When the caravan finally passed through the walls, Lusian stood still for a few seconds.
It felt like entering another city.
The entire duchy was covered in green.
Not decorative green.
Not ornamental green.
It was the green of survival.
Long, flexible stems of Nutrian Vines grew across rooftops, balconies, arcades, and walkways. They were a plant no botanist in this world had ever known before the Mana Storm.
To the inhabitants, they were a strange and recent blessing.
To Lusian, however, they were a resource he knew all too well.
A resource that, in the game, had meant the difference between a city surviving and a city starving to death.
Small oval fruits hung from the vines in clusters.
Always ripe.
Always available.
Their taste was nothing extraordinary, but they provided enough nutrients to keep thousands of people alive without relying entirely on the fields outside the city.
Exactly as they had in the human cities of the game.
And now, that knowledge only he possessed was growing right before his eyes.
—We're elves now... —he muttered as he watched a fruit-laden branch curl around a stone chimney.
The comparison wasn't entirely absurd.
In the game, it had been the elves who taught humans how to grow those plants on urban structures once leaving the cities became too dangerous.
To the citizens, Nutrian Vines were simply a practical way to obtain food.
To Lusian, they were one of the pieces that could prevent a future famine.
But the vegetation wasn't the only thing that had changed.
New houses now occupied several streets.
Entire blocks had been built in just a few weeks. Their roofs had been reinforced to support the vines, while communal courtyards had been transformed into small urban greenhouses.
Thousands of refugees walked through the streets alongside the original inhabitants.
Tired faces.
Busy hands.
Children clinging to their parents.
But alive.
That was what mattered.
Alive thanks to everyone's efforts.
And, in part, thanks to the information Lusian had provided.
At the foot of the castle steps, someone was waiting.
Sophia.
The moment she saw her son, she lost all composure.
She ran toward him and hugged him so tightly that she almost knocked the breath out of him.
—You're all right...
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
As if she had been holding that breath for the entire month.
Lusian held her in his arms.
—I'm here, Mother.
He didn't need to tell her that the journey had been safe.
His presence was enough.
A few meters away, Albert stepped down from the carriage, silently carrying a black metal box.
The emergency spatial artifact.
A legendary item belonging to a set of two.
One was here.
The other remained in the castle's arcane tower.
One use.
Five people.
It was valuable enough to buy a small territory.
Only Sophia and Albert knew of its existence.
And yet, even that artifact had not been enough to stop Sophia from spending every day fearing that her son might never return.
She finally pulled away from him.
She took his face in her hands and examined him from head to toe.
—Your ascension will be in one week —she said, slowly regaining her composure—. The nobles have already arrived for the oath. They were only waiting for your return.
A shiver ran through Lusian.
The duke's oath was not a simple ceremony.
It was a contract.
A commitment to the duchy and the kingdom.
He would swear to protect them.
And the nobles of the duchy would swear to serve him loyally.
Until the last day of their lives.
For the first time since returning, Lusian truly felt the weight of the title he was about to receive.
When he reached his chambers, he found Isabella waiting for him.
The young woman was standing beside the bed.
When she saw him, she smiled.
—Welcome home, my lord.
Lusian closed the door behind him.
After weeks of battles, responsibilities, and constant tension, that simple welcome had an unexpected effect.
For a few moments, there were no monsters.
No armies.
No futures to change.
Just two people who had found each other again.
They moved closer.
The rest of the night remained private.
Adela climbed the stairs a little later.
She wore a small smile.
As she had every night during the journey, she intended to sleep near Lusian.
She wanted nothing more.
Just to hold his hand and listen to his breathing.
That small ritual had become important to her.
When she reached the door, however, she stopped.
It was slightly ajar.
Adela looked inside.
And froze.
Isabella was there.
Lusian was there too.
She didn't need to understand every detail to realize that this was not a moment she should enter.
Her eyes slowly widened.
Her face grew warm.
—Ah...
She took a step back.
For the first time in a long while, Adela didn't know what to do.
She wasn't angry.
Nor did she feel that anything wrong had happened.
She simply...
didn't know how to react.
She carefully closed the door.
Then she remained standing in front of it for several seconds.
Her hand slowly rose to her lips.
She had seen something she didn't understand.
Something she didn't know how to name.
But she had understood one thing.
Lusian had a relationship with Isabella that she had never known about.
And that certainty created a strange feeling in her chest.
A feeling she couldn't identify.
Finally, she lowered her hand.
—Good night, my lord... —she whispered.
Then she walked away down the corridor.
The following morning, the central square of the Douglas Duchy was unrecognizable.
Thousands of people—refugees, craftsmen, soldiers, nobles, and farmers—filled every corner. Dark green banners bearing the wolf emblem of House Douglas fluttered from the balconies.
The inner walls were covered in living leaves. The plants Lusian had introduced climbed across facades, arcades, and rooftops, giving the capital an ancient, almost sacred appearance.
At the center of the square, atop the ceremonial platform, rested a suit of armor blackened by blood and the passage of time.
The armor of Duke Lawrence Douglas.
It was a tradition older than the kingdom itself.
Before a new duke assumed the title, the nobility had to pay homage to the previous one.
And no one could remember the last time a Douglas duke had died of old age.
That did not seem to be the fate of their bloodline.
They died sooner.
Almost always with a sword in their hands.
Albert stepped forward first.
He knelt before the armor and placed the helmet over the chest of his former lord.
He said nothing.
He simply bowed his head.
One by one, the other nobles followed his example.
No speeches.
No praise.
Only respect.
Only history.
When the last noble rose, silence once again descended over the square.
Not even the children dared to speak.
Then a herald raised his voice.
—Lusian Douglas, heir to the Duchy, approaches!
Lusian stepped onto the center of the platform.
His black cloak brushed against the stone with every step.
He could feel the eyes of thousands of people upon him.
The weight was in everything that name represented.
When he stopped before his father's armor, he felt his chest tighten.
Lawrence had been his father in this world, but they had never formed a truly deep bond.
And yet, his legacy seemed to be there.
Waiting for him.
A military priest stepped forward.
—Lusian Douglas, son of Duke Lawrence.
The priest gestured toward the armor.
—Before your people, before the land beneath your feet, and before the walls that protect these lives, do you swear to give your life, your sword, and your soul to this duchy without asking anything in return?
Lusian took a deep breath.
For a moment, he thought about everything that had happened since he arrived in this world.
The game.
The story he knew.
The deaths he had tried to prevent.
The cities he could still save.
And now, thousands of people stood before him.
He couldn't know whether it would be enough.
But he could decide what to do from that moment onward.
—I swear.
His voice echoed throughout the square.
—For my people.
He paused briefly.
—For those who have fallen.
His eyes shifted toward the armor.
—For those who still live.
Finally, he raised his gaze.
—And for those who will be born tomorrow.
A murmur swept through the square.
Like a current of wind passing through thousands of people at once.
Then something happened that no one expected.
Sophia Douglas stepped forward.
The Duchess.
The woman who had refused to bow before kings, princes, generals, or even temples.
She walked until she stood before her son.
And knelt.
The murmur disappeared.
The entire square fell still.
Sophia bowed her head.
Her voice trembled slightly.
From fear and emotion.
—My Duke.
Lusian felt something tighten inside his chest.
—Here I swear to serve you with everything I am. With my life, my sword, and my honor.
She paused.
—As the most faithful of your vassals.
Lusian didn't know how to respond.
He was frozen.
Confused.
Even a little terrified.
Because of what that gesture meant.
His mother wasn't kneeling before him simply as his mother.
She was demonstrating before the entire duchy that the power had changed hands.
One by one, the nobles began to repeat the gesture.
Then the knights.
Then the soldiers.
And finally, the people.
Tens of thousands of people knelt at the same time.
A sea of humanity stretching across the square like a single will.
Then the shouting began.
—Long live Duke Douglas!
Another voice joined in.
—Long live the protector of the duchy!
And finally, thousands of voices merged into one.
—Long live Lusian!
The roar shook the streets.
Lusian remained motionless.
He didn't know exactly what to feel.
Pride.
Fear.
Hope.
Doubt.
Everything mixed together inside him.
Am I worthy of this?
The question remained in his mind as the people celebrated.
Above the city, the sky had taken on a strange greenish hue.
It wasn't only the vegetation covering the houses.
It was mana.
Alive.
Changing.
Slowly altering the world Lusian thought he knew.
And now that world was his responsibility.
The following weeks were less ceremonial.
They were exhausting.
Lusian walked through the castle corridors while Adela followed him like a shadow.
The priest of Sagmus, a thin, stern man, prepared another ceremony.
The nobles of the duchy arrived in groups, day after day, to make their blood oaths.
It was tradition.
It was law.
And, more importantly, it was one of the foundations upon which Douglas power rested.
Lusian was only beginning to understand it.
The priest drew a circle with golden powder.
A minor noble, Baron Kellir, knelt inside it.
—I swear by Sagmus, god of truth, that I will serve Duke Lusian Douglas with absolute loyalty.
The priest made a small cut across his palm.
Two drops of blood fell into the bowl.
Then he began reciting an ancient chant.
A mark of light appeared on the nobleman's forearm.
It looked like a luminous cord slowly winding beneath his skin.
The contract was sealed.
A one-sided bond.
Only the vassal was bound.
The duke was not.
That was how Douglas tradition worked.
Lusian took a deep breath.
That power weighed on him more than he wanted to admit.
But he kept his expression calm.
His mother had repeated it to him countless times.
—Don't worry, son. You don't have to carry everything yet. I'm still here.
And it was true.
Sophia continued to rule de facto.
She held audiences, settled disputes, managed resources, and reorganized the devastated territories.
For now, Lusian observed.
Studied.
Trained.
Learned.
Albert subjected him to brutal combat and battlefield medicine sessions.
Adela accompanied him everywhere, silent and always close, as if she feared he might disappear at any moment.
Lusian still didn't know what kind of duke he would become.
But as he walked through the castle corridors, an image returned to his mind.
The game.
The former Duke Douglas.
The man who, desperate for more power, had driven his own duchy into the abyss.
A pact with demons.
Thousands of lives sacrificed.
Entire families given up in exchange for power.
And in the end, the entire duchy became the price of that ambition.
Lusian slowly clenched his fists.
Now he occupied that same position.
The same title.
The same house.
The same territory.
How do I prevent it from happening again?
He couldn't simply focus on surviving.
He couldn't merely prevent the events he remembered from the game.
Because the problem wasn't only what would happen.
It was what he himself might become capable of doing when the time came.
Lusian took a deep breath.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he understood that changing the future didn't simply mean preventing others from dying.
It also meant making sure he didn't become the man who had destroyed his own duchy.
He lowered his gaze.
The title hadn't given him power.
It had given him responsibility for thousands of lives.
And now he had to figure out how to protect them without repeating the path he already knew.
Because this time, if the Douglas Duchy fell...
he couldn't blame fate.
He would be the duke.