The midday sun had just begun to mellow when we finally reached the border town.
As expected, the servants and soldiers jumped into action the moment the carriages rolled to a stop. Crates were lifted, horses led to stables, supplies cataloged. It was one of our pre-marked rest spots for the journey, but even so, the sheer efficiency was oddly satisfying to watch.
I stood there, hands clasped behind my back, weighing my options. Should I go meet General Sarek now or wait until everyone was assigned a room? I wasn't exactly eager to play noble politics when my body still felt like someone used it to break boulders.
But the decision was made for me.
A massive man in full armor strode toward me with purpose, the kind of guy whose footsteps alone could silence a room.
My eyes narrowed slightly. His presence practically screamed 'general,' and by the way the two fully-armored soldiers behind him moved, they clearly thought so too. The three of them bowed in perfect unison.
"Young Master Hugo," he said, straightening. "I am General Sarek. Lord Orion sends his regards and apologizes for not receiving you personally at the border. He eagerly awaits you at the estate."
I returned a polite nod. "I'm grateful for the military support. Your command on the battlefield was commendable. Precise and coordinated."
What I didn't say out loud? I was damn near stunned at the meeting back in the duchy's study.
I mean, I was dead sure Viscounts weren't supposed to have standing armies. My original plan was fairly straightforward: fake a couple of traveling units that looked like us, bait the Ashen, and lay traps along the way to ensure a good confrontation point. All neat and clever.
Then in one of the discussions in duchy's study, Orion casually dropped, "By the way, I've got my own army. Twelve hundred soldiers. Five unit commanders. Two generals." I almost choked on my tea.
Apparently, it made sense. For a Viscount to skip the ranks of Count and Earl and head straight to Marquis, you needed a royal background.
Orion had that, being a descendant of the Leon Duchy. And of course, that meant he had to maintain a private military of at least 800 and not more than 1500 troops. Neat, right?
The moment I found out, I tossed my old plan in the metaphorical trash and proposed a new one. If we killed the Ashen's leader during our journey, Orion's charming brother Draziel would temporarily lose a valuable asset. And before they could bounce back, Orion could wrap up his negotiations with the Elvian envoy and gain the upper hand in the succession race.
Orion agreed. On one condition. If the Elvian talks went well, he wanted my signature on the letter he planned to send to my father, requesting open support instead of the silent backing he'd been getting.
I accepted.
When General Sarek finally left, I let out a small sigh and followed Vernin and Clara as they showed me to my room. Vernin had barely opened the door before I stopped him with a question.
"Commander, did you report the deaths of the adventurers we hired as fill-ins along with falcon soldeirs for the scout unit? The ones we picked up from the guild near Falcon's border town?"
He nodded. "The letters are prepared. They'll be sent using this town's postal service first thing in the morning."
"And will there be any compensation? Or will their deaths even be mentioned publicly?"
Vernin's face didn't flicker. "The contract they signed classifies the mission as one taken of their own volition. As such, all risks, profits, or losses fall entirely on them. Since they took the mission freely, they are not entitled to compensation, and their deaths won't be publicized."
I looked at him, this time a little sharper.
"The scout unit didn't even get the chance to run. They were killed silently, instantly. Scouts train for evasion and escape. That's their bread and butter. How the hell does a whole unit just vanish without a sound?"
Vernin faltered for the first time. "They were a C-rank party."
I raised my voice and turned to Clara. "When did you inform the commander about hiring adventurers for the scout unit?"
"The day Lord Orion and Lady Sylvia left the castle," she answered without flinching.
I turned to Commander Vernin. "I specifically asked for B-rank and above. I even told you six days before our departure, knowing full well it takes three days for proper approval. Yet you hired C-ranks. You hired them on the spot after arriving at the border town, didn't you?"
Vernin winced. "It's my fault. I neglected my duty. I'll accept any punishment you see fit."
The guard standing behind him suddenly stepped forward and bowed even deeper.
"It was my responsibility. Lord Vernin assigned me to handle the hiring. I didn't think Falcon's scouts needed adventurer support, so I delayed. When Lord Vernin found out, he scolded me. I panicked and the commander as a measure for damage control hired a C-rank party under an escort mission instead of a guarding one. That way, we could skip the three-day verification."
I stared at the ceiling.
Of course. Of course this happens.
I'd let Vernin assign their roles without checking them myself. They were scouts, always moving far ahead, rarely within the range of my Inspect skill. That was my mistake.
I looked back down at Vernin, who was still claiming full responsibility, pushing away his subordinate.
"The fault lies with us. Arrange compensation for the adventurers' parties. Then prepare a report detailing the casualties and the successful subjugation of the Ashen's leader within Falcon's lands. Send it to my father."
With that, I walked into my room. Clara followed behind like a quiet shadow.
.
The final stretch of our journey passed without incident.
Commander Vernin stayed at the very front of the procession, riding like a man trying to atone for a mortal sin.
Guilt hung over him like a wet cloak. Maybe I had been too harsh about the adventurer debacle. I should probably say something comforting when I get the chance, maybe something that doesn't sound like a verdict.
And then, on the second evening, we reached it.
The entrance to the Viscounty of Orion was marked by an arch that had no business being this large unless it planned to host a parade.
At its center, carved in proud relief, was a lion's head, its mane ablaze in sculpted fire, like it was seconds away from breathing real flames.
As we passed beneath, the estate unfolded into view.
Gardens lined the cobblestone paths, trimmed and shaped with clear attention. The flowerbeds were arranged in neat, sweeping arcs, with vibrant reds and blues cascading toward the edges like painted silk.
White flowers delicately fluttering lined the walkway, blooming with ivy and morning glories, while marble statues peeked between the hedges. Each probably representing some long-dead ancestor who'd done something important, or at least expensive.
It wasn't like the Falcon Duchy's castle, no ancient trees curated over centuries, no scent of jasmine inlaid into the very stone, no ever-silent maids gliding past tapestries older than some kingdoms. But for a Viscount's seat?
It was damn impressive.
Where Falcon's gardens were art galleries curated for power, this was a nobleman's estate, rich with color, alive with movement, and charming in its almost familial presentation. Not perfect, but not trying to be.
As our convoy approached what appeared to be the central courtyard, the organization snapped into motion like a clock tower clicking to the hour.
Carriages halted in a perfect rhythm, each stopping as if measured by invisible threads. No orders needed, no fuss. Just precision.
And then mine rolled to the heart of the courtyard, where a semi-circle had already formed.
Servants stood lined in rank, heads bowed, each dressed in deep maroon and white, the Viscounty's colors.
Behind them, soldiers stood firm, gleaming in full ceremonial armor. Their boots didn't move. Their eyes didn't flinch.
At the center of it all stood Orion.
He was in formal attire, a deep blue tunic trimmed with golden lions, and a dignified cloak clasped by a sapphire brooch. Straight posture, calm eyes, and the exact look of a man who'd rehearsed this moment in his head about fifty times.
Sylvia stood beside him. Elegant as ever, her hair done up in a half-twist with silver pins, her expression polite but alert.
The moment my carriage stopped, the courtyard shifted as one.
Orion took a step forward and bowed, not the half-hearted noble bob, but a deep, proper, ninety-degree bow befitting someone receiving a guest of higher station. \
Sylvia mirrored him, a step behind, bowing with grace that could cut glass. The servants followed suit in a wave, the soldiers dropping to one knee with practiced ease.
Frankly, it was dramatic enough to be a coronation.
"Lord Hugo of House Gyrfald," Orion said, his voice strong and even. "Welcome. It is our honor to receive you. My deepest apologies for not greeting you at the border personally. Circumstances required my presence at the estate.
I stepped out slowly, letting the moment stretch.
"It is I who am grateful, Viscount Orion," I replied with a practiced nod. "For both your hospitality and your generous military aid. Your general commanded the battlefield with exceptional clarity."
Orion smiled faintly—one of those 'I accept your compliment and will pretend not to glow with pride' smiles.
Sylvia added smoothly, "Welcome to the Viscounty. We hope your journey was swift and smooth."
I gave her a look, half-polite, half-teasing.
"No broken wheels, no flying furniture. I'd call that a win."
Her mouth twitched just a little but the bow never wavered.
With the ceremonial pleasantries done, Orion stepped aside and extended an arm.
"Shall we?"
I nodded and followed him inside.
The entrance hall of the estate opened into a high-vaulted corridor lined with warm sandstone columns and crystal chandeliers that caught the late sun.
Rich carpets softened every footstep, and the scent of fresh cut roses lingered in the air. Paintings of the Leon lineage lined the walls, grand battles, lion crests, and one unfortunate portrait of a man who looked suspiciously like a turnip in armor.
Still, I had to admit, it was grand.
Not ancient and solemn like Falcon's halls, where even the silence had weight, but this place had pride. It wasn't trying to intimidate me.
It was trying to welcome me.
Which, frankly, was more dangerous.
Orion personally led us to the rooms. Which, by the way, weren't just rooms.
They were practically mini-palaces with walls.
My chamber alone had polished obsidian tiles lined with velvet-red carpeting that looked like it had never seen a speck of dirt in its existence. The bed was huge. I mean Falcon-duchy-master-suite huge. Even the fireplace crackled like it had an ego.
Compared to Falcon Castle's dignified cold-marble luxury, Orion's place felt warmer, less intimidating, more curated. It didn't have the overwhelming scale of the duchy's stone halls, but it was clearly built with taste and ambition. Which made sense. The lion imagery was everywhere. Even the bathroom towel hooks had flaming mane designs.
Yeah...even the bathroom towels...
"Feel at home, Lord Hugo," Orion said, pausing at the doorway with a polite half-bow. "We'll speak tomorrow morning at the court hall. If you're ready, the maids will escort you there. Until then, take all the rest you need. It's a pleasure having you under my roof."
Sylvia gave a final bow beside him, eyes level but respectful.
I returned a nod, tone smooth. "Thank you, Lord Orion. The hospitality is as refined as expected of House Leon."
He smiled faintly, then turned away, leaving the rest of the night to me. Which, frankly, I spent enjoying the bed like I hadn't seen proper cushioning in a decade.
The next morning came like a gentle slap of comfort.
Two precise knocks on the door. The rhythm was unmistakable.
Clara.
She entered with practiced grace, balancing a tray of breakfast tea in fine white porcelain, a full set with a golden spoon, lemon wedge, and even one of those tiny cookies that make you feel like royalty just by looking at them.
"Finally..," I muttered.
She poured the tea wordlessly. Smiling like she, too, missed this.
I sipped. Perfect.
In my mind, I gave the journey an imaginary slap for depriving me of this morning ritual. I hadn't realized how much I missed the full routine, warm water, hot towel, a whisper of perfume in the air that wasn't sweat or horse.
Clara laid everything out like clockwork. My suit was pressed, collar crisp, and hair combed into its usual organized mess.
Then, another knock. This time, one of Orion's maids peeked through the door.
"Lord Hugo, may I ask when you'd like your breakfast?"
"Now is fine," I said, adjusting my cufflinks. "I'll head to the court hall in about an hour."
She bowed deeply. "I shall inform Lord Orion at once."
The breakfast was elegant. Grilled fish, honeyed bread, and something that tasted suspiciously like imported crystalfruit. I wasn't complaining.
An hour later, I entered the court hall, Leon's version of a throne room for political talks. Smaller than the Duchy's war chamber, but just as polished.
Banners of House Leon fluttered gently above a half-moon table where Orion sat in formal robes.
I gave a noble's bow.
"Good morning, Lord Orion."
He rose and returned it. "Good morning, Lord Hugo. I trust the night treated you well."
"Too well," I muttered, half under my breath. "Thank you again."
He gestured for me to sit. "The general has briefed me. I heard what transpired on the battlefield."
"General Sarek did well," I replied, settling in. "He kept order even in chaos."
Orion nodded, then his gaze sharpened.
"As you told us earlier, Varkis had hired mercenaries to cut off your escape route. Thankfully, Leon's forces were stationed close enough to react swiftly. Our scouts confirmed they were B and A rank parties. Capable fighters."
I grimaced. "That would explain Varkis's confidence."
He sighed lightly. "We suffered some losses. Seventeen soldiers. The mercenaries fought hard, but once our scout spotted the red flag instead of green, our men encircled the valley."
Then he smiled, just a little.
"Your idea to use flaming carpets helped. The battlefield lit up like a ceremonial parade. We were able to pinpoint Varkis's main unit with frightening ease."
In my head, I gave myself a sarcastic pat on the back.
Splitting up three hundred troops across a dark valley and expecting them to coordinate under pressure was already suicidal. Getting them to see anything in a wind-blown desert? Worse.
I floated the idea of burning carpets during planning, half-thinking sand would die the fire down. But Vernin...good old death-glare Vernin, insisted the winds in the valley died down past dawn. If the winds didn't blow the fire away, it could work.
It did.
"I'm sorry to hear about the seventeen," I said quietly. "That loss was never part of the goal."
Orion waved a hand gently. "There's no need to apologize. Their sacrifice allows us to move forward with greater speed now. Goals are within reach."
Then his expression darkened, just slightly.
"I also heard about the Falcon scout unit."
I nodded grimly.
"It was my idea to embed adventurers among them. Make it look like passing travelers. Worked well...until it didn't."
"They'll be compensated," I added. "That much is certain."
Orion's eyes met mine, steady and calm. "No need, Lord Hugo. I'm sure they will be."
He shifted slightly, adjusting his seat, fingers folding together over the table. The temperature of the room dropped few degrees.
Ministers calm and collected, stiffened in their seats.
"As for the envoy at the elvian border," he said, voice lowering.
"Here is what we've heard…"