Chapter 519

Morning sunlight streamed through the dining hall's new stained-glass windows, catching the rising steam from a porcelain teapot. The table was set for four, laden with platters of crisped bacon, freshly baked bread, butter, and sharp cheese tarts.

Nick sat by the hearth, sipping a cup of dark tea. Across from him, Devon tore into a thick slice of bread and butter with a voracious appetite, clearly trying to make up for the past week of rations. Sonya sat beside her intended, cutting her apple into slices, composed and dressed in a new dress, as was proper for the future Lady of the House.

At the head of the table, Elena Crowley reviewed a ledger, a quill resting lightly between her fingers. She wore a new tailored gown of dark maroon, probably a gift from Sonya, given the similar cuts of their clothes, her hair pinned up in a practical bun.

“We’re almost there," she murmured, dipping her quill into an inkwell and drawing a line across the parchment. "The expenditures for refugee integration are finally stabilizing. We will have enough surplus in the granaries to sustain the town through the next year, provided the trade routes remain clear.”

She closed the ledger and set it aside, turning her sharp gaze on her sons. "How is the girl faring, Nicholas? The guards report she was back in the training yard at dawn.”

Nick set his teacup on the saucer. "She is struggling, but she is stubborn. The ritual has bound her channels tightly. The mana she draws now is sluggish, fighting her intent at every step. She’ll have to work hard to regain her previous strength, but it will serve her well when we can finally unchain her.”

"Good," Elena said flatly. "A bit of pain is preferable to a severed neck. If she’s anywhere near as good as I’ve heard, she shouldn’t have much trouble turning this into a learning experience.”

Devon swallowed his bite of bread and reached for a pitcher of water. "Arthur sent word to me yesterday evening. He offered to have me join their training. He said that if I plan to drag his granddaughter into the forest again, it would be best if I gained more experience with the level of enemies we might face there. Frankly, I think he just wants an excuse to beat me around the yard.”

Nick offered a faint smile. "You should accept. Grandmaster Xander taught you much about the path of the sword, but Arthur takes a wholly different approach to fighting that could be useful. I’ve seen him cut through even larger Wyverns than the one we met.”

"I intend to," Devon agreed, even if he looked a bit worried about what the training would entail. "Though I doubt I will have much time over the next few days.”

Elena hummed in assent, her expression brightening with a rare, genuine warmth. "You certainly will not. The scouts arrived two hours before sunrise and spotted the army banners crossing the northern hills.”

Devon froze, his glass of water halfway to his mouth. Sonya paused her knife against the apple.

“Father is back," he breathed.

"The army will reach the gates by late afternoon," Elena confirmed. "I have already instructed the quartermaster to release three dozen thunderhooves and a hundred casks of ale from the cellars. The town will feast tonight and tomorrow. Although Eugene might not have been able to participate in the Toneburg parade, we will welcome your father and his men as conquering heroes, as is proper.”

A soft purr interrupted the conversation.

Talbot hopped onto the empty chair beside Nick, settling into the velvet cushion as he began to groom his blue fur. His iridescent eyes locked onto Nick, who lowered his walls just enough to accept the thread of spiritual power.

They'd need time to adjust, and they barely had enough to confirm they could communicate without words now that Nick’s class had become more deeply connected to the ether.

A friend of yours has come, Young Master, the cat whispered into his mind. He’s hiding in an inn, keeping a low profile, but I detected traces of your power on him.

Nick frowned, sifting through the esoteric signature Talbot shared at his request. He recognized the mana's specific flavor instantly.

He pushed his chair back and stood. "I must excuse myself. I have a matter to attend to in town.”

Elena arched an eyebrow. "Today of all days? The streets will soon descend into chaos with the feast preparations.”

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"It will be a brief errand," Nick assured her, smoothing the front of his coat. "I will be back long before they get anywhere near the gates, so we can greet them together.”

He left the dining hall, retreating to his quarters just long enough to wash up and draw the Stillness from his spatial ring. He draped the cloak over his shoulders, feeding a sliver of intent into the artifact. The World's grip on him loosened, and his physical presence faded into the background hum of reality.

He walked out of the manor gates undetected.

As promised, Floria was vibrating with frantic energy. The main thoroughfares were choked with militiamen clearing carts and stray livestock from the cobblestones to make way for the returning column. Merchants strung garlands of wildflowers across the balconies, and the savory scent of roasting meat drifted from the central square, where earth mages had dug massive fire pits.

Nick moved across the rooftops above the throngs of people like a ghost, making no sound and drawing no attention. He let the subtle trace Talbot had provided guide him away from the wealthy merchant district and down into the newer alleys near the southern wall, where laborers were settling.

He stopped before a three-story timber building, its sign swinging above the door depicting a rusted horseshoe.

It was a cheap inn, catering to those seeking work who hadn’t yet secured more permanent accommodations and to adventurers who couldn't afford the nicer beds near the guildhalls.

Nick slipped past the crowded common room, up the stairs to the second floor. He paused outside the last room at the end of the narrow hall, where he heard boots pacing on the floorboards.

He pressed his palm flat against the wood, sent a pulse of kinetic force into the locking mechanism, and stepped inside.

A mix of nervousness and determination struck him, and he quickly deduced this was no social call.

A young man stood by the window, peering out at the street through a gap in the shutters.

Nick released the Stillness. The artifact returned to mundane fabric, and his presence settled back into the room.

Tim spun around, his hand diving into the pocket of his travel-stained coat to draw a wand.

His friend looked terrible. His skin was sallow, his eyes were ringed with dark shadows, and his normally neatly trimmed hair was a chaotic mess.

"You always had a terrible habit of working yourself up too much," Nick observed with a slight smile.

Tim let out a ragged breath and returned his wand to its resting place. He leaned back against the window frame, sliding down until his shoulders hit the wood. "Gods, Nick. I nearly put a blinding hex through your face.”

"You would have missed," Nick waved him off, walking forward and pulling out the single, rickety chair at the small table. "You look like a corpse dragged from the river. Why are you hiding in a copper-a-night inn instead of coming to the manor? We would have welcomed you with open arms.”

Tim rubbed his face with both hands. He paused, his fingers lingering on his cheeks. Slowly, he lowered his hands, his eyes widening as he finally registered something.

As a status mage specializing in stat modification, his senses were uniquely attuned to others’ power.

To make matters clearer, Nick didn't bother to employ [Sovereign’s Parsimony]. He let the unfathomable depth of his power hum openly in the room.

His friend gasped, grabbing the windowsill to keep his knees from buckling. He stared at Nick, his gaze drowning in the vast, bottomless ocean radiating from the young man seated so casually.

“Prestige," Tim whispered, the word carrying shock and relief. "You actually did it, you crazy bastard. I heard some rumors from the north, but... a boy our age. It seemed impossible.”

“You know I never liked following others’ expectations,” Nick replied calmly. "Sit down, Tim. Tell me why the heir to House Poules is hiding in my town.”

Tim moved to the edge of the straw-stuffed bed and collapsed onto it. He stared at his boots, his voice sharpening with desperation. "It is Candra. My stepmother.”

“Ah,” Nick sighed. Sir Poules had taken a new wife a few years earlier, a younger woman supposedly from a minor noble family in the south. Nick had met her only once. She was a striking woman with a disarming smile and a talent for polite conversation, and someone whose class was made to subvert others’ will.

He still remembered the feel of her oily attention on him, trying and failing to find purchase.

"What has she done?" he asked. He’d warned his father that trouble would come one day, but he hadn’t expected the woman to take the very first chance to do it.

"She is executing a coup," Tim said bitterly. "A bloodless, perfectly legal coup, given that she’s my father’s legal wife, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s escalated her offenses. When it was just the servants and a few of the loudest voices in town, it could have been swept under the rug, but she’s been turning too many people.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. Technically, a noble had the right to wield magic over their subjects, as long as they didn't inflict lasting harm without cause.

It could be argued that manipulating the brain was, in fact, that dangerous, but given that very high Charisma was known to have a similar effect, and that was the most prized stat among courtly nobles, it was unlikely anything would come of it.

"She started small enough, even after Father was gone,” Tim admitted, staring at the floorboards. "Enhancing the loyalty of the house servants. Ensuring the guard captains found her suggestions incredibly insightful. Then she moved on to the local magistrates in Oakenhollow. Suddenly, tax disputes favoring her family’s trading partners were resolved in hours. Land deeds were transferred. And I know my father won’t do anything about it.”

Tim swallowed hard, his voice cracking. "My father looks at her and sees the sun. He hangs on her every word. He thinks every decision he makes is his own, but I can see the truth. My class lets me do that much, even if I can’t fight it. A change has been wrought in his mind. I know she has inflated his devotion to her until it eclipses everything else.”

“And now that she has completed her takeover, she is targeting you," Nick concluded.

"She has to," Tim said, looking up. "I am the heir. I stand in the way of her securing Oakenhollow for her own bloodline. She has been subtly poisoning my father's perception of me, so I know that no matter what I say to him, it won’t make him see reason. But I can’t do nothing either.”

Nick leaned back in his chair. He could not simply ride into Oakenhollow and eliminate a noblewoman. If he killed the wife of a sworn vassal without undeniable public proof of her crimes, he would spark a rebellion within his father’s own ranks. Sir Poules, even without the Charm’s influence, would demand blood for her murder, and the man had proven himself in the northern campaign.

Of course, it would have been a different matter if Tim could have handled it on his own and presented it as fait accompli.

But given his miserable expression and the worn look of his clothes, he guessed something had happened to prevent that.

“Tell me everything,” he commanded.