Chapter 10: The Pumpkin Farm

"Why are we going to the Pumpkin Farm at this time of year?" Hutson asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

The harvest season had long passed.

 The farm would be barren, devoid of any activity, and certainly not worth guarding.

Then, he noticed the uneasy look on Emil's face and suddenly understood.

"Alright, I'll go with you," Hutson sighed. "But are you sure about this?"

He had already seen it—Emil and Melissa were deeply in love.

Now, Emil was running. Escaping to the Pumpkin Farm to avoid facing the inevitable: Melissa's wedding.

Emil smirked and ruffled Hutson's hair. "A child shouldn't meddle in grown-up affairs."

Hutson could tell Emil was in a hurry. Without further questions, he packed his things, and they set out.

At the castle gates, two horses stood ready, saddled with bundles of supplies to last through the winter. Hutson glanced at Emil and saw the exhaustion on his face—he hadn't slept.

Then, from behind them, a familiar voice rang out.

"Emil!"

Hutson turned to see a figure rushing toward them—Melissa.

"Go." Emil gritted his teeth, then spurred his horse forward without looking back.

Hutson hesitated for only a moment before following. As they crossed the river, he stole one final glance behind him. 

Melissa had collapsed at the castle gates, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

The autumn forest had transformed into a sea of red and gold. Fallen leaves blanketed the winding mountain road, and the rhythmic crunch of horse hooves filled the crisp air.

Emil rode in silence, his thoughts heavy. Hutson, on the other hand, took it in stride. This was just another ride through the countryside. Though young, he had lived two lifetimes—he understood that some wounds only healed with time.

They were in no rush. There was no mission, only the quiet road ahead.

Midway through their journey, they passed an old cave. Both halted for a moment. Emil poured two cups of wine onto the earth, offering a solemn knight's salute before mounting his horse once more.

Seven days later, they arrived at the Pumpkin Farm.

Nestled at the foot of the Emerald Mountains, the farm spread across a vast plain. As they descended the last hill, the dense forest gave way to open land. 

Once, golden wheat and plump pumpkins had covered these fields. Now, after the harvest, the earth lay bare and empty.

At the farm's heart stood a fortified courtyard, its walls built from heavy stone—a structure meant not just to deter wild beasts but to withstand potential raiders.

"This keeps predators and enemies at bay," Emil explained.

The farm's iron gate loomed before them, weathered and foreboding. Emil knocked firmly.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, slow, shuffling footsteps echoed from within.

"Who's there?" A raspy, aged voice called.

"Emil, Captain of the Castle Guard. We're here to garrison the farm," Emil answered.

"What?" The voice wavered.

Emil sighed and repeated himself, louder this time.

A metallic clank rang out—the sound of an old key turning in its lock. With a painful groan, the iron gate creaked open, revealing an elderly man wrapped in layers of thick winter clothing.

 His skin was leathery like aged bark, his eyes cloudy with age.

"You're Massimo, aren't you?" Emil asked, pulling out his insignia and handing it over.

Massimo took the emblem but didn't look at it. Instead, his fingers traced the engraved symbols, feeling their shape before handing it back. "Come in," he said gruffly.

"He's the farm's only guardian," Emil whispered to Hutson. "He's been here for forty years."

"Forty years…" Hutson muttered, glancing at the frail old man. 

A lifetime spent in solitude—it was hard to comprehend.

As they stepped inside, Massimo spoke again, his voice low and grave. "Listen well. At night, do not leave your rooms. No matter what you hear, do not step outside.

 The mountains hold demons. In past winters, the castle sent guards to watch over the farm. By morning, they were gone. 

Vanished without a trace. Beware."

"Demons?" Hutson scoffed. "Do such things truly exist?"

Massimo did not answer, did not even look at him.

Emil, however, spoke quietly. "It's true that guards were stationed here before. And it's true they disappeared. Since then, the castle stopped sending men during winter."

"Then why are we here?" Hutson shot him a glare.

Emil grinned. "Ha! It's just an old legend. The real danger comes from wild beasts foraging in the cold.

 But you and I? We're not afraid of a few animals, are we?"

Hutson considered it. A hungry wolf or bear would make a fine meal with the right seasoning. But something about this place felt... off. Some dangers weren't bound by logic.

The farm consisted of a dozen buildings—some large, some small. The bigger structures were granaries, filled with supplies for the harsh winter ahead. The smaller ones served as living quarters.

Massimo had his own secluded cabin at the farm's northernmost end, while Emil and Hutson were given a three-story house at the center.

Inside, the house was in disarray, thick with dust. After some cleaning, it began to feel livable.

A hidden cellar lay beneath the house. Emil lifted the wooden trapdoor, lowering a lantern into the darkness below. When the flame did not flicker or die, he climbed down, inspecting the contents.

Sacks of flour lined the walls, along with several large wooden barrels.

A grin spread across Emil's face as he pried one open, inhaling deeply.

"Now this—this is fine wine."

The two men hefted a wooden barrel from the cellar and found a pair of cups. As they poured the deep crimson wine, its rich aroma filled the air, mingling with the cold night breeze.

"To us!" Emil grinned, raising his cup.

"To us!" Hutson echoed, clinking his cup against Emil's.

After days of travel, exhaustion weighed on them. The warmth of the wine was a welcome relief.

With the resilience of knights, their bodies were nearly impervious to intoxication, but here—away from prying eyes—Hutson felt bold enough to ask the question lingering in his mind.

"You came all the way here to escape… but will you truly never regret it?" he asked, his gaze steady.

Emil exhaled, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I already regret it," he admitted. "But some things are more important than my own feelings."

He swirled the wine in his cup before continuing. "The Baron's marriage alliance isn't just about him—it's about securing the future of the entire territory.

 If my presence disrupts this union, I won't just be dooming myself. I'll be dooming the land… and the Baron himself."

Hutson frowned. "The entire territory? But Behrad's people don't have that kind of power."

Behrad was barely surviving on its own. How could they possibly pose a threat to the vast Dur Valley?

Emil turned to him, his gaze sharp.

 "Do you know why the Baron has ruled Dur Valley unchallenged for so long? Do you think it's because of his army? No. It's because the Baron is a Grand Knight. 

There are barely a handful of them in the entire Norton Kingdom."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "A Grand Knight is more than just a warrior—they are a force of nature. 

They are deterrents in human form. 

o army dares invade as long as a Grand Knight stands in their way. 

A single one could wipe out entire bloodlines."

Hutson's breath caught. A chilling realization settled over him.

"…Are you saying the Baron is dying?" he asked slowly, dread creeping into his voice.

If Baron Buck's time was running out, then Dur Valley was no longer an impenetrable fortress—it was a carcass, waiting for vultures to descend.

And the world was filled with those eager to feast.