**Count Graves - Part 1**
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Gareth Graves looked at his own bandaged hand, taking a deep breath as he listened to the family physician. "Count Graves, the injury to your hand was not severe, but you should avoid using your left hand in combat for a while to prevent the wound from worsening," the physician in black robes said. Seeing the Count merely nod, he let out a sigh.
"Knowing Your Excellency will ignore me as before, use this medicine if the damage reopens. It will numb the pain and swelling and allow you to use it better again," he said, handing over a small ceramic pot containing a greenish-yellow cream.
"Thank you," Gareth said and rose from the bench where he sat. Even back home, his mind replayed details from the battlefield and the possible repercussions of the latest Orc incursion.
"Their numbers have increased. A new warlord has likely arisen," he thought. Though only 35, Gareth had killed his first Orc at the age of ten when he could finally accompany his father on campaign. In two and a half decades, he had seen more battlefields than he could count. Few could match his experience fighting the invaders.
His firm, heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor as servants and soldiers moved out of his path, greeting him with solemn looks which he returned. Soon he arrived before the door to his family's dining room. The two guards stationed there saluted him before opening it.
There, his family was gathered around the table. They rose to greet him. Seeing his beloved family, his expression softened slightly. He went to his wife's side to kiss her, then took his seat at the table, looking at his two sons.
Though he didn't show it, the Count already felt pride in his two sons. The eldest already showed great prowess and sharpness. According to his wife's reports, his teachers in etiquette and military affairs said he was learning quickly, and it wouldn't be unwise to soon place him in more advanced subjects like fencing, and mounted and lance etiquette.
All this was in line with the roles of a good heir, and the Count already planned to take him to observe his next campaign; it was necessary to develop resilience. Satisfied with his first son, the Count turned his gaze to the second.
His second son, Viktor, was... different. In his view, he found the boy strange, distant. Since he was little, he didn't cry, didn't play with other children. He learned to speak very early, even before he could walk.
Though young, the Count already saw a look of astuteness in his son's eyes—a look belonging to someone who knew the arts of deception and manipulation. He had seen that look in only a few men from the kingdom's center and in merchants.
How could a child who couldn't even feed himself without assistance have such a look? The Count didn't understand, and to be safe, he took precautions. He secretly called a royal mage and a priest from the Church of Light to observe his son.
However, nothing was found—not a trace of magic, nor a trace of malevolent influence or anything of the sort. The Bishop, due to the Count's suspicion, even personally conversed with the boy, probing him, but it ended up turning into a session of theological questions.
His second son was a curious person, always seeking to understand the world and the things around him. When near him, instead of feeling intimidated or desiring recognition, Viktor approached him with curiosity, asking about his campaigns, the characteristics of the Orcs, the source of his strength.
Over time, the Count came to accept that his son was simply different. As the feeling of suspicion passed, he soon began to feel pride in his second son as well. How could he not? A child with such wisdom in his family was something to be proud of.
"Gawain, my son, tell me how your lessons are going. Also, have you made new friends among the young squires in training?" The Count's deep voice resonated at the table, and the boy quickly stopped eating, swallowing the food still in his mouth.
"Everything is going well, Father. I am learning quickly and have made friends with many of the new squires in training. I hope to begin learning combat with them soon, next month," Gawain's voice rang out firm and full of pride, and a broad smile spread across his face when he saw the Count nod firmly before he settled back into his seat.
"Very good. Remember not to become negligent in your duties, and observe the new knight trainees closely. Many of them will become your companions when you assume leadership of the house. Deciding their functions will fall directly upon you," the Count said. Seeing his son nod firmly, he turned his gaze to his second son, who was eating his food quickly as if nothing else in the world mattered at the moment.
"Viktor," the Count called him. At that moment, his second son turned his gaze to him but did not put down his cutlery or stop chewing, waiting for the Count to continue. "I heard from your mother that you lock yourself in the library every day and only leave when it suits you. While reading is good, try to go out a little and have fun. Soon I will be sending instructors to guide you properly, and you won't have as much free time, so enjoy it now," the Count said. At that instant, Viktor stopped eating to respond properly.
"Do not worry, Father. I don't much care for the company of other children my age. Furthermore, if possible, I would like you to send the instructors as soon as possible. I have many questions, and the books in our house cannot answer all of them," his son replied with a smile on his face. The Count raised an eyebrow and let out a faint, almost imperceptible sigh.
"Very well. I will be home for the next few months to recover. Until I choose your instructors, I will instruct you personally," the Count declared, plunging the table into a brief silence. Viktor felt a chill that quickly dissipated.
The Count's lips curved briefly upon seeing his son's iron composure break, but they soon returned to normal. "Indeed, my wife recommended I try to understand him. I don't think it will be a bad thing," the Count thought.
Thus, the dinner continued quietly, with brief conversations between the Count and his wife at the table and light stories of daily life. Despite the simple conversations and common topics, there was an undeniable harmony at the table during the meal. But near the end, something happened.
Gareth's instincts sharpened. His gaze fell upon Viktor, who in an instant began to turn red, his pupils dilating before he fell from his chair, startling everyone. Before he could hit the floor, the Count vaulted over the table, caught Viktor, placed a hand on his forehead, and checked his pulse.
"What happened?" His wife moved quickly to his side, her face full of concern. Soon the pair of guards, hearing the commotion, entered the room. "Fetch Doctor Garles immediately," the Count's grave voice sounded. One of the guards saluted before running off.
"What happened? He was fine moments ago," the Count thought, feeling the beads of sweat breaking out on his son's skin and his temperature rising rapidly. Soon, an expression of pain blossomed on Viktor's face, startling him. Without delay, the Count gathered his son in his arms and set off towards the physician personally.