A New Path

The great hall of Castle Hohenfeld was alive with noise, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the stone walls.

Servants moved swiftly, setting down plates of roasted meat, bread, and fresh cheese, while the scent of spiced wine filled the air.

At the center of it all sat Johann's father, Wilhelm von Hohenfeld, a broad-shouldered man with streaks of gray in his beard.

His mother, Lady Mathilda sat beside him, her sharp eyes watching the feast unfold. His two younger sisters, Adelheid and Klara, whispered to each other excitedly, it was their brothers return after all.

Johann sat a few seats away, tearing a piece of bread as he observed the gathering. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the hall brimmed with warmth, yet he felt oddly detached from it all.

He had always prided himself on his knowledge of history, yet there was one thing he knew frustratingly little about, House Hohenfeld itself.

By all logic, his family should have been important. Their lands sat in the heart of the Swiss Plateau, a region that would one day become central to the formation of Switzerland itself. A noble house ruling over such a vital crossroads—yet not a single record of them existed in his old life's history books.

He had read about the powerful houses of the Holy Roman Empire, the dukes and counts who shaped Central Europe. He knew of the conflicts between the emperors and the rebellious Swiss cantons that would come centuries later. Yet, Hohenfeld was nowhere. Not even a footnote.

That troubled him.

Had his house been wiped out? Absorbed by another noble family? Or had they simply faded into irrelevance, forgotten by history?

It made no sense, a noble house with control over the plateau should have played a role in Switzerland's unification. Yet in his old world, they had vanished without a trace.

It was an unsettling thought. And an opportunity.

If history had forgotten House Hohenfeld, then history had left it unwritten. Which meant he could be the one to write it.

His thoughts were interrupted by his father's deep voice.

"Johann," Wilhelm called, his sharp gaze settling on him. "You've been training under Otto for some time now. Tell me, is my second son finally turning into a warrior?"

Johann set down his cup, meeting his father's gaze. Wilhelm von Hohenfeld was a man who commanded respect without words. His once-black hair had begun to gray at the temples, and a deep scar ran down the left side of his face, where his eye had once been. The empty socket was covered by a leather patch, a reminder of a battle fought long ago. He wore a dark wool tunic trimmed with fine embroidery, and over his broad shoulders rested a fur-lined cloak, fastened with a silver clasp in the shape of a raven—the symbol of House Hohenfeld.

His father grunted. "Otto is a strict teacher, but I've learned much. Swordsmanship, horsemanship, even battlefield tactics."

"And yet, you have yet to see real combat."

"That will come in time," Johann said smoothly. "For now, I must learn the skills first."

At Wilhelm's side sat his mother, Lady Mathilda, dressed in a deep red gown that contrasted with the silver streaks in her auburn hair. Though past her youthful years, there was sharpness in her hazel eyes, a calculating gaze that had unnerved many at court. She tapped her fingers lightly against the table, her rings catching the firelight.

"It is good that you train, but you must also remember your place, Johann," she said. "Friedrich will inherit Hohenfeld. You should seek a path that strengthens the house, not just yourself."

Johann forced a polite smile. "Of course, Mother."

Friedrich chuckled from across the table. He was broader than Johann, with the same brown hair but a stronger jawline, a short-trimmed beard, and a confident smirk that had only grown sharper since his return. His chainmail, polished and well-fitted, gleamed under the candlelight, and at his hip rested a dagger with an ornate hilt—a gift from Duke Albrecht himself.

"Perhaps Johann wishes to make a name for himself like the mercenary captains of Italy," Friedrich said, tearing into a piece of bread. "Sworn to no lord, only to the highest bidder."

Wilhelm frowned. "Mercenaries are little better than brigands. A noble fights for his house, his emperor, not for coin."

"Yet the emperor himself has relied on mercenaries before," Johann pointed out. "And even among the nobility, loyalty is fragile. You know that as well as I do, Father."

Wilhelm's jaw tightened, but he did not argue. Instead, he turned to Friedrich. "Speaking of the emperor, Duke Albrecht will be gathering his vassals in the coming months. I will ride to Swabia when the time comes. You will accompany me, Friedrich. We must show our strength among the other nobles."

Friedrich straightened. "Of course, Father."

At the far end of the table, Johann's younger sisters, Adelheid and Klara, sat whispering to each other, stealing glances at Friedrich.

Adelheid, thirteen, had the same auburn hair as their mother, her blue eyes sharp with curiosity. She was already being groomed for marriage, something their mother frequently reminded her of. Klara, only nine, was more focused on sneaking extra honey cakes than listening to politics, her long brown curls bouncing as she giggled.

Johann remained silent, but his mind raced. This was what truly mattered, the power struggles between noble houses. The Holy Roman Empire was a vast, chaotic realm, where authority was often determined not by bloodline, but by force and influence.

And here in the Swiss Plateau, surrounded by ambitious counts and dukes, the same rules applied.

"Father," Johann said carefully, "I have often wondered about our neighbors. Hohenfeld controls valuable land, but we are not the only noble house in the region. Who are our greatest rivals?"

Wilhelm considered for a moment. "To the west, the lords of Kyburg hold sway, powerful vassals of the Duke of Zährin To the south, the lords of Savoy, ever looking northward, hungry for land. And to the east, the Habsburgs, an old family, growing stronger with each generation."

Johann nodded slowly. The Habsburgs That name sent a shiver down his spine. In his past life, he had known them as the rulers of an empire that spanned continents. But here, in 1103, they were just another noble house, ambitious but not yet great.

After a while of eating, drinking, and exchanging words with other nobles, Johann decided it was enough.

He began walking back to his room.

Johann didn't exactly have a plan, but his brother's suggestion to become a mercenary didn't sound too bad. It might take a while, but after becoming well known, he might gain enough land and conquer from there.

Of course, it would be easier if he simply inherited his father's wealth and power, but that's not how life worked back then.