Grell returns to his territory late in the afternoon, his carriage rolling past the outer checkpoint as guards salute sharply. The moment he steps down, several stewards rush forward to relieve him of his coat, scrolls, and travel bags.
He waves them off.
"No need. I won't be resting."
The courtyard of his manor is lively, soldiers training, servants carrying crates, blacksmiths hammering repairs late into the evening. Two banners bearing his crest flutter in the wind, marking the seat of a baron who governs not one, but two cities.
Grell lifts his chin with renewed confidence.
Inside the main hall, his trusted knight Sir Randon waits in full armor. A middle-level Tier 6, his presence carries the weight of a veteran who's seen countless battles. He kneels on one knee the moment Grell enters.
"My lord," Randon says. "You summoned me."
Grell walks past him, pouring himself a fresh cup of tea before sitting down. Only then does he gesture for Randon to stand.
