Chapter 72

Several days later.

To the west of Baron Leo's domain, two miles away, a castle stood tall. Its walls, constructed from large slabs of stone, appeared exceedingly sturdy, almost impenetrable. However, upon closer inspection, one would notice that years of neglect had caused some of the stones to crack, with moss growing between the gaps, revealing its true vulnerability.

Outside the castle was a moat, several meters wide, filled with murky water. The lack of an adequate sewage system had caused much of the castle's waste to flow directly into the moat, resulting in the foul stench that permeated the air.

From a distance, the moat presented no real concern, but as one drew closer, the noxious odor became overwhelming, leaving one dizzy. This, however, had its advantages. Any would-be warrior, no matter how brave, would hesitate to plunge into the moat in an attempt to breach the castle's defenses. The moat's role in protecting this ancient castle, which had stood for over a hundred years, could not be overstated.

Within the castle's crimson-hued hall, a young man in his twenties sat upright. He was quite handsome, with dark brown hair, a high-bridged nose, and piercing eyes. His long, slender fingers rhythmically tapped against his lap, occasionally narrowing as he seemed lost in thought.

He was contemplating something, and as his thoughts deepened, he turned his palm over, revealing a scar on the back of his right hand. The scar was jagged and gruesome, as though it had been seared by a hot iron. His left hand instinctively reached to touch it, and the moment his fingers made contact, a flicker of resentment flashed in his eyes.

But before the emotion could settle, his expression shifted, replaced by one of respect as the sound of footsteps echoed from deep within the hall.

Thud, thud, thud...

A tall, lean nobleman entered—a man in his fifties with streaks of white in his hair. Despite his age, his body remained robust, his steps vigorous and commanding, his high cheekbones giving him an imposing air. His gaze, steady and calm, spoke of the wisdom and life experience he had gained over the years. Occasionally, his eyes would betray a hint of greed, but it was carefully controlled beneath the surface.

This was Count William of White Valley Castle, a man of considerable influence with over seven hundred soldiers at his command and more than a dozen knights swearing fealty to him. While he might not rival the greatest nobles of the Kingdom of Prue, in his local region, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Years of power had forged an undeniable authority in him, and as he walked towards the young man seated in the hall, the latter involuntarily lowered his gaze, avoiding direct eye contact.

William noticed this subtle gesture and smiled inwardly, pleased, for it indicated submission. He approached the young man and clapped him on the shoulder with a half-smile, asking, "Thus, Edward, hast thou received any tidings? Is thy father still amongst the living?"

Edward's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of his father, and after a deep breath, he answered seriously, "Uncle, I did receive word this morn. It doth seem that my father—Baron Leo—hath passed from this earthly realm."

"Hmm?" Count William paused for a moment, his expression sharpening, and he asked again, "Art thou certain?"

"I've received confirmation from two separate sources. Both accounts speak the same truth. It ought to be accurate."

"Well then…" Count William's brow furrowed as he spoke slowly, "If such be the case, it appears that the plan I have contrived for thee hath borne fruit. Thy brother shall inherit the lordship, and we may proceed with our undertaking."

"Yes, Uncle!" Edward's face lit up with excitement, and he nodded firmly.

"Since that's the case, prithee tell me more of thy brother. I must make the necessary preparations."

"Of course," Edward replied without hesitation, his thoughts quickly flowing. "My brother hath ever been a strange child. Forsooth, he spake earlier than is customary, nearly half a year in advance of his peers, and his walking and learning to read were far beyond the average pace. Yet the most unsettling attribute of him is that he hath never cried—not once!"

"As he did grow in years, he began to engage in activities that none could comprehend. Forsooth, he would roast stones upon the flames and boil peculiar herbs in water. Such endeavors oft yielded bizarre results—stones that ought to have cracked did instead melt as if they were ice, and plants that, after their boiling, took on an uncommon resilience. It all appeared... akin to dark sorcery."

"Dark sorcery?!" Count William's eyes glittered with interest. "Could it be... your brother is a sorcerer?"

"No," Edward shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Were he a sorcerer, matters would be more straightforward. He would have been consigned to the flames long ago. What he doth is not precisely dark magic—'tis more akin to the deceits of a charlatan alchemist."

"Hmm." Count William raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Roasting stones and boiling herbs, huh? Most intriguing, indeed. I dare say, one possessed of such prowess might verily have been the cause of your father's demise. If so be the truth, our scheme shall bear less scrutiny. We shall be wholly justified in our deeds."

"Now, with the demise of thy father, thou shalt inherit the title and the vast estates. Yet, all of this is but a façade. Once I command the army and successfully vanquish thy brother, all that he possesses shall rightfully belong to thee."

"I give thee my thanks, Uncle."

"Mm. Well, arm thyself, Edward. This afternoon shall we take our leave, venturing through the lands of Lanster. Fear not, for I have secured our passage with Lanster himself. No hostilities shall we face. That aged man, too, covets a prize; he hath consented to send forth two hundred men to aid our cause. Once our task is accomplished, all thou needest do is grant him the village at the furthest bound of thy realm, where it meeteth his."

"A village?" Edward frowned slightly. Though the land wasn't technically his yet, he wasn't keen on simply giving away a village—especially considering the taxes it would generate.

Count William, noticing Edward's discomfort, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Mark well, Edward, dost thou not dwell upon what thou shalt lose, but rather upon what thou mayest gain. Without loss, there can be no gain to be had. Verily, if thy father still drew breath, thou wouldst never inherit the lordship."

"Ah... I understand now," Edward said after a pause. He lifted his head and nodded toward Count William, a look of realization crossing his face.

Pleased, Count William gave Edward's shoulder another pat before turning to gather the soldiers.

As the Count walked away, Edward's expression shifted to one of barely concealed anger. Staring at the retreating figure, he clenched his fists, muttering under his breath, "Are we starting to divide it all now, huh? Heh, we'll see about that once I get my hands on the land…"

His anger dissipated almost as quickly as it had come, and he loosened his fists before turning to leave the room.