Ambition and duty, Barony of Ruthy

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  “… immediate support. Reeve Engel, Specialized Cerealist,” finished Song, reading the letter aloud to the office where Baron Simon, Marshal Justin, and Castellan Pippin were gathered.

  “Why did it take so long to warn me about this? Aren’t we all on high alert?” raged the Baron at Pippin.

  “I’m sorry, my Lord, but we were under attack. The soldiers prioritized fighting the Umbral Imps. Only after that did the Captain of the Gate Guard notify me of the delivery.”

  The conversation took place just an hour before sunrise, and the meaning was clear: too little, too late. There was no way they would reach Engel in time to save lives. The Baron felt his chest tighten, his fingers itching to strike the table. He tamped down the impulse, forcing himself to speak slowly, but the weight of the decision already lay heavy on his shoulders.

  Sweat beaded on the men’s foreheads as the Baron’s fury filled the room. “I want your captain demoted. He’s not getting off lightly just because the defense had no fatalities. Let him know he was lucky this time,” the Baron said, regaining control of his emotions.

  “It’s too late to organize a new squadron; it would only weaken our position. Marshal Justin, I need more information on the bandits. I bet that by the time we arrive, they’ll have retreated and be hiding. They’d be too stupid to do otherwise.” The Baron’s voice was tight with frustration. He exhaled quickly, trying to regain composure, but guilt gnawed at him for not sending reinforcements the day before.

  “Let’s send my scouts – a rider and a reliable ranger – to inspect the pine woods, the village, and the surrounding areas. Also, send a squad as backup in case the scouts encounter trouble,” Marshal Justin suggested, outlining his plan, but that was a hint of worry in his voice. It felt wrong – cutting corners, sending scouts instead of a full squadron. But what choice did he have? He didn't want to defy the baron’s authority, so he held back his concerns, knowing that pushing for more would only stir unnecessary tension. The baron’s orders had to be respected, even if they left the whole situation hanging by a thread.

  There was an unspoken fear in the room, they knew to be in everyone’s minds, but no one dared to mention it. The scouts would likely find nothing but the dead and the suffering in the village of Engel. The bandits would leave little hope in their wake. But to acknowledge this fear was to admit failure, and so they moved forward, blinded by necessity. The practical choice was to send scouts, to risk as little as possible and hope for the best. The alternative – confronting the full reality of the loss in Engel – would be a far harder pill to swallow. Only Pippin looked unconcerned by what they would find, that wasn’t his problem was his body language if anyone was reading it right.

  “I want the squad back by tomorrow night. I can’t station people away from the Barony. The scouts won’t rest until they find me those bandits, and I need a report from them as fast as possible.” The Baron’s tone softened slightly, a hint of weariness seeping through. “But make sure the scouts aren’t needlessly risked, and that the squad remains safe, Justin. I can’t afford to lose more men over this.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Justin responded seriously.

  “Herald Song, you will personally write a letter – no scribe, just you. Inform the village that reinforcements are on the way. They don’t need to know how many or what kind; they just need to feel that help is coming. Send it with our fastest rider, take one of my personal stallions if necessary.” The Baron’s voice was steady again, and his subjects were confident he had fully regained his composure.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Song responded, his voice heavy with the weight of sleepless nights. The Baron noticed the tiredness in his words – a burden too heavy for someone so young. It wasn’t that he lacked ability, but there was an immaturity in his demeanor, an inexperience that gnawed at the Baron. He would have to grow into his role or it would consume him.

  Pippin’s lips curled into a thin smile, thinking he had gotten away easy with the mistake of his Gate Captain. His smile disappeared as soon as the Baron’s gaze landed on him.

  “As for you, Castellan Pippin,” the Baron continued, in a passive-aggressive manner that showed a lot of self-control. “Why don’t you prepare a detailed report explaining why we’re investing so much in stabilizing the dungeon and getting no fucking results?” The anger surged again, surprising the officers present. “Explain it to me, Pippin, because I don’t see any progress.” He exhaled sharply, trying to swallow the heat of the moment.

  “Yes, my Lord.” Pippin responded, with the sorrowful air of someone who’d been reprimanded too many times.

  “Serve the breakfast,” the Baron commanded loudly, his voice returning to its usual authoritative tone, “I will take it in the office!”

  The dungeon was supposed to be his ticket to power, but now, all it was bringing him was headaches. Guilt gnawed at the Baron, a feeling he couldn’t shake off. The County had their eyes on it, and the Baron knew better than to trust the higher-ups who played the game of influence with ease – he had no time for doubt now.

  The morning repast, Village of Engel

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  Adrian rose from his bed, feeling tired after only a few hours of sleep. However, birds of all species, from every corner, were competing to see who could make the most noise. Hens clucked, roosters announced the day as if they were the kings of the place, chicks chirped incessantly, and to complete the chaos, people were already in full swing with their activities.

  “Don’t these people know how to respect a late riser?” Adrian complained, still a bit dizzy from the lack of mana. It should be nearly 7 in the morning – what everyone in the village would consider late to start their day. The night before, he had met Hanney, Engel’s wife, in her kitchen, organizing small snacks for those who wouldn’t be able to rest that evening. By her instructions, he had arrived at the chapel next to Engel’s house.

  From there, he had persuaded the ‘small council’ to let him heal someone. They were skeptical at first, as they all argued that a “man with a clearly combat-focused class couldn’t possibly heal better than Wakina.” He agreed with that in general, but the magic skill he possessed wasn’t from being a Breaker of Chains. Since he didn’t feel like it was in his best interest to explain more about himself, it took some convincing before they agreed.

  Using his magic skill, Analysis, he confirmed their Names, Titles, Species, Ages, and Classes, and was surprised by how high Engel and Wakina’s classes were – both at level 48. He wondered how long it would take him to reach that level, if ever.

  He followed them to the infirmary at the back of Wakina’s house, where a young woman was tending to the wounded, checking their vitals and temperature. She was excused, and they were left alone with the patient with the most serious wound, Ferreiro.

  As he prepared himself, getting into the right mindset, he felt like he had the option to simply use his magic or to go all out and perform a chant. Since it was his first time using magic, he decided to follow through with the entire ritual:

  Can you feel the flame within?

  Or dread the power I bring?

  Answer my call – rise from the pyre,

  Rise in my embrace, ignited by fire.

  Why do you gaze at your shattered reflection?

  From afar, behold me – I am perfection.

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  Enter the inferno I sanctify,

  And rise, rise, rise, rise!

  Adrian could feel, once again, an electric current running through and out of his body, but at an intensity far greater than what he had felt before. The sensation was not painful, but exhausting. Without his full awareness or understanding, his eyes took on an orange glow, locking onto the spell’s target – then, they shifted into liquid metal, reflecting Tommy’s image like a convex mirror.

  The blacksmith’s entire body began to glow intensely. These were not ordinary flames, but an aura of orange lights that shimmered like jewels around him. Adrian had witnessed magic since his arrival – like Muriel's supernatural movements, the healing effects of the pomade on his shoulder, and a few other details he’d been able to spy on – but this was different. It was on another level of beauty and wonder.

  The young man’s mind was lost in the euphoria of the moment, watching the blacksmith’s arm regenerate, surrounded by a glittering of lights. Slowly, the man’s skin returned to its normal color, and the cut began not to heal, but to regenerate the lost tissue.

  A minute passed without Adrian noticing, his focus consumed by the miracle of magic. As the sparks disappeared, that was the last thing he saw before waking up.

  He was still in his peasant clothes and remembered Engel giving him a hard time about how he got them, implying that he was more than he let on – that he could open up – and continuously showing excessive deference. The man was plainly annoying and only convinced Adrian to keep his cards even closer to his chest while learning about Ertar.

  Truth be told, Adrian couldn’t complain about Engel; he just didn’t care for the old man’s face or attitude. Otherwise, he was mostly a good host. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore, Adrian turned his attention back to his system screens, waiting a few minutes before standing up. He wanted to test if he could use Reset. After a few minutes of testing, he made sense of the option.

  He could reset it whenever he wished, but he couldn’t do so while any magic skills were on cooldown or in use. He deduced this because the button, which had initially been unavailable, began to show a cooldown period that matched exactly that of Phoenix Embrace after he cleared everything from his Inventory.

  With that, he understood the complexity of Reset. Using a long cooldown magic skill should always be well thought out, as it would prevent resetting and using another set of skills. On the other hand, he could use multiple magic skills with shorter cooldowns in a single day, which was an exciting prospect.

  In need of a cup of coffee and curious about how things developed while he slept, Adrian stood up. As he entered Engel’s kitchen, his stomach churned with hunger at the tempting aromas of freshly baked bread and melted butter. The hall was not large, and a group of twelve people occupied a long wooden table, the clinking of cutlery and the hum of conversation filling the lively space. To keep the village spirit high after the tragic battle, Engel had organized a communal meal, and people took turns in groups of ten to fifteen to occupy the space.

  With the steam from the stew rising from the cauldron and the atmosphere filled with people, a heavy warmth spread throughout the kitchen. Despite Engel being the Reeve of the Village and having the largest house in the area, the countryside lifestyle was simple, with few tapestries, no sculptures, and rustic ornaments. The kitchen and dining room formed a single room, with a large wood fueled stove and a long worktable on one side, while the rest of the space was occupied by a large dining table, where twelve people could sit comfortably.

  Sitting at the head of the table, closest to the only window, and facing the entire room, was Priest Hugo. He had changed out of the dark blue tunic he had worn for combat and now wore a long white tunic, embroidered with silver thread.

  “Lord Adrian! Come, honor me by sitting beside me,” said Hugo, signaling an empty seat to his left.

  Adrian accepted the invitation and sat down, feeling the curious stares on him. The young man didn’t feel uncomfortable, as, compared to the disdainful looks he had grown used to on Earth, being seen as a novelty was quite an upgrade.

  Quickly, one of the cooks served him a steaming bowl of beef stew, accompanied by dark bread and herb-infused butter. The light green ceramic had carefully finished edges. Alongside his meal, Adrian was served green tea in a ceramic glass with various earthy-colored rings. Despite the lack of luxury, the young man noticed that the table, chairs, and everything used in the space were made of quality materials, indicating the work of skilled artisans.

  “It’s nothing sophisticated, we’re a village of humble people, but I hope you enjoy the stew, Lord Adrian. The best way to recover from mana exhaustion is rest followed by a hearty meal,” Hugo commented kindly.

  Adrian took a spoonful of the stew, and the flavor was beyond his expectations. The meat melted effortlessly in his mouth, while the broth was velvety and rich. Its deep, dark color and layered taste made him wonder if it contained a type of fermented cream, reminiscent of soy sauce yet distinct in its own right. The bread, still warm, had a crisp crust but a tender interior, perfect for savoring with the fragrant herbal butter.

  “It’s fantastic,” Adrian replied, continuing to satisfy his hunger.

  “Well, we’re proud of the chef we have here in Engel,” Hugo chuckled briefly before shifting the conversation to the Gods, preaching as a priest naturally would. Even in his ignorance about the deities, Adrian found himself drawn to Hugo’s words as he spoke of divine teachings on man’s duty to his community.

  He took his time listening to Hugo’s perspective on the world, but more importantly, he focused on enjoying his meal. As the priest spoke, several villagers approached Adrian, introducing themselves and formally thanking him for his help in the battle.

  Some people began leaving the table, making space for others just arriving. Using Analysis, Adrian noted a variety of classes, though most were tied to agricultural work. The younger villagers had levels between 12 and 18, while the older ones ranged from 24 to 30. A 46-year-old woman named Miriam stood out – she was a level 42 [Hearthcraft Chef], likely the one Hugo was so proud of.

  Even after Adrian finished eating, Hugo remained seated, continuing their conversation without any rush to get up. It wasn’t laziness or procrastination – he was simply making the best use of his time. Before Adrian’s arrival, the priest had been instructing the villagers on how to treat him: with respect, but at a distance, as the young hero preferred discretion. Right now, he was ensuring that no one made a misstep.

  “Lord Adrian, as you’ve likely noticed, we are a close-knit community, and we all deeply mourn the loss of our own in battle. Most men under fifty took to the front lines today, and I respect them even more now. Because I was there, and I saw them trembling at my side – just as I was – but none of us fled for safety. We did not abandon our brothers and neighbors. Yet, while this proved our character, it did not prove our strength. Now, many families are left without a crucial member. We’ve also lost vital manpower just before the harvest, and craftsmen whose work was essential to our community.”

  Pulling a letter from his pocket, he showed it to Adrian. “Right after sunrise, Engel received this letter from Song, Herald of Ruthy, stating that the Baron’s men are preparing and that assistance will arrive in the second turn of the morning. The letter urges us to hold tight and stay strong. But the truth is, this response came far too late. If not for you, Lord Adrian, it likely wouldn’t have made any difference at all.”

  He paused, glancing around. The entire table was listening in on their conversation. Then, with a measured tone, he continued, “After hearing that, you might be considering leaving. But even though we know little about you, you are welcome to stay as long as you see fit.”

  The way he said it, though, carried an unspoken meaning. Adrian couldn’t quite place it, but there was a warning in those words – if he wanted to avoid dealing with man loyal to the baron, now might be his chance to walk away.

  “That being said, I must also warn you – Jias, the man who carried our message to the barony last night, arrived shortly before the Baron’s men. He reported that the delay was due to monsters near the citadel. So if you do leave, be prepared. The roads now hold more than just bandits. There are worse things lurking out there.”

  Adrian studied him for a moment before answering. “I can’t tell if you’re welcoming me to stay or warning me to leave, Hugo. But if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay a few more days – rest, learn more about the region, and help however I can. I don’t know the first thing about harvesting, so don’t count on me there, but if James needs another pair of eyes guarding the village, I’m in.”

  He meant it. As much as he wanted to keep moving, he already felt lost and alone. Maybe staying there a while longer would help soothe that feeling before he had to face the road again.

  “Where I come from, Hugo, priests are referred to as ‘Father,’ because they guide their community. Although you don’t have this custom here, I see you do much the same. So let me ask you – would you have some time alone to talk? Perhaps guide me in confidence, or is that not how things work in this region?” Adrian asked.

  “Yes, we do expect people to confide in us, and that would be lovely, Lord Adrian. How about you come by the chapel tomorrow morning, if you decide to stay?” the priest proposed, to which Adrian consented with a simple nod.

  By the time their conversation ended, the kitchen was nearly empty, with only the cooks remaining, meticulously cleaning the space. Adrian served himself more green tea as he stood up to excuse himself.

  There was not a cloud in the sky, and the warm morning was laced with a gentle cool breeze – an ideal day to explore his new world.