King Felipe Erkhán had aged ten years in the span of just a few months.
It showed in his hunched back, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the way he would remain silent for several long seconds before answering anything.
When he returned from the war against the Empire, he still believed he could stabilize the capital and reorganize the kingdom.
But the moment he set foot in Acropolis, he understood that the real catastrophe had begun long before his return.
The city had changed.
The avenues, once clean and reinforced with magic, were now cracked and covered in black roots that tore through the stone like enormous veins.
Some buildings had disappeared beneath masses of mutated vines that grew without control, climbing over walls and windows day and night.
And yet, the worst part was not the creatures.
It was the people.
The streets were filled with families who had fled the destroyed territories.
They slept beneath old sheets, between broken carts, or pressed against walls to protect themselves from the wind.
There were children far too thin for their age and adults who could barely remain standing after spending hours waiting in line outside the temples.
The priests distributed small portions of blessed food, but there was rarely enough for everyone.
Many people fought over water.
Others offered jewelry, tools, or family heirlooms in exchange for flour or fruit that had not yet mutated.
And some simply collapsed in the middle of the street and never got back up.
Overpopulation had turned Acropolis into a city that was difficult to control.
Several houses had more than twenty people living under the same roof.
The sewers were overflowing.
New diseases had begun to appear, carried by mutated insects that no one knew how to treat.
At night, armed gangs roamed the poorer districts, stealing food and medicine.
Merchants sold pieces of stale bread at absurd prices.
And even then, there was always someone willing to pay.
The royal soldiers could barely maintain order around the castle.
For the most part, the rest of the city had fallen into the hands of adventurers.
Most of them were not heroes.
They were survivors.
People accustomed to leaving the safety of the walls, killing creatures, and returning alive.
Many organized hunts to obtain meat.
Others protected entire neighborhoods in exchange for shelter.
Some opened relatively safe routes for transporting herbs and clean water to the capital.
Without them, Acropolis would probably have already collapsed.
There were even adventurers who taught children how to use small amounts of mana to light fires, illuminate rooms, or detect creatures near the shelters.
The kingdom was slowly falling apart.
And in the middle of that chaos, the adventurers were beginning to prosper.
Not because the world had become kinder.
But because when institutions stopped functioning, strength and the ability to survive began to matter more than titles.
It was the beginning of the world Lusian remembered from the game.
Felipe Erkhán barely slept.
Most nights, he remained locked in his office, reading reports that grew worse with every passing week.
Entire cities had been cut off by mutated forests growing across roads and walls.
Several minor lords had died during nighttime attacks on their fortresses.
Beasts no one could identify were beginning to appear, creatures that traveled in packs and attacked even areas considered safe.
Entire caravans disappeared without a trace.
And the magic academies were sending even worse reports.
Some spells were failing.
Others were behaving strangely.
There were mages who claimed to have lost control of their own mana during simple rituals.
The king spent hours staring at those reports without saying a word.
Sometimes morning came while he was still sitting at the table.
And the only person capable of keeping him on his feet was Adelaine.
While he was away at war, she had been the one holding the capital together.
She organized the distribution of food, prevented riots near the temples, and kept the internal supply routes functioning even as several districts began to collapse.
That was why Felipe decided to summon them.
He did not call the nobles to discuss politics.
Nor to negotiate alliances.
He called them because the kingdom was dying, and he could no longer hold it together alone.
The order traveled throughout the entire territory with the utmost urgency.
All nobles were required to appear in Acropolis within a maximum of thirty days.
The message was short.
Direct.
And to many, it sounded more like desperation than authority.
Felipe needed soldiers.
He needed resources.
He needed the Douglas Duchy.
He needed anything that could prevent the capital from falling.
Because if Acropolis collapsed...
the rest of the kingdom would probably fall with it.
Lusian expected to find chaos.
But the state of the kingdom was even worse than what he remembered from the game.
During the journey to the capital, he found nearly empty villages where only elderly people too weak to leave remained, along with children who barely spoke or simply watched silently from the windows.
Many roads were covered with corpses.
Some were monsters.
Others were not.
He also encountered families reduced to one or two survivors, wandering aimlessly alongside refugee caravans.
But the closer he got to Acropolis, the more obvious another change became.
Powerful adventurers had begun gathering entire groups of civilians.
Not always to protect them.
Some used them.
Some collected edible roots and plants.
Others carried equipment.
Some were sent ahead to check dangerous roads before the main group advanced.
There were even adventurers who traded refugees for food, shelter, or priority access to certain overcrowded cities.
Lusian had seen something similar before.
Just in another world.
The kingdom did not understand it yet, but society was beginning to change.
The authority of a title depended on whether someone had the power to enforce it.
And little by little, the sword was beginning to carry more weight than a surname.
When he finally crossed the walls of Acropolis, the smell hit him immediately.
Smoke.
Sweat.
Stagnant moisture.
And the constant smell of something rotting somewhere in the city.
The walls were filled with cracks and covered in mutated fungi that emitted a faint glow at night.
The caravan moved slowly through the streets.
Then something unexpected happened.
People began to recognize the banner.
The black wolf of House Douglas.
The murmurs came first.
Then the shouts.
"Douglas!"
"They're the Douglases!"
Some immediately backed away.
Others grabbed their children by the hand and pulled them out of the way.
A woman slammed her windows shut.
A man spat on the ground.
Lusian saw it.
He also saw something else.
An old woman who had frozen completely upon recognizing the emblem.
Her lips trembled.
"They..."
She did not finish.
Beside her, a younger man grabbed her by the arm.
"Mother. Let's go."
The woman could not take her eyes off the banner.
"They killed your father."
The young man lowered his gaze.
He did not answer.
Lusian heard those words from inside the carriage.
His expression changed.
He did not need to ask whom she meant.
The reputation of the Douglases had not disappeared simply because he had changed.
The dead were still dead.
The families still remembered.
And some of the people walking those streets had seen with their own eyes as Douglas soldiers murdered their relatives.
To them, the name that now represented protection also represented terror.
A group of refugees moved away from the road.
But not everyone could leave.
Some had lost their homes.
Others had lost their families.
And many had simply reached the limit of their strength.
When the caravan stopped, the Douglas soldiers immediately formed a perimeter around the carriages.
No one was allowed to approach the duke without authorization.
Lusian watched the crowd from inside the security perimeter.
There were hundreds of people.
Perhaps thousands.
Some shouted for food.
Others held their children up so the soldiers could see them.
But there were also those who remained completely still.
They looked at the black banners.
Then at Lusian.
And looked away.
It was not difficult to understand why.
To many of them, the Douglas wolf did not represent protection.
It represented death.
There were people in that crowd who had watched their relatives die at the hands of Douglas soldiers.
Others had heard those stories their entire lives.
And some had probably lost their homes because of orders given by men carrying that same emblem.
Lusian knew it.
That was why he did not allow anyone to approach him directly.
"Maintain formation," he ordered.
The knights obeyed.
Then one of the officers in charge of refugee control approached.
"My lord. They're asking for help."
Lusian looked toward the crowd.
"How many?"
"We don't know. More keep arriving."
"Is there somewhere they can be registered?"
"We have an abandoned warehouse near the western district. We could temporarily turn it into a shelter."
Lusian nodded.
"Do it."
The officer hesitated.
"And the food?"
"Give them rations."
"All of them?"
Lusian looked at him.
"All those under our protection."
The man bowed his head.
"Yes, my lord."
The news began to spread among the refugees.
But Lusian did not order the gates of the Douglas residence to be opened.
That would have been foolish.
He did not know these people.
He did not know who they were.
He did not know who hated the Douglases.
And, worse, he did not know who might pretend they did not.
The new shelter would have guards.
New arrivals would be registered.
The adults would be questioned about their origins and abilities.
Children, the elderly, and the wounded would receive attention first.
Those capable of working would have the opportunity to do so in exchange for food and lodging.
It was not trust.
It was organized survival.
Lusian looked at the crowd again.
A woman held a child against her chest.
The boy was far too thin.
The woman looked at the Douglas banner with obvious fear.
But she did not leave.
Finally, she gathered her courage and raised her voice.
"My lord!"
One of the soldiers immediately turned toward her.
"Let her speak!" Lusian ordered.
The woman swallowed.
"Will you help us?"
Lusian watched her for several seconds.
"Yes."
The woman seemed surprised.
"Even if we're from the territories that..."
She did not finish.
There was no need.
Lusian understood.
"The situation is different now."
Several people in the crowd raised their heads.
"I will not demand your loyalty, either."
He paused.
"If you need food, you will receive food."
His gaze shifted to the child in her arms.
"If you need somewhere to sleep, you will have one."
The woman slowly lowered her gaze.
She did not thank him.
She did not smile.
She simply held her son tighter.
Lusian had not expected anything else.
He could not erase years of fear with a few words.
Nor did he expect people who had lost family members at the hands of the Douglases to suddenly trust him.
A good deed did not erase a corpse.
Albert watched the carts loaded with supplies.
Grain.
Preserved meat.
Purified water.
Resources gathered to keep the caravan and the Douglas residence alive for the next few weeks.
"My lord."
Lusian turned.
"Yes?"
Albert pointed toward the carts.
"If we feed all those refugees, our reserves will decrease much faster than expected."
Lusian remained silent.
Albert continued calmly.
"This is not a criticism. I simply want you to understand the cost of your decision."
"I understand it."
"Every ration they receive..."
He paused briefly.
"...is one less ration for a Douglas soldier."
Lusian nodded.
"I know."
Albert expected that answer to be enough.
It was not.
"Then why?"
Lusian turned his gaze back toward the crowd.
There were children.
The elderly.
The wounded.
People too weak to fight.
I don't know if their lives have any special value.
He slowly lowered his gaze.
Some of them may never hold a sword again. Others may never be able to fight for us.
He was aware of what feeding them meant.
Every ration consumed reduced the duchy's reserves. Every resource allocated to them was a resource that a Douglas soldier might need when the real crisis arrived.
I know.
I know how this world works.
But then he looked back at the crowd.
And yet... I can't just stand by and watch them die.
Lusian slowly clenched his fingers.
"Because we aren't preparing merely to survive ourselves."
Albert frowned slightly.
Lusian continued.
"We're preparing for humanity to survive."
The old man remained motionless.
Lusian pointed toward the walls of Acropolis.
"Look around you."
Albert followed the direction of his hand.
"Every abandoned village. Every caravan that disappears. Every family that dies on the road."
Lusian slowly lowered his hand.
"Every child who dies of hunger is one less person we'll have when the worst finally comes."
Albert watched him in silence.
"And what if some of them turn against us?"
Lusian took several seconds to answer.
Because that was precisely one of the possibilities that concerned him most.
Some refugees probably hated the Douglases.
Others might have lost family members to soldiers of House Douglas itself.
And sooner or later, some of them might even try to kill him.
Finally, he spoke.
"Then we'll take precautions."
He looked at the soldiers guarding the entrance.
"We'll register them. We'll keep them under surveillance. They will not have unrestricted access to our facilities."
He paused.
"But we will not let them starve simply because there is a possibility that one day they might become our enemies."
Albert remained silent.
That answer was not naive.
Lusian did not blindly trust them.
He had simply decided that fear would not determine who deserved to live.
After several seconds, Albert bowed his head.
"Understood, my lord."
He turned around.
"Albert."
The old man stopped.
Lusian looked at the crowd again.
"And make sure the soldiers understand this."
Albert looked back over his shoulder.
"Understand what?"
Lusian took several seconds to answer.
"That those people are not a burden."
His eyes swept across the square.
"They are people we can still save."
Albert remained motionless.
Then he bowed his head again.
"Yes, my lord."
And walked away.
This was not a strategy.
It was simply a line Lusian refused to cross.