"Impossible? Why do you think it's impossible just because that boy is two years younger than our daughter? If she truly likes him, she won't care about that." The Baroness spoke with confidence.
"But Ribo Haide isn't here to court anyone. He's just attending the ball in place of his uncle, Eckert Haide. Look, if he had any romantic intentions, he'd already be downstairs dancing with our daughter," the Baron replied.
"How much do you really know about Sir Kayviel Egret Haide?" the Baroness inquired.
"Not much," the Baron admitted. "I've only heard his name in passing. He was a skilled diplomat and played a significant role in the post-Bires War negotiations. He's well-connected with the Church—his title was actually recommended by the current High Priest. Apparently, he's also close with the Pope in Eyrie." The Baron meticulously recounted everything he knew.
"Well, that's not bad at all," the Baroness remarked, her tone light but her words deliberate. "His family would be a perfect match for ours."
The Baron was momentarily stunned. Leaning close to his wife's ear, he whispered, "My dear, are you serious? You truly intend to marry our daughter to a boy who's two or three years younger than she is?"
"And why not?" the Baroness countered. "The difference isn't that great. Remember, King Francois III married his cousin, who was five years older than him. Even King Francois XI's second wife was older than he was. Besides, I don't want our daughter to suffer the same heartache I did. When I married you, I defied my father's wishes to marry a man with no power or influence. Until the day he died, I believed he hadn't forgiven me, and I never saw him again. I don't know if, over the lonely years, my father forgot his anger, but I do know he regretted missing my wedding, and he waited, hoping I would return home."
Her voice faltered with emotion as she recounted her past.
The Baron stood in stunned silence, listening to his wife's heartfelt confession. After a long pause, he gently tried to comfort her. "It's all right, my dear, it's all right. Don't dwell on these things anymore. I'll listen to you. I want our daughter to be happy, just like I was with you. If she loves someone two or three years younger, then so be it. After all, women live longer than men anyway—at least she won't have to suffer through loneliness."
"What if we invite him to the dinner three days from now?" the Baroness suggested. "It would give them more time to interact privately. Tonight, there are just too many distractions, and our daughter is surrounded by guests."
"You don't need to remind me. I've already decided to invite him. Even if he's not the perfect match for our daughter, Ribo Haide is an interesting and engaging guest in his own right," the Baron replied.
"Then it's settled," the Baroness said, smiling with satisfaction.
Meanwhile, Ribo remained blissfully unaware of these discussions as he stood gazing out of the window, bored and lost in thought. The town of Pitten was a far cry from the bustling cities of Laire and Southport. Though it had a larger population, most of its inhabitants were farmers, scraping by with just enough to live on. They would raise a sheep or two, only selling or slaughtering them during festivals as a rare treat.
Pitten had no vibrant commercial districts, nor were there any notable landmarks. To the south of the town lay a vast forest, one of the largest in southern France, stretching all the way to Sersburg. This dense woodland had long stunted the region's development.
Pitten's residents had originally been forcibly relocated by Francois V hundreds of years earlier. The ambitious king had wanted to transform the fertile lands of southern France into a major agricultural hub, leading to the establishment of Sersburg, Pitten, and Bart counties.
Sersburg was the administrative center of the southern territories, while Pitten was intended to be the kingdom's granary. Initially, Bart County hadn't even been planned. However, the vast forest between Pitten and Sersburg provided perfect hiding spots for farmers and bandits. Thus, Francois V had a quarter of the forest declared a separate county—Bart.
Bart was the poorest county in France, home to just one city—Bart itself—situated deep in the forest. Despite its small population of just over 7,000, the people there claimed to live contented, peaceful lives, having relocated multiple times to avoid the hustle and bustle of the world.
Nevertheless, Bart still fulfilled its ancient duties, patrolling the forest, keeping the roads open, and capturing thieves who tried to hide there.
In Francois V's time, Laire and Southport were insignificant, barren lands, while Pitten was the most prosperous city in the south, boasting vast farmlands, numerous estates, and ample supplies of grain, livestock, and horses. Fearing that Pitten might secede or be captured by a neighboring kingdom, Francois V prohibited the construction of defensive walls around the city, instead building a fortress further south—Laire.
Originally designed to house 20,000 soldiers and withstand a year-long siege, Laire was a formidable military stronghold. But after the assassination of Francois V by an unknown assassin, his grand plans—including a 500,000-strong army, a cavalry force of 100,000, and a massive navy—were abandoned. Pitten's strategic importance waned, and over the centuries, it became a forgotten place.
The military fortress of Laire, abandoned by the crown, became home to destitute freemen for 200 years. Eventually, Laire grew into a city, though its only trade was with Pitten. These unequal exchanges were bitterly resented by the people of Laire, but they had no other choice. For years, the arrogant merchants of Pitten exploited the inhabitants of Laire.
But the people of Laire and Southport had not forgotten the kindness of the Pitten merchants. After years of struggle and sacrifice, they finally secured a sea route to Westbay and Eyrie, establishing trade networks that spanned the southern seas. The construction of Southport alone took over a century, but in the end, Laire and Southport thrived, thanks to maritime commerce.
Their newfound wealth did not extend to Pitten. The people of Laire and Southport happily shared their prosperity with Sersburg and even the remote town of Bart, but they would not forget how Pitten had once taken advantage of them. Gradually, Pitten, once the wealthiest and most prosperous county in the south, fell into decline. Its wealthiest citizens fled to Laire or Southport, and trade caravans bypassed the town altogether.
Pitten's once-renowned wool was no match for the fine silks imported from Southport. Traders preferred to travel the extra hundred miles to the port city, where greater profits awaited. Without the wool and cotton trade, Pitten's economy collapsed. Its once-thriving textile industry disappeared, and its skilled workers left for more promising cities. The finest Pitten sheep, once prized for their wool, now ended up on dinner plates. Cotton fields overgrew with weeds, and the once-thriving city became a shadow of its former self.
Ribo gazed out at this desolate scene, lost in thought. None of what he saw had come from books. No historian had ever bothered to document the small, forgotten history of the south. In the eyes of scholars, the centuries of struggle by these wanderers paled in comparison to political treaties or declarations of peace. But to Ribo, this was living history—one that bore witness to the rise of two cities and the fall of another.
As Ribo stood by the window, deep in contemplation, the sky grew darker. He barely noticed the passage of time until he heard footsteps outside the room. Instinctively, he moved to a corner, hiding in the shadows as he had been taught by Kaeler.
The door creaked open, and a bright candlelight flooded the room, momentarily blinding Ribo. He squinted, using the technique Kaeler had taught him to adjust to the sudden light. Closing his eyes, Kaeler had once said, was the worst option—it left you vulnerable to a quick death by a single dagger thrust. Squinting allowed you to at least perceive the direction of danger.
To his surprise, the one holding the candle was none other than the beautiful daughter of Baron Lonna.
"Mr. Ribo Haide, I've brought you a candle. May I sit down? I hope I'm not disturbing your rest?" she asked.
"No, no, this is your home. I'm the one intruding," Ribo replied.
"Well, Ribo... may I call you Ribo?" she asked, her eyes studying his reaction.
"It would be an honor," he replied with a polite smile.