It was the messiest part of House Maddach.
The fields stretched far and wide, with cattle roaming as far as the eye could see.
The farm buildings housed servants responsible for maintaining the animals and crops.
"Get in, boy!"
The horse caretaker led a strong, muscular breed into its stable.
Jorvik smiled as he watched the animals.
He wasn't fond of going out—but animals were one of the few things he loved.
He stepped out of the muddy land, his boots slick with dirt, and into the dry stable.
"Get my horse ready!"
"Will do, Lord Jorvik!"
The stable hand grabbed Jorvik's favorite tack.
Waiting, Jorvik leaned against a gate, watching a mother horse that had recently given birth.
The foal had just finished drinking its mother's milk.
Burping softly, it walked toward its mother's neck, nudging its tiny head beneath her chin.
She licked away the dirt and mud from its coat, gently grooming it.
Jorvik's smile faded as he looked away.
"Is my horse ready?"
"Here, my Lord!"
Jorvik mounted his horse, his movements gentle and natural, before riding toward the open field.
"Hyaa!"
The horse sped up, galloping toward the gates before riding out.
Jorvik glanced at the sun's position, then quickly pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
An address.
A business in a nearby town.
But one far away from nobles.
***
Upon reaching the town, Jorvik slowed his horse, letting it walk through the dusty streets.
He sighed as he observed the peasants.
It was funny.
Not that they were poor, but how happy they looked.
Despite having nothing, he saw more soul in them than even the Baron.
Children played in the streets, laughing.
Passing a rotting wooden home, he spotted an old man carving a horse figurine for his granddaughter.
Despite being a simple wooden toy, the girl snatched it from his hands, jumping and giggling in excitement.
As Jorvik rode by, she raised the toy high, as if to show it off to him.
Back in House Maddach, Jorvik had seen his family members receive gifts so grand, most commoners couldn't even fathom their existence.
Yet…
He had never seen a smile as bright as the little girl's.
And her eyes, as she looked at that thing…
That worthless toy…
As if it were everything.
The grandfather, though…
His expression was different.
A soft… thankfulness.
Jorvik shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead.
"A map!"
He spotted a shop with a large map sign hanging at the front.
He had arrived.
As he stepped inside, Jorvik immediately spotted the man behind the wooden counter.
He looked about fifty—his graying hair gave it away.
Despite his age, his broad shoulders and thick forearms suggested a life of labor.
'Must be a veteran…' Jorvik thought.
"Can I help you?" the man asked.
"If it's maps, then I'm the man for it."
"You maintain maps, do you?"
The man grinned.
"I do that too, yes…" he chuckled.
"Throw it on the counter, I'll give it a look."
Jorvik reached into his pocket, pulling out a worn-out letter.
The one his mother left him.
He read it once more.
"Jorvik, my son,
If you are reading this, it means that I have passed.
I will not be able to see you born.
But know that you are now in the good hands of the Baron.
You will make him proud, just as you will make House Maddach proud.
You will make me proud."
He read it again.
Despite the serious tone, he could feel love in the message.
One he couldn't explain through logic.
He just knew she loved him.
Even though she didn't say it outright.
It felt like… she couldn't say everything she wanted to in the letter.
As if there had been a condition when she wrote it.
"A letter?"
The shopkeeper adjusted his glasses, tying them behind his ears.
Jorvik handed it over.
The man examined it briefly before carefully placing it on the table.
"It's old," he murmured.
"If you fold it wrong, it'll tear."
He rummaged beneath the counter, searching for his tools.
"It can't be fixed?"
"Everything can be fixed.
Lucky for you, you haven't spoiled it too much."
He pulled out a set of tools, tossing them beside the letter.
As he raised a magnifying glass to inspect the paper's fibers, his nose twitched.
"Uh."
Jorvik raised an eyebrow.
"Something wrong?"
The man rubbed his nose, stepping back.
"No… must be my nose acting up."
His young son, no older than eight, snuck up behind him.
"You're so strong!" the boy exclaimed, watching as his father twisted a pipe valve with ease.
The boy tried twisting it himself, but his small hands couldn't even budge it.
Seeing his father turn it effortlessly with a single finger, his eyes sparkled in admiration.
The man chuckled.
"I'm pretty strong."
He returned to the counter, drying his hands.
But as he leaned in to inspect the letter again—
"Uh!"
His face recoiled.
"Yeah. It's not my nose."
Jorvik furrowed his brows.
"I took care of it."
"It's not you…"
The man sniffed the paper again.
"It has a strong acidic smell.
Something meant to last."
The boy bounced excitedly.
"Can you—uhm—fight a Knight with a sword—uhm—using just your hands?"
The man sighed, ruffling his son's hair.
"Hah… No.
I'd lose to a guard with a knife."
He sent the boy off to his room.
"Sorry about that."
Jorvik shook his head.
"No worries…"
His eyes wandered, scanning the wooden shelves.
That's when he saw it.
A medal.
Resting on the shelfboard.
"That's yours?"
The man stopped, turning to look at the medal with nostalgia.
"Ah. You noticed."
Jorvik narrowed his eyes.
"…You're an Imperial Knight."
"Was."
The man's voice softened.
"That was… a long time ago."
"Then why did you say you couldn't beat an armed guard with your hands?"
The former Knight smiled faintly.
"Because I've been in that fight before.
Trust me, no matter how strong you are… if your opponent has a proper weapon?
It doesn't matter how powerful you are.
You can be defeated."
Jorvik heard the words, but his mind wandered.
The Imperial Knights had lives of luxury and honor.
Yet this man chose a business where he was taxed heavily.
And still—
His eyes were like the old man's from earlier.
Happy.
Jorvik sighed.
'If given the chance…'
'I'd trade places with that boy.'