Following Knight Balf on horseback, Leon set out toward the villages of Lonka and Pleyton to recruit gravediggers. The crisp air carried the earthy scent of the woods as they rode, and Leon felt a mixture of urgency and apprehension about their mission.
As they approached Lonka, it unfolded before them as he had envisioned from previous conversations. Nestled close to the woods, the village exuded a serene, almost idyllic atmosphere. However, that tranquility was overshadowed by the overpowering stench from the tanneries, where leather workers toiled day and night. Leon wrinkled his nose, mentally noting to advise Liam to choose a location for his future home that was not downwind of these yards.
Pleyton was a stark contrast, bustling with life. Situated just off the main road, the village welcomed travelers with its lively stalls and a small trading post where horse-drawn carriages constantly arrived and departed, laden with goods. The air buzzed with the sounds of merchants haggling, children playing, and the clatter of hooves on cobblestones. Here, Balf's influence was felt strongly, and with his assistance, Leon managed to rally more than seventy laborers from both villages.
They sought out the old village official in Pleyton, a weathered man with a wise gaze, and Leon quickly arranged for him to head to the town with a deposit to order a significant number of coffins. It was a grim task, but essential.
As they rode back to Selva, the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow across the landscape. The journey was swift, and they arrived well before sunset, a welcome relief after a long day.
The following morning, the laborers arrived as promised, their spirits high despite the somber task ahead. They teamed up with the remaining villagers to start digging the cemetery in the remote woods, a task that required strength and cooperation. Leon glanced over at Brandon, still recuperating from his injuries. With time on his hands, he asked Olivia to gather a few villagers to help identify the deceased, using wooden signs to record their names in a simple, abbreviated form. They had no time to craft proper tombstones, but the makeshift markers would allow families to find their loved ones later.
With a surge of manpower, the work progressed at an impressive pace. In just three or four days, they managed to dig all the graves needed, the earth giving way under their relentless effort.
Over the next few days, the ordered wooden coffins began to arrive in batches, each one a stark reminder of the loss they mourned. Meanwhile, Brandon's health improved, and he could finally walk unaided. He even took the opportunity to explore his territory alongside Liam, regaining a sense of normalcy.
Seven days after their labor began, all the bodies were laid to rest according to family ties, a poignant farewell marked by both sorrow and respect. Knight Balf, having fulfilled his duty, bid farewell to Selva and rode off, leaving behind a community grappling with grief but also with newfound resolve.
As the laborers from Lonka and Pleyton received their wages from Leon and departed, a young man stationed at the windmill tower rushed over, his face taut with urgency. "The young men are back! They've finally returned!" he exclaimed.
On the dirt road winding through the countryside, Tucker, the village official, led a contingent of young militiamen. Clad in leather armor, chain mail, and iron helmets, they carried their spears with determination, hearts pounding with anxiety. They had received grim tidings from the officers at the border fortress but knew nothing of their families' fates. All they wanted was to reach home and ensure their loved ones were safe.
However, as they entered the village, an unsettling silence enveloped them, a stark contrast to the commotion they had expected. Instinctively, they quickened their pace, urgency fueling their strides. Soon they reached the village square, where they found a gathering of women and children, tears of joy spilling forth as they rushed toward their long-absent husbands and fathers.
Yet, amidst the joyful reunions, many young men and women wandered through the crowd, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear. They searched desperately for familiar faces, their hearts heavy with dread. Each glance and every shout was met with silence, a painful reminder of those who would not return. Their futile search left them more adrift, a stark reflection of the loss that had gripped their village.
The men's voices echoed through the village, calling out desperately into the silence, their panic growing with each unanswered cry. They shouted the names of their wives and children, their voices hoarse with fear and desperation, but as time passed, their calls turned into gut-wrenching sobs. The realization that no answer would come weighed heavily on them, and the names they once shouted now became choked cries of grief.
In the cemetery, the strong young men, who had once marched bravely into battle or defended their homes with pride, now stood helpless before the freshly dug graves of their loved ones. They covered their faces, unable to contain the flood of emotions that overtook them. The realization that they hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye, to hold their relatives one last time, cut deeply. The coffins, buried beneath the soil, offered a merciful distance from the ravaged bodies below. The earth itself seemed to provide a final, bittersweet kindness, sparing the men from the worst of the devastation.
But for many, this small mercy did little to soften the blow. They remained by the gravesides, rooted in place by the weight of their loss, weeping openly as the reality of their isolation set in. The grave markers, hastily carved, seemed all the more permanent, a symbol of lives that would never return.
Among them was Tucker, the village official, who knelt at the graves of his parents. After paying his final respects, he wiped the tears from his weathered face and stood to search for one more grave, the grave of his second son, Boris, the boy who had troubled him so deeply for years. But after searching in vain, Tucker grew restless.
With his eldest son by his side, Tucker approached the surviving women, his voice trembling as he inquired about Boris's fate. His question was met with hard stares—hateful, complicated glances from those who had endured so much. The silence that followed was thick with anger. Some of the women looked as if they would have spat at him if not for the respect his past actions had earned him. Tucker's heart sank, his worry turning into dread.
It wasn't until he found Brian, the village blacksmith, that Tucker finally learned the truth about Boris. Brian's voice was gruff but steady as he explained what had happened, his words hitting Tucker like a hammer to the chest. Boris had not only committed robbery, but he had abandoned his fellow villagers, even after learning of the disaster. Worse still, Boris had left his own elderly relatives to perish. Tucker's face paled as the weight of the revelation settled over him. His eyes, already dry from too much crying, could shed no more tears.
"How could I have given birth to such a heartless child?" Tucker whispered, his voice quivering with disbelief. His face, lined with years of worry, now seemed to age further before Brian's eyes.
The charge of robbery was painful enough, but the knowledge that Boris had knowingly left his grandparents to die shattered Tucker. His mind raced with questions. Had he really been so hard on his son? All those years of discipline, all those moments when he had tried to set Boris on the right path—was it all for nothing? Could his discipline have driven Boris to such cruelty? Tucker's hands trembled as he covered his face, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his sorrow.
Brian, though hardened by the years, felt a pang of sympathy for the broken man before him. He placed a comforting hand on Tucker's shoulder. "The new lord has decided to wait until all are present before passing judgment on Boris," Brian said gently. "But if you cannot bear it, you don't have to be there for the trial."
Tucker shook his head slowly, as if trying to shake off the terrible reality. "No," he murmured. "I must be there. No matter what... he is still my son." His voice was soft, filled with the quiet resignation of a father who had no choice but to witness the inevitable.
Meanwhile, in the townhouse that had been cleaned by the village children, Leon sat by the window, a quill in hand. From his vantage point, he saw Tucker emerge from Brian's house, walking in a daze as if the world had slipped away from him. Leon watched as Tucker's figure disappeared down the road, his footsteps heavy with the burden of fatherhood.
Leon had expected Tucker to come to him, to plead for Boris's life. After all, he was still a father. But the village official never came, and Leon allowed himself a sigh of relief. There would be no difficult conversation, no emotional bargaining. Boris's crimes were clear; robbery, betrayal, abandonment and the punishment would be just as clear. Publicly and privately, Boris's actions were punishable by death.
Still, Leon's mind was occupied with other matters. The trial of a village bully was only a small piece of the puzzle. His thoughts drifted to more pressing concerns as he dipped his quill into the ink jar, ready to begin his work. The quill was not the most comfortable tool to use, and every so often, he would have to stop and sharpen it with a knife, but it was all he had. In times like these, even simple stationery had become a luxury. Paper, while far from perfect, was at least more affordable than the outrageously expensive parchment.
Leon paused for a moment, watching the ink spread across the page as his thoughts took shape.
Grumbling inwardly about the rising costs of writing supplies, Leon picked up his pen and resumed scribbling a series of english characters across the rough brown paper. The foreign language he had inherited, Feru, was still too unfamiliar for him to fluently articulate legal provisions, so english was his fallback, for now. At least this way, he could organize his thoughts without struggling through translations.
"These notes are for my eyes only, anyway," he mused. There were few literate souls in the village, apart from Olivia and old Brian the blacksmith. Most villagers wouldn't understand a single symbol on the page.
As Leon scratched away at the paper, a soft knock echoed from the door.
"Brother, lunch is ready," came Lina's gentle voice.
"Bring it in," Leon answered, not even pausing as he continued to write.
Lina, ever dutiful, entered the room, carefully balancing a plate. She placed it on the table, her eyes drifting curiously toward Leon's mysterious writings.
"Are you writing something important?" she asked, her tone full of wonder as she gazed at the unfamiliar script.
"Just drafting some laws for the territory; well, at least trying to," Leon replied, setting down the pen and standing to stretch before heading to the table. "It might not be useful now, but one day, who knows?"
"Laws?" Lina repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion. The concept seemed distant, almost magical to her. The word carried a weight that she wasn't sure she fully grasped.
Leon smiled at her puzzlement. "It's a set of rules," he explained, "to tell people what they shouldn't do and what the consequences are if they do."
He washed his hands in a bucket of clear water, drying them carefully before starting his meal. Between bites, he continued to explain. "Right now, we don't have anything like this. Most villages around here don't. Behavior is controlled by tradition, passed down by word of mouth. It's the village elders and officials, like Tucker, who gather together and decide what's fair. If something serious happens, they send it to the local lord to judge. But how do lords decide?" Leon paused, raising an eyebrow. "That depends entirely on their mood that day."
Lina listened quietly, her eyes wide, though much of what he said seemed too abstract. For her and most villagers, rules were lived, not written. They were the invisible lines you learned not to cross, not something you put on paper.
Leon leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to reflect. In truth, he didn't have much formal understanding of the law either. He was no legal scholar. But the absence of structured, written rules in these lands unsettled him. Life here in Selva, Lonka, and Pleyton was governed by unspoken customs, fragile and prone to misinterpretation. If disputes arose, it was the whims of a few who dictated justice, and that bothered him.
"In the Kingdom of Orland," Leon mused aloud, "I don't even know if there are proper laws written down anywhere. But in the Kingdom of Serrian, they have priests traveling between villages and towns, spreading written teachings and laws, reminding people what's right and wrong. At least there, it's not all left up to one person's feelings."
He shook his head, acknowledging how far away those kinds of reforms were. "The laws I'm trying to write might not matter now," he admitted. "This territory is small; no one cares much about rules beyond basic customs. But someday, if this land grows, we'll need something better. If that day comes, I'll adapt these laws. Maybe take a page from the Serrians and modify what's already in place."
The conversation settled into silence as Leon finished his meal, his mind still racing with thoughts of the future.
---
The next morning came quickly, and with it, a heavy sense of responsibility. The villagers were still reeling from the grief of their losses, but Leon wasted no time. He sent word to every household, summoning the villagers to the central market square.
The stage was set with care. In the open space of the market, three high-backed chairs stood side by side, positioned deliberately to face the crowd. The chairs symbolized authority, and the sight of them drew the villagers' attention. Slowly, the people began to gather, their expressions somber, still clouded by yesterday's pain.
When most of the villagers had arrived, Leon emerged with his companions. He had donned his finest armor, polished and shining; not just for protection, but to make a statement. His footsteps were deliberate, echoing with purpose as he walked through the gathered crowd. Behind him, the two other officials also wore their armor, the metal glinting under the morning light, their faces set in dignified expressions.
The villagers, already subdued by grief, fell quiet as Leon and the others took their seats. The atmosphere was heavy with expectation, and the silent crowd waited to hear what would come next. Leon's heart beat steadily, but his mind was racing. Today wasn't just about Boris's trial or the recent tragedies; it was about laying down something new, a foundation for order in a world that often seemed lawless.
He cleared his throat, his eyes scanning the faces in the crowd, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. Today was not just a moment for justice; it was the beginning of a new chapter for this territory.
There was no other way around it. Without the armor, Leon and his companions would have looked too young to command respect, let alone maintain order among the villagers. They knew appearances mattered here, especially when addressing a crowd of men who had just returned from battle and grief.
Leon gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, feeling its weight as a reminder of the authority he now held. The murmurs among the gathered crowd began to die down, replaced by the rising anticipation of what was to come. He raised his voice, steady and firm, cutting through the silence.
"You may have heard rumors, but for those who do not know, let me make it clear," Leon declared, his voice carrying over the heads of the villagers. "I am Leon Pendragon. These two beside me are my companions, and we have been knighted by Lord Baron Elifer Farolis. We are your new lords. I expect you to remember my face and name, and not make any mistakes in the future."
The crowd stood still, absorbing his words. Though many had heard whispers of this new leadership, the returning young men, exhausted from the events of the past days, still found it hard to believe that this young man, barely older than themselves, was now their lord.
Leon gave them no time to react. He continued in a commanding tone, "I have gathered you all here today not just for introductions, but because we must pass judgment. There are matters that require us to decide the fate of a prisoner together."
He gestured toward the door of the village house, and at his signal, two young men appeared, dragging Boris out in front of the crowd. His hands were bound, and the proud, arrogant air he once carried as the village bully had all but vanished. Boris was pale, trembling like a cornered animal. His head hung low, eyes avoiding the crowd, knowing full well what awaited him.
Some of the young men in the crowd, still unaware of the full story, exchanged confused glances. Whispers rippled through the gathering as Boris stumbled forward, his steps weak and unsteady. When he reached the center of the square, he was violently forced to his knees by the two young men escorting him, their eyes burning with personal hatred.
Leon's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't ordered Boris to kneel, but he could see that these young men were venting their own anger. Boris had wronged them, and this was their small act of retribution. Leon considered stepping in but decided against it.
It didn't matter.
With a firm voice, Leon began, "Prisoner Boris, in front of all these witnesses, I, the Lord of Selva, accuse you of several crimes."
The crowd stood frozen, listening intently as Leon's voice echoed through the square.
"First," Leon continued, his gaze piercing, "you and your group ambushed and robbed me and my companions on the road."
A few gasps came from the crowd, but it was the next charge that caused the most reaction.
"Second, you committed burglary, using drugs to incapacitate your victims."
The tension in the air thickened. Faces in the crowd grew darker with every word Leon spoke, but it was the third accusation that truly set them ablaze.
"Third, and most grievous of all," Leon said, his voice rising, "you knew of an impending attack by the Kantardars, yet you concealed the warning. You let the massacre happen."
The moment those words left Leon's mouth, the crowd erupted. The young men who had lost their families, who had returned home only to bury their loved ones, were consumed with fury. Shouts rang out, curses flew from their lips, and several pushed through the crowd, intent on taking justice into their own hands.
Boris's face turned even paler, his lips trembling uncontrollably as the reality of his situation closed in around him. He looked like a man facing a death sentence; because he was.
"Quiet!" Leon's voice cut through the chaos like a sword. He slammed his gloved fist hard against the armrest of his chair, the sharp crack silencing the crowd for a brief moment.
Inwardly, Leon mused, 'So this is why judges and magistrates smash things during trials. It gets people's attention.' But outwardly, his face remained stern. He couldn't afford to let this trial devolve into chaos.
The villagers, stirred to the brink of violence by Leon's words, had believed every charge without so much as a shred of evidence. Their grief and anger made them ready to act on impulse. Leon knew they needed to see justice done properly, or the fragile order he was trying to establish could crumble before his eyes.
Several surviving young men rushed forward, trying to hold back the angriest villagers from breaking through. The air buzzed with tension, and it was clear that any moment things could spiral out of control.
Liam, standing beside Leon, understood their rage. He too felt the pain of loss, but they could not allow the trial to be interrupted by mob justice. Rising from his seat, he addressed the crowd, his voice booming over the shouts.
"Everyone, be quiet!!" Liam's command echoed with authority, and slowly, the crowd began to calm, though their anger still simmered beneath the surface.
Leon exhaled, relieved that the situation hadn't turned violent; yet. He knew this trial would test not only Boris's fate but his own ability to lead these people. To maintain order in such a fragile community, he had to prove that justice could be fair, even in a world where anger and grief so often tipped the scales.
The tall young man, Liam, gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and shouted at the crowd, his voice booming like thunder. The sheer force of it cut through the chaos, silencing the restless villagers instantly.
Leon, sitting beside Liam, jumped slightly at the volume. He hadn't expected the kid to have such an ear-splitting yell. 'Was Liam always this loud?' he wondered. It seemed the boy's voice had matured more than Leon had realized during the last few months. The transformation was striking.
But it worked. Liam's powerful shout jolted the angry villagers back to their senses. Even those who had been about to lunge at Boris suddenly remembered the authority of the three knights sitting before them. Despite their youthful faces, they were noblemen now; knights. And disrespecting them could easily cost someone their life.
The younger men in the crowd managed to push the enraged villager back into his place, restoring some semblance of order.
Seeing that the chaos had subsided, Leon straightened in his chair and resumed his duty with an air of calm authority. "The first charge," Leon began, his voice steady and clear, "is gang robbery. There are witnesses; Olivia, Hawke, Liam, Brandon, and many villagers, who saw you gathering accomplices that day. Now, Boris, do you have anything to say in your defense?"
Boris, still kneeling on the ground, looked up with wide, terrified eyes. His hands shook as he began to speak, though it was more of a pleading wail than a defense. "No! Don't kill me, Lord Leon! I was wrong, I know it! I was blinded by greed and jealousy that day; please, I didn't succeed in anything! Show me mercy, I beg you!" His voice cracked, his words tumbling out in panicked desperation.
Leon sighed, rubbing his temples. "I asked for a defense, not for you to beg for mercy," he said, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Boris wasn't making this any easier. "But fine, you're right about one thing; your crime was stopped by Olivia, so it'll be considered attempted robbery."
Leon moved on, his tone becoming more formal. "Now, for the second charge: You broke into a house at night and used drugs to incapacitate your victims in order to commit burglary, which was nearly successful. The incense burner, the drugs, and the dagger you used are all here as evidence. Considering the severity of this method, it's no different from forced robbery. Do you have any explanation?"
At this, murmurs spread through the crowd. Several village girls who had once innocently accepted gifts of incense from Boris paled as they pieced together the dark reality. The seemingly kind gestures had been a trap.
Boris remained silent, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came out. He stopped begging for mercy, his eyes darting from villager to villager, reading their expressions. Contempt and hatred stared back at him from every face.
Realization struck him like a blow. This trial wasn't about justice; it was about dragging him through the mud, humiliating him before his peers. They wanted to watch him squirm, to see him fall apart in front of everyone.
His fear quickly morphed into rage. He began to shake, his hands clenching into fists as the fire in his chest built to an uncontrollable fury. He staggered to his feet, his face red with anger, and screamed, "Hahaha! You think you're so noble, don't you? You three little bastards from Serrian, wearing your shiny armor, acting like you're better than me!"
Boris's voice grew louder, wild with madness. He glared at the crowd, his eyes bloodshot. "And you," he spat, "you lowly scum! It's a damn shame those Kantadar bastards didn't finish the job and kill every last one of you! Just wait. Wait for the day when death comes for you all. You think you're safe, but you're not. You'll all die! I'll be waiting for you in the afterlife. Hahaha!"
The villagers recoiled in horror. Even those who had been furious moments earlier now stared at Boris in shock and disgust. He was no longer pleading for his life; he had completely unraveled, screaming incoherent threats at the people he had once terrorized.
Leon watched Boris's breakdown with a weary sigh. He had hoped for some semblance of order, some thread of decency to hold onto during this trial. But clearly, that was too much to expect from a man like Boris.
"'So much for a fair trial'," Leon thought to himself, glancing at Liam and Brandon. "He doesn't want dignity; I'll have to give it to him myself."
With Boris raving like a madman, Leon knew the trial had reached its conclusion. He stood up from his chair, his voice cutting through the chaos once more, calm and steady. "Boris, you have proven yourself unfit to live among these people. Your crimes and your lack of remorse leave me no choice but to pass judgment."
The villagers, still shaken by Boris's outburst, held their breath. All eyes were on Leon.