… it's you."
Bramir studied him. Eldrin nodded, relieved.
"Help me fix this," Arvind said. "The rest… comes after."
---
As the sun dipped lower, Arvind walked alone through Ashford.
The streets were cracked and weedy. The houses leaned like drunks. The air stank of mold.
But it was his now.
Not the rot. Not the wood. The people.
If they could still laugh, if they still dared to live—then maybe something could grow here.
Maybe.
He walked on, head bowed. No words. No answers.
Just footsteps through mud.
---
At the castle gates, he dismounted and made for the study.
Shankar was already waiting.
"My lord. Did you meet the three?"
Arvind nodded, his expression tight.
"It didn't go well. The warrior nearly started a war."
Shankar sighed. "Expected. If you want to sway him, try someone close—his family, a sibling. Or sideline him."
Arvind frowned. "He's not just a fighter. He protected Ashford long before we arrived. They listen to him."
Shankar considered this.
"Then divide his influence. And for the people—cut their taxes. Time and bread do more than speeches."
Then, more serious:
"You don't have to know everything. Just keep your strength sharp. If you're powerful enough… betrayal won't get close."
Arvind nodded, but the words rang hollow.
He wasn't afraid of open war. He was afraid of shadows.
Of knives in the dark.
Ravengarde had accepted him in name. But names meant nothing here.
If he wanted more—more than survival—he'd need time. Loyalty.
And until then, every step would be a gamble.
One misstep… and the blade would fall.
---
Since that day, Arvind had delayed dealing with the "Big Three" of Ashford.
They wanted seats on his future council—but how could he trust them? He wasn't some wide-eyed noble heir. Not anymore. He had no way of knowing whether those men were future allies or simply wolves biding their time.
So instead, he shifted focus to something simpler. Land—the one thing his followers truly needed.
"Handle the simple before tackling the difficult," he recalled from his past life.
What he didn't know was how quickly this choice would come back to bite him.
---
"From here to the southern footpath near the northern ridge," Arvind said, pointing across the landscape, "none of the townsfolk have cultivated this stretch. We'll give it to the civilians. They've already started clearing it anyway."
Sweat beaded at his brow. Faelan nodded beside him, then glanced east.
Ravengarde sat perched on a hill in the southeast. The fields they stood on stretched flat and fertile to the northeast—better soil than Arvind had ever seen back in his old world.
So much potential.
In his previous life, land like this could feed a nation. Why not a barony?
"There's also a river close by," Faelan noted. "They can use it for irrigation. Honestly, my lord… they're lucky to have someone like you."
Arvind waved the compliment off, but a flicker of doubt stirred in his chest.
"Do you think we gave them enough land? What if it's not sufficient?"
Faelan smiled, thumping his chest. "Don't worry. I'll make sure every family gets their share."
Then, his tone shifted.
"My lord… have you considered land rights?"
Arvind blinked.
"Land rights?"
Faelan's gaze lowered slightly. "You know that commoners can't technically own land. They're tenants—at best. If this goes unaddressed, they may work these fields for years without true security."
That hit harder than Arvind expected. He hadn't thought about the long-term impact. Without rights, the people might lose hope. Might leave. Might rebel.
"I… don't know the customs that well. You decide," he said.
Faelan nodded. "Then I suggest granting usage rights—not ownership. They'll pay rent and tax yearly. Keeps things stable."
"Right… yes. That works."
But even as he spoke, the words tasted off. Was that what every lord said before the bleeding began?
He watched Faelan scribble on a parchment, energized, efficient—and something stung in his chest. Was he becoming one of them? Another noble who dangled survival like bait?
"…Reduce the land rent," he added suddenly. "Or… maybe we decide that part later."
Faelan glanced up, surprised, then nodded.
Arvind sighed as they made their way back toward town.
At least now the civilians had something solid—something to till, something to believe in. Ashford still had abandoned homes, Faelan had said. Shelter plus farmland. It wasn't a perfect start, but it was real.
This is what matters...
Stability. Order. Foundations.
He clenched his fists, eyes brightening. If he could hold this ground—just this much—it would be enough to build on.
But above them, clouds were gathering. The sky darkened over Ashford.
The calm was only a veil.
---
At the edge of the gate, Faelan waved and parted ways to begin the arrangements.
Up the hill, Arvind spotted Anika bent low in the grass, plucking wildflowers.
He smiled. "Let's go."
She jumped, nearly spilling her basket.
"Already? Ugh, fine… but look! Aren't these pretty?"
He chuckled as she gathered the blooms and joined him in the carriage.
---
By the time they returned to the castle, Arvind's legs were numb from the ride.
He missed smooth roads. He missed suspension. Hell, he missed cushions.
Shankar met them at the entrance.
"My lord," he said, bowing slightly. "An update: we now have thirteen house staff. Three cooks—though only one has actual restaurant training—and five cleaners. I've appointed Anika as head of the servants."
Arvind nodded.
Shankar continued.
"There's no permanent garrison yet. I recommend assigning guards through Aldric. Also… we have no livestock. You'll need to ration meat."
Arvind waved it off. "That's fine."
He stepped inside and sat, motioning lazily for wine. A maid poured a half-cup.
"Sip. What about castle repairs?"
Shankar cleared his throat grimly.
"Several outer walls have collapsed. The rear section is vulnerable. The north tower leaks. The grain cellar is infested with mold, and rats have already chewed into the sacks. And the barracks… well, I'll let Aldric explain, but they're in shambles."
Arvind drank. Slowly.
Shankar took a glass of water.
"There's also no proper latrine for the servants. The grounds are… unsightly. And the well is clogged—overgrown with roots. It's affecting our water supply."
Anika, who had just stepped inside, perked up.
"Oh! We could build latrines like in your father's castle. And for the toilets—just get the knights to dig."
"Toilets," Arvind echoed faintly. "Right."
He leaned back in the chair.
Arvind set his cup down, rubbed his temples, and closed his eyes. The dull ache building in his skull refused to fade.
---
A few days later...
Faelan returned.
He looked like hell—eyes bloodshot, posture slouched—but his energy radiated pride. He stepped forward with a thick bundle of parchment in hand.
"My lord, praise be to the Almighty Dues! The land distribution is complete. And housing too. I visited the families myself—they were smiling. Grateful. You gave them a reason to hope again."
Arvind smiled faintly—bittersweet. "Stop it, Faelan. I'm not that great."
The praise made his skin itch. He wasn't in this for applause. But… Faelan had done well. Far better than most scholars, who buried themselves in theory and left the doing to someone else.
He took the parchments and leafed through them.
Solid. Organized. Efficient.
According to the report, Ravengarde now had five villages under its jurisdiction. One had been wiped out during the last beast tide—before Arvind's arrival. Another was the one they'd passed on the way in. The remaining three were scattered: one near a river, one tucked by the mountains, and the last…
Arvind's brow furrowed.
"…This one is near Wyrdwood?"
Faelan nodded grimly. "Yes, my lord. I was shocked too. But the locals there are… stubborn. Some claim their ancestors have lived at the forest's edge for generations."
He hesitated, then pointed to another page.
"These are compiled reports from the city hall and local interviews. They all agree—the real danger in this territory isn't the nobles. It's not the bandits either."
His voice lowered.
"It's the magical beasts. Especially the wolves."
"Wolves?" Arvind echoed, tension tightening his shoulders.
"They're clever," Faelan said. "They don't just hunt. They raid. They steal livestock, destroy grain, scatter flocks. And they do it in winter. Every year."
Winter… that's when they come.
Arvind's jaw tensed.
Faelan hesitated again. Arvind noticed.
"Say it."
"I hope this doesn't offend you, my lord, but…" Faelan looked away. "While I was in Ashford… I heard rumors. Whispers spreading among the townsfolk."
Arvind's expression darkened.
He had a feeling he wouldn't like where this was going.
---
Elsewhere, in the castle kitchen…
Mira stood with her hands behind her back, apron crisp, posture rigid. Newly appointed head cook. A big step for someone like her—and she owed it all to Anika.
She intended to repay that faith.
Behind her, the younger maids gossiped as they scrubbed.
"Did you hear? That warrior guy's turning against the lord."
"Really? I heard someone spit on the lord's name…"
Mira's brow twitched. She turned on them like a blade unsheathed.
"Enough! If you've got time to gossip, you've got time to clean. Leave adult matters to adults."
Silence fell. The maids ducked their heads and returned to work.
Mira exhaled, gripping her towel tight.
Almighty Dues… please guide our lord through this storm.
---
East Ashford outskirts...
Laughter rose between rows of newly staked plots. The civilians—Arvind's followers—walked the land with light steps and easy smiles. The soil was dark and rich. For the first time in months, they felt something like home.
"I can't believe it. I thought the lord would fold—but he didn't."
"I'd follow him through beast tide if it came to it."
A jug of ale was passed between calloused hands.
"Don't hog it—share!"
"Share? I'm generous, damn it! Let's drink to the land!"
Cheers rang out.
But not all was cheer.
A man near the fire muttered, "There's no church here. Not a real one. How do we thank the gods for harvest? For protection?"
"Ask the lord to build one," someone offered. "I heard he believes in the Church of Light…"
Another scoffed. "Church of Light? That's not what they worship here. The locals talk about 'Mother Earth'—some backwater druid garbage."
Laughter. Some nodded.
But one man stayed quiet. His brow creased.
"That kind of talk… it'll start a fire between us and the townsfolk."
"Who cares?" someone snapped. "The lord's with us. As long as he stands for us, they can't touch us."
More cheers. More raised cups.
But the quiet man just looked down.
Isn't this how it begins?