Chapter 5

Word of the betrayal spread like wildfire—despite our efforts to keep it quiet. But I let it. Sometimes rumors are useful weapons.

And then came the final stroke.

One of the guards, during Selma's interrogation, confessed something unexpected.

"The merchant… he's leaving tonight. Said he got what he needed. Had a cart packed already. There's something hidden in the crates, but I don't know what."

He was trying to vanish.With more than just gold.

Perhaps ledgers. Perhaps contracts. Perhaps blackmail.

And with him—proof of the network that targeted noble houses like ours.

My father didn't hesitate.

He didn't summon a full retinue. He didn't send a message to the guard captain.

He simply stood from his war table, donned his old riding leathers and crimson cloak, and strapped on a longsword that hadn't been drawn in a decade.

He had once been known as "The Wolf of Eirenwald."A general. A noble. A demon in polished boots.

That wolf had not died.

He merely waited.

We rode through the fog, cloaked in silence and steel.

I was not allowed to come to the camp, of course. I was six. I should have cried.

But I didn't.

I stood at the manor gates as he rode past, and he paused only once—to rest his gloved hand on my shoulder.

"I knew you were brilliant," he said, "but this... this has reminded me to be dangerous again."

I nodded. "Strike before the rats run, Father."

He smiled—just slightly.

And then vanished into the mist.

The Raid

Halvek's caravan sat outside the village edge, quiet under the moon, ready to roll.

But it didn't get the chance.

The Duke struck with six loyal guards, silent as ghosts.

The first blow came as Halvek's guards rose to light the morning fire—a flash of steel across the throat, and silence again.

By the time Halvek screamed, the tent was aflame.

My father kicked in the door of the main cart, sword drawn, eyes burning.

Halvek scrambled, gold coins spilling from his sleeves.

"Mercy—! I'm a man of business—!"

"You're a parasite," my father growled.

"I can pay you! I have names! You don't know who I'm working with!"

"Neither will they know where your bones are buried," the Duke replied coldly.

And then, with one clean motion, the sword flashed.

And Halvek would never bleed another house dry again.

The ledgers were recovered—half-burned, but enough. Names. Families. A network of debt-rigging and land extortion.

And House Aldercrest had lit the match that burned it down.

Back at the Manor

The next day, my father returned before dawn.

His cloak was stained at the edge, but his back was straight, and his eyes sharper than I'd ever seen them.

I met him at the steps.

"I took care of the trash," he said simply.

"And the fire?" I asked.

He glanced at the rising smoke on the horizon.

"It will keep the rest of them warm… while they wonder who's next."

Thus ended the chapter of Halvek.

And for the first time in six years, servants bowed to me with awe in their eyes.Not pity.Not indulgence.

Fear. Respect.

Two halves of a legacy had finally awakened:My mother's mind.My father's fire.

And from that night on, one truth echoed through the stone halls of the house:

House Aldercrest had risen.

The bell tower rang seven times.

By then, the town square of Harthmoor—the heart of the Aldercrest duchy—was filled to its edges. Merchants, farmers, tradesmen, even outlying knights and wandering beggars had gathered beneath banners of silver and red.

They had come not because of curiosity…

But because of a command.

A week ago, a notice had gone out to every village, every outpost, every border farm and city shop.

"By order of House Aldercrest: All loyal residents of the duchy are to gather for a public declaration. Justice will be spoken. A new path forged."

They came with doubts. They came with whispers.

They left in silence.

The Stage

A wooden platform had been built at the square's center. Upon it stood Duke Edric in his crimson cloak—and beside him, his son, clad in deep midnight blue, silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar, hair tied behind his neck in the old highborn style.

He was six years old.

But no one laughed.

Not when he stood without flinching. Not when his silver eyes scanned the crowd with the weight of a commander.

And when he spoke, his voice cut like a blade.

"The House Was Bleeding"

"Lords. Ladies. Farmers. Bakers. Soldiers. Merchants."

"I stand before you not as a child… but as your future."

Silence.

"Our house was bleeding."

"A month ago, a merchant by the name of Halvek walked into our hall with numbers that twisted truth into poison. He tricked our steward. He paid off our maid. He stole secrets. He made a loan grow like a weed—feeding off our ignorance."

"And when the moment came, he meant to take our land."

There were gasps, outraged mutters.

Theo raised a single hand—and the crowd silenced again.

"He was caught. Tried. Burned."

"That is justice."

"But Justice is Not Enough"

"Our tax system is old. Broken. It feeds corruption. Merchants exploit coin weights. Farmers pay despite crop failures. And those who give the most often gain the least."

"This ends now."

A guard stepped forward with scrolls. Theo raised one.

"Starting this year, taxation will be revised across the duchy. Levies will match yield—not rumor. Tithes will be fair. Merchants must register trade weights under oath. Any falsification will be punished under ducal law."

"And for the farmers…"

He turned, gaze sweeping the crowd.

"You've been taught to till the same soil until it dies beneath you. That ends here."

"Henceforth, a new model will be used—crop rotation. In three fields, you shall cycle: one for grains, one for legumes, one left fallow. This keeps the land alive. Strong. Profitable."

A farmer raised his hand, shaking.

"Your Grace… how do you know all this?"

Theo smiled—not kindly, but like fire in human form.

"Because I watched this land rot for six years. And I remembered what the world before this one taught me."

The Aura of a Dragon

They didn't see a boy that day.

They saw a force of nature.

His words weren't loud. But they echoed in every man's chest.

When he gestured, people moved. When he paused, the air itself held its breath. Behind him, even the Duke—battle-hardened and iron-willed—stood as if guarding a relic.

Someone whispered it aloud.

"He speaks like a dragon clothed in silk."

The Inner Circle Forms

That night, those with the courage to serve truth came to the manor. A blacksmith. A scribe. A quiet merchant woman with a sharp mind. A veteran. A librarian from the ruined estate archive.

Theo accepted each without ceremony.

"I'm not building a court. I'm building a blade," he said."We cut out the rot. Then we carve out the future."

Thus, the Inner Circle was born.

And the duchy began to change.