Klaus Sev emerged from the Eldwick woods as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and red. The air was cool, carrying the faint sting of smoke from the town's ruins. His boots crunched on the dirt path, each step heavier than the last, not from fatigue but from the new strength coiling in his muscles.
Four days of cultivation with Elder Marin had changed him. The Mark of Ascendancy had sparked the First Flame in his body, pushing him toward the Iron Body stage. Its latest words still echoed in his mind: [The Unbowed draws first blood: Respect is earned.]
Beating Cedric Varn in the ruins yesterday hadn't made Klaus a warrior, but it had proved he wasn't the lazy noble everyone thought. Not anymore. He was something more, and he'd make them all see it—starting with Eldwick.
His torn blue cloak flapped in the wind, its edges frayed but still marked with the Sev lion crest. His hands, once raw from the cosmic battle, were nearly healed, the scars faint under the dirt. The black runestone Marin had given him sat heavy in his pocket, its warmth a constant reminder of the power he was forging.
But power wasn't just cultivation. It was allies, cunning, and will.
Cedric's father, Lord Varn, was moving to control Eldwick, and the duke was coming to oversee the town's recovery. Klaus's father, Baron Alric, would be raging, and his brother Torren would be playing the perfect son. Klaus didn't care about their approval, but he needed to face them. Eldwick was his home, and he wouldn't let the Varns—or anyone—take it.
The northern gate of Eldwick came into view, its iron bars still twisted from the battle's shockwaves. The town was quieter now, but not dead. Torches flickered along the broken walls, and voices carried from the square—merchants haggling over scraps, townsfolk pleading for aid. Klaus passed a group of knights, their armor dented, their faces grim. They nodded to him, but their eyes held no respect. He was still the "lazy lord" to them. That would change.
As he entered the square, he spotted Lila, the maid who'd become more than just a servant in his eyes. She was distributing bread to a line of townsfolk, her brown hair tied back, her simple dress patched but clean.
Her hazel eyes were sharp, her movements steady despite the chaos around her. A child tugged at her sleeve, and she knelt, offering a small loaf with a rare smile.
Klaus watched, his chest tightening. Lila wasn't like the others—weak, whining, or scheming. She was loyal, strong in a way that didn't need swords or titles. And yesterday, when he'd told her to stay close, he'd felt something else. A pull, not just to her loyalty, but to her.
"Lila," Klaus called, his voice sharp but softer than usual. She turned, her smile fading to a cautious nod.
"My lord," she said, wiping flour from her hands. "You're back."
Klaus stepped closer, ignoring the townsfolk's stares.
"You're still here, feeding people. Why not rest?"
Lila's eyes met his, steady and unafraid.
"They're hungry. Someone has to help. And you told me to stay close." Her voice held a hint of challenge, but also trust.
Klaus's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Good. Keep doing it. But come with me now. The duke's here, and I need eyes I can trust."
Lila hesitated, then nodded.
"Let me finish this."
She handed out the last loaves, then followed Klaus, her steps quick to match his. As they walked, Klaus glanced at her. Her face was plain but strong, her eyes sharp with a fire he hadn't noticed before.
She wasn't just a maid—she was someone who'd survived the Ashen Plains' bandits, who'd learned to keep going. That made her valuable. And maybe more.
The Sev manor loomed on its hill, its scarred walls lit by torches. The courtyard was busier than Klaus had expected—knights, servants, and a dozen men in fine cloaks, their armor polished to a shine. The duke's men. Klaus's stomach tightened. This wasn't just a visit. It was a power play.
Inside, the grand hall was crowded. Baron Alric Sev stood at the head of the cracked oak table, his graying hair disheveled, his dark eyes blazing with barely contained rage. Torren, Klaus's older brother, stood beside him, his armor gleaming, his face calm but tense.
Across the table stood Duke Harlan, a broad man with a silver beard and a fur-lined cloak, his voice booming as he spoke to Alric. Behind him was Lord Varn, Cedric's father, his sharp features cold, his black cloak embroidered with gold. Cedric stood at his side, his lip still bruised from yesterday's fight, his smirk gone but his eyes burning with hate.
Klaus entered, Lila a step behind. The room quieted, all eyes turning to him. Alric's face darkened.
"Where have you been?" he snapped. "The duke's here, and you're off playing in the woods?"
Klaus met his father's glare, his voice steady.
"I was training. Something you'd know nothing about."
Alric's fist slammed the table. "Insolent boy! You shame us while Eldwick burns!"
Duke Harlan raised a hand, his voice calm but heavy.
"Enough, Alric. Your son's here now. Let's hear him." His eyes, sharp as a blade, fixed on Klaus.
"You're the youngest Sev, yes? Speak. What do you offer this town?"
Klaus felt the heat in his chest stir, the Mark's presence faint but real. He stepped forward, ignoring Cedric's sneer.
"Eldwick's mine as much as anyone's," he said. "I'll rebuild it, stronger than before. But not under Varn's boot." He glanced at Lord Varn, whose eyes narrowed.
Varn's voice was smooth, like oil. "Bold words, boy. But Eldwick needs coin, men, resources—things your father lacks. The duke has entrusted me to lead the recovery."
Klaus's jaw tightened. "You mean steal it. Eldwick's Sev land. Always has been."
Cedric stepped forward, his voice sharp.
"Watch your tongue, Sev. My father's twice the man yours is."
Torren's hand rested on his sword, his voice calm but firm. "Cedric, back off. This is our home."
Klaus shot Torren a look. Always the hero, always perfect. It grated, but he held his tongue. The heat in his chest flared, and his vision blurred. Runes glowed, and the Mark spoke: [The Unbowed stands firm: Authority is seized, not given.] Klaus straightened, his green eyes hard.
"The Varns want Eldwick because it's weak now," he said. "But I'm not weak. I'll prove it."
Duke Harlan's eyes narrowed, but a faint smile played on his lips.
"Prove it how, boy?" Before Klaus could answer, a servant burst into the hall, his face pale.
"My lords! Bandits at the southern gate! They're looting the storehouses!" The room erupted. Alric cursed, Torren drew his sword, and the duke's men formed ranks.
Klaus's mind raced. Bandits—likely from the Ashen Plains, like the ones Lila had mentioned. This was chaos, but also a chance. If he could stop them, he'd show the duke—and everyone—what he was worth.
"Torren, take the knights," Alric ordered. "Drive them off."
Klaus stepped forward, his voice sharp. "I'm going too."
Alric's eyes widened. "You? You'll get yourself killed."
Klaus smirked, the Mark's words echoing in his head. "Watch me."
He strode out, Lila following without a word. Torren caught up, his armor clanking. "Klaus, stay back. You're not trained for this."
Klaus didn't look at him. "I don't need your protection, brother."
The southern gate was a mess—broken carts, scattered grain, and screams echoing in the dusk. A dozen bandits, their armor patched and faces scarred, were hauling sacks from a storehouse.
They were big, hardened, likely Plains raiders who'd smelled weakness after the cosmic battle. Klaus drew his dagger, the First Flame burning in his chest. He wasn't a knight like Torren, but he was stronger than he'd been, faster.
Torren charged, his sword flashing, cutting down a bandit with a single swing. The knights followed, their spears thrusting.
Klaus moved to the side, dodging a bandit's axe. The man was huge, his grin feral, but Klaus was quicker. He ducked, slashing the bandit's leg, and the man fell, howling. Klaus didn't hesitate—he drove his dagger into the bandit's chest, blood spraying his hands. The First Flame pulsed, steadying him. He felt no fear, only focus.
Another bandit swung a club, but Klaus rolled, coming up behind him. He tackled the man, slamming his head into the dirt until he stopped moving.
The fight was brutal, quick, and Klaus was in the thick of it, his dagger flashing, his body moving with a strength he hadn't known he had. When the last bandit fled, Klaus stood, panting, his tunic soaked with blood—none of it his.
Torren stared, his sword lowered. "Klaus… you fought well."
Klaus wiped his dagger on a bandit's cloak, his voice cold. "Don't sound so surprised."
Lila appeared, her face pale but steady. She held a knife, her knuckles white.
"You're hurt," she said, pointing to a shallow cut on Klaus's arm.
He shrugged. "It's nothing." But her concern stirred something in him. Not just loyalty, but a warmth he didn't want to name.
"Stay close," he said, softer now. "This isn't over."
Back at the manor, the hall was tense. Alric's face was red, but his anger softened when he saw Klaus, bloodied but standing. Duke Harlan clapped slowly, his smile wide.
"Not bad, young Sev. You've got fire."
Lord Varn's eyes were cold. "A lucky brawl. It changes nothing."
Klaus felt the Mark stir, runes glowing. The voice spoke: [The Unbowed proves his worth: Power draws eyes.] He met Varn's gaze, his voice steady.
"It changes everything. Eldwick's mine. Try to take it, and you'll see what I can do."
Cedric's hand twitched toward his sword, but Varn raised a hand, silencing him.
The duke laughed. "Bold. I like that. We'll talk more tomorrow, Sev. For now, rest."
As the hall cleared, Lila stayed, her eyes on Klaus. "You didn't have to fight," she said quietly. "But you did."
Klaus looked at her, the warmth in his chest growing. "I fight for what's mine. Remember that."
She nodded, a faint smile on her lips. Klaus turned away, but the moment lingered. Lila was more than an ally now. And that scared him as much as it thrilled him.