9th day of Brownleaf, tenth month of the year, 983.

  A few weeks have come and gone. An almost uninhabited castle had become the eyes and ears that witnessed the birth of a new army or, at least, a true one. The castle, too, looked over the sounds of steel striking steel in both the main garden, which had the roars of Andras, and in the less wild part of a smaller garden, which had the low but firm statements of Noct. A rougher mirror of the general training of Andras.

  Too focused in her training bout to hear the screams of the true army instructors, Soral did her best and a bit more.

  “Your footing is a mess, again. Correct it.” Noct’s calm voice was, nonetheless, heard above their duelling blades. Parrying with ease an overhead strike for his sister, he slid the blade and countered with a stab. Soral had to break her stance to dodge it, messing up her fixed footing.

  “Your grip is too weak. Unstable. Strengthen it or be disarmed.” Backstepping a desperate horizontal slash from Soral, Noct darted forward, boredom evident in his gaze, and struck the sword of Soral with such force that it went flying for the fifth time in the last two hours.

  Not surprised, Noct sheathed his blade. Seeing her intense gaze, he repressed a sigh and humoured her ritual. ”Go back to the basics. Another fifty swings. If I see your footing wrong while stationary I will throw you into a bush.” Soral, lacking physical energy but brimming with mental one, went back to a rugged and grassless patch without a protest. Not being one to just order, Noct did the same.

  One strike perfectly followed by the next one, all of them being overhead strikes, Noct was twice as fast as Soral and the textbook example of how you had to do it. Still, he continued to watch Soral by the corner of his eye. Like clockwork, by her eighteenth strike, Soral’s legs gave out and she started to fall. Grabbing her by the collar of her training shirt, he half carried half supported her to a nearby bench. Willing a healing spell to existence, Noct also passed her a bucket of clean water. After a light gulp that came out right away, she started to drink as Noct healed her injuries, causing her a spike in hunger.

  “How many times do you have to exhaust yourself half to death before you stop.” Mumbled Noct, focused on healing her and not creating complications, as healing magic that potentiated natural healing was tricky business. “You held up this far thanks to stamina recovering magic, not that that method is particularly healthy.” Noct couldn’t stop his grimace, both remembering his past training and surveying her condition. “I warned you. Keeping up with this two and a half hours training will do more harm than good.”

  Between gulps of water and heavy breathing, Soral replied, ”You train for longer with twice the intensity.”

  “And I started fifteen years ago. You, on the other hand, started last month. You are progressing way faster than I expected, and that is not a good thing. You risk permanent injuries if you keep relying on magic.” Noct, having talked more to his sister today, and the days before, more than in the last ten years, was unsure of how to act. He was doing his best of copying Andras training routine, if edited to his liking, but he was starting to have trouble keeping his usual persona on.

  Soral glared away, her tired breathing slowly being fixed. “Shut up and evaluate my performance already.”

  Noct looked ahead to the tree behind the bench and stayed silent for a few seconds. “You are falling into the usual mistake for beginners. Chasing after speed. You are frustrated because you can’t land a hit and you are becoming harder to teach because of that. You are determined to be faster than me and that’s backwards thinking.”

  Noct crossed his arms, memories of himself acting like that playing out on the tree. “Chasing after speed will only give you haste. And haste is an illusion of control over the battlefield. Instead, the only thing it is going to bring is your death after an opponent with half a brain sidesteps one of your very fast strikes that kills your balance, leaving you wide open.”

  “The thing you need and are currently neglecting is technique. Technique will grant you true control over both the future actions of your opponent and their movements. Knowing how to utilise your blade will eliminate the need for speed entirely, as you will be able to predict where your blade needs to be beforehand. Timing, feetwork and level headedness are the key for using it correctly. Three things you definitely lack.”

  “And what do I have to do?” Personal grudges put aside, she sat straighter in the bench, listening to the lecture in earnest.

  A half smile came to Noct as pride for Soral unconsciously affected him. “Focus less on hitting and more on planning the hit.” Turning back towards the tree, he pointed at it. “I can shoot thirty arrows at that tree and miss every single one if I don’t aim the damned shot. That’s what you are doing right now. You are waving your blade around with the most speed and strength you can manage, praying to Dice, God of Luck and Probability, for it to hit your opponent or for him to fall asleep out of boredom.”

  Looking away, she complained, “All that technique you are trying to teach me doesn’t work! I am unable to read you because you are just messing with me! Keep your commentary to yourself next time!”

  “Knowing something does not mean you will be able to put it into practice. Memorising the different stances and possible strikes does not guarantee success. You are not able to put that knowledge into practice not because I am making it obtuse but because, in combat, you are distracted. A natural thing to be, but that’s another thing you have to learn, to cope with the distractions of fighting.” Uncrossing his arms, he walked towards the castle wall and rested his back on it. “And these commentaries bring the intended shame to you. Shame is harder to forget. That will help my words sink in.”

  Soral snorted. “Experience talking?”

  “Indeed.” Noct simple nodding, not taking insult from her words. After all, he had been way harder to train. “Nonetheless, I doubt you will experience shame a lot more. You have talent, a thing I didn’t have. If you were training under the High Commander you would already be the best of the class. And, once you start mixing your swordplay with your electric magic, you will become an outstanding knight.”

  “...and how could I do that?” Soral blinked, the reality of the calm Noct of her memories being here still not sinking in. He was more relaxed now than what she had seen him in years. Nethers, he had been insufferable at the start of the training.

  Getting out of his resting position, Noct walked towards the grassless path, as if to let Soral have a good look. “You have two ways. The normal one, using the sword as a staff to aim your strike.” Forming several magic circles on the zone where the blade connects with the guard, Noct aimed the sword at the tree. From the activated circles electricity dashed towards the blade, being guided towards the tip and being shot in an explosive manner, hitting the tree and almost toppling it down.

  Soral’s gaze stopped on the blackened wood, taking in the idea of using her sword as a staff to heart.

  “The second way would be to launch the spell on your own sword. I prefer this one, for it is way simpler to pseudo enchant your sword than to direct it like I just did.” Noct’s shadows put out the fire as he raised the sword for Soral to get a clear view. Now brimming with electricity contained by slightly different spell circles in the sameplace, Noct waved it a bit. “Now, you have a sword that can't get you an edge over your enemy.“ The spell circles of before reappeared, causing the ricasso of the sword to look enchanted. Slashing at the tree at his fifth trial strike, he activated the new row of spell circles, discharging the electricity as before.

  “You can also mix the two, making the opponent second guess whether you are launching a spell or adding more power behind your strikes.” The tree toppled down, the shadows, again, put out the fire. “Unpredictability kills most in battle, after all.”

  “I see…” Rising from the bench with somewhat shaky steps out of tiredness, she started to cast a similar spell. Her spell circle was better defined, more efficient, causing a more condensed and fluid electric current. Not stopping there, Soral infused it together with another element, ice.

  Impressed at her progress beyond her young age, as weaning two elements into the same spell included the arduous task of balancing the mana to feed each one, as overpowering one over the other, or not following the expected proportion, would cause increasing instability that would end up causing mana feedback, Noct nodded.

  “Elemental enchanting too? That will exponentially upgrade your repertoire of tact…” Not letting him finish, Soral moved her sword and tried to slash at Noct with an horizontal slash.

  Electricity dancing wildly as it froze the surrounding air, Noct blocked with his longswong, now surrounded by fast casted shadows. The sound of steel hitting steel resounded again. Not stopping there, he used the shadows and their mana to destabilise Soral’s spell, causing it to shake and wobble and, finally, explode. The resulting shrapnel was eaten by the same shadows that caused its birth, as they stopped it from leaving them.

  A swift kick to Soral’s legs dropped her to the ground, finding herself with Noct’s sword to the neck. The murder in her eyes pushed away any pride he had had for her. She had already learnt how to kill and was ready to take any chance, a necessary skill for fighting him. Why wasn’t he happy then? His tone grew cold, as he shielded his inner turmoil under his usual persona.

  “As I was explaining before you rudely interrupted me, while you can synergize your fencing around your magic, always remember to seal it well from the possible interference of other mages. Otherwise, you risk having a ticking explosion in your hands. Work on that. Your spell circles had no countermeasures for foreign mana, making it a child’s play to overcharge your spell with a different type of mana, causing it to go haywire.”

  “I didn’t know you were an expert at fighting everything, everywhen.” Spat Soral, venom evident in her voice and in her glare. She had true power in her hands, finally.

  Noct whispered darkly, “Do you think the only ones who fought me were farmers with sharpened sticks? For Gods’ sake, you are a child playing with a stick. Act like one and finally get into your head that this little act of anger could have scarred you for life, or even killed you. You think shrapnel wounds are fun? Easy to cure?” His voice raised in tone as he lowered himself to look her in the eyes. “Had I done nothing you would have killed yourself, and only yourself. I am wearing metal armour. You aren’t!” Sighing, he raised again and sheathed his weapon, turning around to leave. “Never play smart with magic when enchanting metal objects.”

  “...and who gave you the right to worry, now, about me?” Soral hissed, as her hands clenched, trapping dirt and small rocks that cut her skin.

  Noct turned violently fast, his cape shadowing his movements, causing her sister to instinctually flinch. A reaction born out of unconscious fear. He froze. Lowering his head, he turned around for a third time, feeling more exhausted than the new trainers that had stopped training in the main yard. “I do not worry about you. I worry about the baroness. Rest. It is an order. If I see you training I am locking you up again.”

  Not expecting in a million years to see Noct hurt, even if it seemed like a fragment of her imagination, Soral managed to squeeze out, “Yes.”

  Noct, already entering the castle, didn’t dignify that butchered affirmation with a response.

  ………

  The bureaucracy of a barony was not in the same level as the one required to run a duchy or even a count. The average baron should not take too long to sort out the obligations of an average household, granting them plenty of free time. Noct, having upped the demands of the apparatus of the barony thanks to his reforms, had fallen into a problem he had not realised he had. A lone man would be very hard pressed to administer all of the operations, works, procedures and facilities needed to run a barony, no matter how small or poor it was. After all, statehood was a labyrinth of resolutions, documents, chaotic budgets and thousands more things to manage. All alone, it consumed all of his time.

  Sitting at his desk, Noct had traded tomorrow’s training session of Soral to order her the duty of introducing the new farming method created by the druids. Already expecting good results, he continued to work as he meditated on the discovery that would give the baroness the farmers’ undying loyalty.

  The proven but not widely tested theory was the Albestus four-course system. A farming technique prioritising the rotation of crops. Stating that there was no need for periods of rest for the ground if all of the cultivated parcels followed a simple yearly rotation of crops, dividing the cultivated area into four parcels. One of the parcels sowed with high production cramps like cold wheat, a variant invented by Jil five years ago for the farms of the north. A second with tuber plants like cold potatoes. A third with legumes of cold barley. And the last one with clover or undergrass for livestock and to let the terrain rest. You would simply rotate the crops of the zones in this order, attaining, in theory, higher output.

  Having passed the trial process in the farms of the Druids’ Guild, it would be adopted in the farms of Bonfire before being implemented in all of the barony. It would be seen if it lived up to Jil’s promises of greeted efficiency, even if it had already done so in the trials.

  Shaking his head, as he had more pressing matters to concern himself in, he returned his attention to work. Revising the paperwork from the total rebuilding of the slums, and making sure it was up to code, someone knocked on his door. Sighing, he gave his vocal permission in an already irritated tone, out of old habit.

  “Enter.”

  Not looking up from his papers, he continued to words until he heard the person who had entered with his permission, remembering no one was left to disturb him in the castle. Looking up, and almost breaking the quill he was holding, he saw that the new High Commander, Andras without a surname, had entered his study.

  “Sir regent, I have come to report the current state of the men at arms.” Announced Andras, long lost medals proudly shining again in his chest plate. His loud voice destroyed the usual silence that pervaded the castle.

  Turning his gaze back into the documents and returning movement to the quill, Noct nodded. “Go ahead, High Commander.”

  Hailing the regent, Andras started, “The voluntary conscription efforts of your sister are going well. There are about two hundred more soldiers, adding to five with the old three hundred. Yet, their logistic state leaves a lot to be desired. I would request diverting some of the barony’s workshops to the production of armament and armours. We would need to renovate the barracks too or, at least, expand them, as we would need them to reach the...”

  “Rejected.”

  After waiting a few seconds for the reason, and only hearing the sounds of writing, Andras asked. “Could I ask for the reason, Regent?”

  Refiling the quill with ink, “Building up costs money. A resource we do not have the leeway to throw into a sinkhole like the military. Forget about fully equipping five hundred men with equipment and do not dare to remind me about Imperial Law. Three hundred are enough to secure protection for the baroness.” A small pause, “But, if you really insist, you may up the number to six hundred if those three hundred are volunteer militia. Until my decree changes, the blacksmiths are more useful in keeping our economy afloat.”

  Andras stopped his salute and his hands moved as if to make his point come across. “Still, regent, it’s been twenty years since we have sent troops to reinforce the republican front. We are obliged to send at least a thousand or our barony could be accused of light treason and insubordination towards the Imperial Crown! Our countess is planning to send hers after winter and I believe we should send ours with them!”

  “My word is final, High Commander. Stop worrying about it. It may be treason, yes, but our barony is not in a state in which it could afford to send or maintain a military force outside of its borders.” Noct frowned. “Nor will I send men to starve for a war that I have yet to know why it even started in the first place. They are my men and under my orders. I doubt they would dare to oppose me nor send an inspection.” He knew that too well.

  Andras looked back to the closed door, trying to gauge if anyone could be hearing before remembering the state of the castle. Rechecking the door to let his fears calm down, he shook his head and, tired of Noct’s disregard, walked towards his desk and put his hands on it. “Can I be frank with you, regent?”

  “Denied.”

  Andras clenched his fists, making grooves into the desk. Doubting his sanity for what he was about to say, he said it nonetheless. “I don’t know what mind games you are playing but…”

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  “I already said no. Get out.”

  Andras raised his voice. “I am not under your orders, but the baroness’!” Finally managing to make Noct gaze move from the desk, Andras breathed heavily to calm himself. “What I wanted to say, or ask, is that if you are sure you truly want to act like this, I heard you have fought yet again with the church, this time managing to get a declaration of enmity from them! And, while I do not approve of what you did in the main square, I don’t get the ‘why’. Are you isolating yourself from the last supporters you had willingly? Do you think you can get your sister to pardon you? For som….”

  Noct punched the wood desk, breaking a piece of it. Ink and papers scattered around him, together with the broken pieces of the quill, yet Noct’s voice was still calm.

  “High Commander, is a heartfelt chat what you wanted to request? Fine, you shall have it.” His green eyes pierce Andras with unbridled hate, yet his voice was still calm. ”I do not care how many enemies I make. The more they hate me, the more they will support the baroness. The more fall I take for this blasted netherhole of a barony is a bit more of security after my rule ends.” His voice gained emotion. “You have your job back. Your old glory. Your medals. Your prestige and respect serving under a better ruler than I could ever be. Focus on rebuilding the life I destroyed once.” His voice turned dark. “Or do I need to …”

  “Do not dare finish that sentence!” Roared Andras. Still, he saw something he didn’t like in Noct’s eyes after his outburst. Satisfaction. Sighing, he sat down on the chair. “Do not finish that sentence.” He whispered.

  Noct didn’t answer, instead fixing the mess he had made. His shadows recaptured the fled ink, his hands restructured the pile of papers he had had. Yet, once done, he didn’t pick a second quill and gazed again at Andras, who had been waiting in silence.

  “You know, Noct?” He whispered. Noct stopped moving. “I have been thinking a lot, and I mean a lot, these past years. And I realised I still owe you five lifetimes from the Sulare revolts. And you owe me two, and I am calling those debts now.” His hands grabbed each other, as if to stop themselves from acting on their nervousness. Nostalgia slipped into his voice. “We fought shoulder to shoulder for five years, old friend. In the winter forests, in the frozen plains, wherever duty called, we went. I trusted you with my life and you delivered every time. I did the same.”

  Raising his gaze from the ground, he stared at the poker face he had grown tired of seeing. The doubt had banished, and guilt remained, sprinkled with a bit of hope of better times. He dug inside him from the trust he had once forsaken.

  “It took me long enough to realise a simple truth. You never would have had the guts to harm my child. You were happy for me when I married. You celebrated with me and our comrades, despite everything. You were there when they died, supporting me on the worst day of my life.” Noct looked away from Andras earnest stare. “You fumbled that threat and I still bought it. I can’t believe that the worst liar of Alpin took me for a ride. If you had really intended to, you wouldn’t have talked. You do not warn. Never did. You simply do.”

  “If you value in any way the life you saved several times,” Andras maintained his stare, trying to will Noct into meeting his gaze. “Tell me. Answer me! Prove me I am right.” Silence fell, an unasked question screaming for an answer that everyone knew already.

  Noct’s eyes went back to the documents, some stained in black ink. He wanted to burn that unsightly reflection. He waited for so long to say anything that Andras almost raised out of his chair.

  “Do you remember when I first challenged you to a duel?” Noct’s words were different. No more poker face. No more cold tone. They were raw emotion. His hands trembled a bit. “Two months after the last baroness died. You already know why I did it. It wasn’t logical but, no matter how much proof there was, both my heart and my mind screamed.” Now he met Andras’ eyes. “I hated you for surviving that day. I always did.”

  Noct’s fingers stabbed into the desk. “How could I not? You, a rising captain, a Commander to be. The second best knight of our barony no, of the whole county, had to retreat from peasants? Could only hold and save the worthless servants of this damned castle? The second best knight let his Lieges, which he had swore to protect, die alone? And fighting against some of the guards that you helped train?” His laughter had no humour. It chilled Andras to the core. It was wrong. Yet Noct continued in a whisper. “í still remember the beating you gave me, even if you went very, very easy on me out of guilt. After all, how could a mere youngster beat a master?”

  His mumbling gained strength word by word. “The next year I spent training, with or without your lessons. Alone. Fueled by magic. The second duel was over in five strikes, and you mocked me with praise. The next two years I moulded myself with a strategy made to counter your style.” A snort cut his own speech. “That’s how I came to be, old friend. During those five years I fought with you, shoulder to shoulder. In training or in real combat, every second I saw you was a permanent reminder of your enormous skill. Skill that failed who you should have never failed. Yet, despite all my burning hate, I came to see you as useful.”

  Now in a normal volume, Noct continued as he got out of his chair. “Do you remember the revolts you just mentioned? The first and last time you hit me out of anger? Another revolt fomented by my advisors. New taxes that were implemented without my permission caused the locals to work with bandits. Some of our troops turned casualties, some of our friends. In my anger, I tried to burn the whole village with the army but your authority, you, stopped me. I still went by myself. I burned them all alive. You took it onto yourself to both punish me and teach me. You hoarded all the guilt and all of the consequences of my acts. Yet, I never understood why you did it.”

  Noct walked towards Andras until he was in front of him. “Too late to save them, yet you so arrogantly wanted to feel bad for them. To ease your conscience. To turn me better and maybe, maybe turn that horrible act into a moulding memory for me? To get, what, forgiveness from the dead? Yet you managed to stop me. Not one more village was burned down. Still, those bodies have rotted in the ground.

  Noct crouched in front of the seated Andras, who seemed ready to bolt out of his chair, so high was his current fight or flight response. “You were trying to make me a better man, Andras. Your folly, for a broken tool can’t be repaired. And not with thoughts and prayers out of all the choices you had. You never did betray me. Nonetheless, the night your drunk you told me you still regretted the death of your lieges, how you wished you could have done more, I struggled to not skewer you with my longsword.”

  Andras calmed down.

  “I am the tyrant regent of Alpin, High Commander. And I always was. You tried to change what was wrong from the inside out. You wasted all of your efforts on a monster that didn’t deserve them. What did all of that goodness you spent on me do, where did it go? And, once you turned useless, you have the gall to act surprised that I, of all people, bit your hand? Amusing.” Noct’s eyes shone an intense sick green on the stone faced Andras. “You were a sinkhole. The army was a sinkhole. But I could not simply dispose of you as a simple regent.”

  “And I had met your kid, Andras. He was one so weak, so fragile. Something bad could have happened to him, could still happen. This barony is, after all, very dangerous. I heard the ruler is ruthless.” Noct smiled. “Is this answer enough?”

  Andras nodded.

  Noct laughed. “And for you to believe me when I asked you to come back proves you are a tool.” Shaking his head, he got out of his crouching position. “Great. Now that you know I could do it, you may get out of my sight.” Returning to his chair, on which he turned around to the still calm Andras. “But, speaking about debts. You said you owe me five lifetimes, didn’t you?”

  “I did. And I do, my regent.”

  His smile turned into a smirk. “Seeing as you value those, I have an order to give to you.”

  “And what would that order be?”

  “A top priority order.” Noct sat back on his chair and grabbed a document. “As you know, there’s a person who poses a high danger to your Lady, Soral of the Ashen. They had a pending judgement and I know they are facing the death penalty. You are second to none in the whole north, so you shall make a good hunter. You can already guess whom I am talking about, right?”

  Andras nodded, squeezing the hilt of the old sword he had.

  “If they try to run away, deal with them.Their corpse may rot in a ditch for all you care. It is the best for the safety of your child, after all.”

  Saluting, Andras got up and left, leaving Noct to his work.

  Leaving the study, he walked for a few minutes before grimacing and resting on a will. ‘Old habits die hard, huh. He is still a terrible liar who just dodges the question.’ Sighing, he shook his head. ‘And he sucks at handling pressure, as always. His eyes always give him away.’ A few seconds he started to walk again.

  ‘May Elenia face the fire of the Nethers, I was right all along. It had been a bluff.’ Walking faster and faster, he shook his head a few times. His night had yet to be ended.

  …………..

  The first unofficial diet of the to-be baroness took place in the main garden of the castle. Soral sat in the head of the tea table together with Sorak, with a small retinue of paladins, and Andras, with a few knights.

  “The negotiations, if I can call them that, with the farmers went without a hitch. They were comfortable enough in their jobs already, but, with this new invention from, Albesto was it?, it was easy to nudge them to support me. His awful reputation with the countryside helped enormously.” Informed Soral as she let her tea go cold.

  “I have also repositioned all of the guards. There were a lot of fake employees too so I can say, with certainty, that the guard is on our side.” Soral’s poker face was perfect and she took care to not lie in front of Sorak. She, of course, knew that the number of guards was not fake, but only a third of them were people. “There’s the problem of the city itself. While the remaining independent guilds and merchants were quick to jump to my ship, most of the economy remains in the household guilds outside of my control. I will work on destroying their hold, but it will be time consuming. And costly. The end of that monopoly should, at least, breathe some life into the barony by helping the Merchant Guild start to invest into the barony.”

  Now taking a sip, she gazed at Sorak.

  Getting up from her chair, she bowed. “While most of the churches and cults have been depleted, I am working towards moving our faith towards your side. It has proven taxing and I see no progress but independent paladins and my retinue. The faithful, on the other hand, have been rallied and you can expect a good amount of loyal militia if the need arises. They will also support us any way they can.”

  Sorak nodded, unsurprised with the results. What Sorak lacked in political tinkering she had in charisma with the masses. She turned towards High Commander Andras, who had grabbed his cup and was staring at it, unmoving.

  “How is the new military going, High Commander Andras?” She asked after a few seconds.

  Surprised, he jumped a bit. “My apologies.” He coughed a bit, trying to rearrange his thoughts. “The majority of the old soldiers were working in the household guilds, unofficially at least. They had not the slightest knowledge of battle nor sword fighting. The majority should be officially sent to their hidden jobs, as they testified to be experienced in those fields. Only a fourth were found to be battle ready in some capacity.” He frowned. “They are fiercely loyal to the regent, as the majority were orphans, freed slaves or old homeless. What they lack in official training they have in guts. And they have it in spares. I honestly don’t know what to do with them. Keeping them long term would help the men at arms as a whole, but could divert its loyalty towards the regent. Kicking them out would weaken the barony but would cripple my ability to train new recruits, as I would lack trainers. What is your decision?”

  Soral smirked, “So only a fourth, a hundred of them, have been proved a danger? Keep them. They will either leave on their own or change their allegiances as my army trickles in. A one to six ratio will do, I doubt we would lose even if they have more experience. After all, hiring trainers from afar would be too costly.”

  “......”

  Soral, surprised at Andras' silence, asked. “Do you disagree with the plan, Andras?”

  Leaving the still full cup on the table, he nodded. “If I am being honest, my lady, training together with men that I could have to kill doesn’t sit right with me. And I still doubt the necessity of all of this planning, of these sessions behind the regent’s back. He has swore a sacrament to you. Isn’t it set in stone he will rescind control onto you? Is a coup really the only way you see as right?”

  Sorak opened her mouth to answer, but Soral stopped her with a raised hand. Sighing, she continued, “Andras, you know my brother. A liar and a disgrace to the memory of our parents, he has to have a plan under the surface. He did promise to rescind his power onto me, but not to fix the barony. Rescinding his regency is something he can do after setting fire to the city if his plans do not work out. And facing his proper punishment means duelling it out, of course. You should know that by heart.”

  Andras did not know what to make out of the poison in her words. They were indeed siblings.

  “Having reminded you of the danger of taking my brother lightly, I want to hear your ideas on how to proceed before saying mine.

  Andras found himself into another two hours of more planning

  ……………….

  Finally leaving the castle in the middle of the night, Andras was immersed in his thoughts. Did he really believe in his vain hopes? Could his old friend have turned a new leaf? He was seeing it daily, yet he still couldn’t believe it. There were things, a lot, he would never be able to forgive. Nevertheless, killing a man trying to fix what he had broken and one that was planning his own death out of hopelessness over being unable to become better? That he could not do. Nor was the move of making his sister do it a commendable one.

  He sighed for the last time tonight, he hoped. They had been through too much for him to betray him again, To leave him behind.

  Reaching the outer gate of the castle, he gazed by the bars towards the city. It looked better and healthier than ten years ago. The streets were now alight with torches and lamps, too. Nevertheless, it did have an oppressive atmosphere that was new. Both improved and worsened. ‘Ruling by fear indeed.’ Deep in his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear a young woman calling him.

  “Uhm, High Commander?” Asked a young woman with a fruit basket in her hands.

  “Yes, madam? What did you require from the castle?” Looking around, he tried to locate the guards before remembering the “rescheduling” they were suffering these days.

  “I just got out of my job and I wanted to give this gift to our regent but…there were no guards anywhere so, I don’t know if you could guide me or if I should give it to you?”

  Taking Andras by surprise, he inspected the woman. Seeing she was a bit terrified of the almost abandoned castle, he sighed inwardly.

  “I would have no problems escorting you, if you would follow me.” Not wanting to go see Noct alone, he decided to take the first option.

  “Thanks a lot!” Bowing a few times, and with admiration in her eyes at being guarded by a legend of the county, she followed him as he toured her around the castle.

  Not long into the tour, they realised it hadn’t been dusted in a good while. A few years give or take. Only the kitchen was in a good condition, thanks to its regular use, but there was little else that could say the same. The lack of all furniture didn’t help the somewhat scared woman with the ghostly aura of the castle.

  Having finally reached the office of Noct, Andras stifled a yaw and took that as his cue to go back to his own home. He had had a long day.

  “Here he is. You only need to knock and he will…” Looking back at her, and seeing the young lady start to have second thoughts and ready to go back with him, her face a bit pale, he knocked on the door himself.

  “Enter.”

  Opening the door, Andras entered first. Noct fumbled a few documents, almost tainted them with ink again. His gaze being turned into a glare, he was interrupted by the escorted before he could get a word out.

  “I wanted to give this to you as a thanks for saving me!” Putting a brave front, she walked forward with the basket. Her eyes darted around the study filled with books and shelves. Finally examining Noct and the desk, she was surprised by the amount of work both done and left to do.

  Noct frowned, recognition coming to his eyes. “There was no need. If anything, the current restructuring of my guards made them unable to maintain public order as it was needed. You were put in such a position. Gratitude is illogical.” Returning to his work, he made no effort to either get out of the chair nor grab the gift.

  Gaining more confidence at his calm demeanour, she pressed, stepping forward. “You saved my life. It’s the least I can do.”

  Now Noct tapped the deks a few times, trying to drive his point home. “I did not save you. I murdered three criminals that were assaulting someone. You were an excuse for my cruelty. Anyone else would have simply helped.”

  “But nobody did.” This time, the dark tone which cooled down the room didn’t come from Noct.

  With a now silent and unmoving Noct, with badly contained surprise and pity in his gaze, Andras intercepted, seeing this was going nowhere. “My regent. If she truly wants to repay you, why not hire her as a maid for the castle? I am sure your sister would appreciate the help, seeing as there are no more people in this castle.”

  “What?” Two voices rang out at the same time.

  Turning towards the one who he was escorting now, he continued. “While it may not be an easy job, you would have a room, food and a pay worthy of your efforts

  “Of course, it would not be an easy job, but you would have a room, food, and a worthy pay. Our Lord appreciates hard work after all.”

  “What are you…” Mumbled Noct.

  Now brimming with hope, the woman jumped to this golden opportunity. “I would be honoured to work here, if you would have me, of course!”

  Noct, who just wanted to finish his paperwork before midnight came, sighed. Did the baroness need servants? The Nethers did he know, but that would be the excuse. He was too tired to care, and she wouldn’t last a week. Surely. “Then you are hired to work under Soral. Come tomorrow morning and you will pick an empty room from the servant quarters. Anything more?”

  The woman shook her head and both of them turned to Andras, who was doing his best to not laugh.

  “Care to share with us the funny joke, High Commander?” Growled Noct

  Andras, who hadn’t dared to hope that the old habit of Noct of not thinking things through when he was tired being still there, had been pleasantly surprised. And the surprises had not stopped there. A willing employee who had proved that Noct still cared. Still, he did his best to stop laughing at the memory that had resurfaced. A tired and young Noct burning down his military tent at night because he had been cold and thought a fireball would warm him quickly.

  Noct rubbed his forehead. “Dismissed.”

  ………….