Leon stood before the gathered villagers, his expression steady as he recounted the events leading to the recent tragedy. He spoke clearly, ensuring that everyone understood the cause of the incident and the timeline of the lord's army's arrival.
"Now, does anyone wish to speak on behalf of Boris?" he called out, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. He scanned the sea of faces, but all he saw was the back of Boris's father, sorrowfully turning away, unable to bear the sight.
The villagers erupted with shouts of anger and revenge. "Hang him!" "Beat him to death!" Their cries filled the air, drowning out any notion of defense. It was clear that the villagers' hatred for Boris, their former bully, was palpable in the current climate of grief and fury.
Leon took a deep breath, considering the situation. In a proper trial back in his previous life, mere speculation wouldn't be enough to convict someone of such grave charges as harboring terrorists or treason. The defendant could easily claim fear for his own life and insist that he hadn't realized the urgency to warn the village. They could even argue that fleeing to town to inform the lord afterward was an act of self-preservation.
But in this time and place, no one seemed inclined to engage in such legal formalities. Leon couldn't help but reflect on the necessity of lawyers and advocates in any legal system. Even the worst criminals deserved a chance to defend themselves, a way to delineate right from wrong. But here, in this primitive environment, with emotions running high, he sensed they had devolved to the brutal simplicity of a tea-hall judgment.
"Given that Boris has confessed to his crimes and shown no remorse, the evidence of the two robberies is clear, and the charges are proven," Leon declared, his tone firm. "However, for the charges of treason and aiding the enemy, the evidence remains insufficient. Therefore, no sentence will be imposed for those."
He noticed some villagers shifting uneasily, grappling with the nuances of justice, but he pressed on. He waved to a young servant nearby, instructing him to fetch the rough paper booklet, ink, and pen he had prepared in advance.
"I hereby make the following judgment," Leon continued, his voice unwavering. "In accordance with the precedents established in this territory, Boris is sentenced to be hanged for multiple robberies, effective immediately. His personal belongings will be confiscated and allocated to support the village children who have lost their parents."
With that, he quickly noted today's date, December 9, 672 in the Orland calendar, along with Boris's name, the crimes, and the sentence. The scribbles were a mix of urgency and precision; he was aware that the previous owner of the "Feru" script would still recognize the basic manor court procedures.
'It's unfortunate the heraldry seal I requested from Lord Balf hasn't arrived yet,' he thought, glancing at the empty space where the stamp would eventually sit. 'It'll have to be added later.'
With the first trial concluded, if only symbolically, he designated the document as the first official record of his territory. He signaled to the young men, instructing them to take Boris away, ensuring the man would await execution amid the villagers' jeers.
Once Boris was led away, Leon turned his attention to another matter. "I need to address the situation regarding the captured knight," he announced to the returning young men. "Though the survivors voted to exchange him for ransom, since you were not here, you still hold the right to decide his fate. Whether to execute him or to seek a ransom, I will defer to the collective opinion of the majority."
The tension in the air shifted slightly as the villagers absorbed the weight of his words. Leon could feel their gazes upon him, filled with a mix of anger, hope, and the fragile threads of justice they were grasping for in a time of turmoil.
"You have until tomorrow to inform Brian the Blacksmith of your decision," Leon announced firmly, "and the final tally will be completed by sunset."
With that, Leon stood and left the gathering, his thoughts already shifting elsewhere. Whether the villagers opted to ransom the knight or take his life mattered little to him at this point. His focus had shifted to more pressing concerns, the whereabouts of Liam's sister. There had been some promising leads recently, but nothing concrete yet.
Despite Liam's outward calm, Leon could see the weight of anxiety his friend carried each day. It was clear that finding his sister was gnawing at him. Leon intended to wait for Brandon to heal fully before setting out for the western port of Kantadar, where they hoped to contact the Falcon family for information. However, the journey would not be easy. The two kingdoms were at war, and crossing the border unnoticed, especially with military confrontations at play, would be no simple feat.
According to the prisoner's information, they would have to traverse half of the Kingdom of Kantadar to reach the coastal port. While Brandon spoke Uriah fluently, both Leon and Liam struggled despite their daily lessons. Learning a foreign tongue in such a short span of time was challenging, especially one as intricate as Uriah. Posing as locals would be risky, and Leon doubted they could pull it off convincingly.
With the execution of Boris no longer holding their interest, the three companions returned to the house. Once home, Leon carefully stored away the first official document of the territory; an important milestone for Selva. Then, they called for the servants to help them remove their armor, the weight of which had become a constant reminder of the roles they now had to play.
As the clinks of metal ceased and the last pieces of armor were set aside, Leon felt the tension in his body ease. But just as he prepared to resume his daily Uriah lessons with Brandon, a servant entered, informing him that someone was waiting outside to see him.
Leon descended to the now-cleaned and empty lobby on the first floor, settling into the high-backed chair that had been brought back from the village square. He nodded for the visitor to be shown in.
Tucker entered the room with slow, deliberate steps, kneeling respectfully on one knee as soon as he approached Leon. He removed his hat and bowed his head low, his posture formal and laden with the weight of what he was about to ask.
"Your Excellency Leon," Tucker began, his voice humble, "I have come to resign from my position as village official, and I ask for your permission to leave Selva with my eldest son."
Leon remained composed, though inwardly he was curious. In Orland, even free men couldn't leave their land without the permission of their lord. His gaze remained steady as he asked, "Do you disagree with my judgment?"
Tucker shook his head quickly, keeping his eyes downcast. "I wouldn't dare, Your Excellency. In truth, your judgment was far more fair and merciful than I had expected. But… my parents were taken from me in such a terrible way, and now my son has brought shame upon our family. I can no longer bear to live here. My eldest son and I, we have no face left among our people. Every time I close my eyes, all I see are nightmares of what has happened."
His voice trembled slightly, and the sadness was clear in his words. Tucker wasn't just mourning his parents' deaths, but the life he had once known. He had to think of his eldest son too; staying in Selva meant they would likely face scorn and isolation from their fellow villagers. The stigma of Boris's actions would follow them everywhere.
Leon leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly. He understood Tucker's pain, but there was a truth that had to be spoken. "I won't mince words with you," Leon said, his voice calm but firm. "There's a saying in my homeland: 'If a child is not well raised, it is the fault of the parents.' You've earned respect in this village, yes, but you cannot escape the responsibility for the way Boris turned out."
Tucker remained silent, his head bowed in quiet acknowledgment of the harsh reality.
Leon continued, "Here's what we'll do. I'll grant your request to leave the territory. But, as punishment for your failure to raise your second son properly, and as a migration tax, you won't be able to sell your house. The value of the sale will be used to provide relief to the widows of the victims."
Tucker nodded, accepting the terms without protest. Leon could see the man's shoulders slump slightly, the weight of his grief and responsibility heavy upon him. Leon had no intention of keeping Tucker on as village official, so the resignation wasn't unexpected. It was a mutual understanding.
As for the loss of two more able-bodied men in a village already short on labor, Leon didn't concern himself too much. The population of Selva had been reduced drastically, but the territory had more than enough land. Eventually, new families would come, seeking refuge or opportunity, and the community would grow again.
Leon's mind had already moved on to the next issue. He had someone in mind for the position of village official, someone who could better handle the responsibilities in the wake of recent events.
Nodding once more at Tucker, Leon dismissed him. "You're free to go. I'll have the arrangements made."
As Tucker left, Leon reflected on the delicate balance of leadership. It wasn't just about judgment and punishment, but about understanding the struggles of those under his care. He was learning that ruling a territory was as much about empathy as it was about strength. And for the first time, he felt the weight of that truth fully settling on his shoulders.
As a free man and a respected elder in the village, Brian the Blacksmith was a natural choice to help organize the villagers. Not only was he skilled at his trade, but he could also read and write, a rarity in these parts, making him invaluable for handling records and communications.
Time passed quickly, and by the next evening, Brian arrived at Leon's residence with the results of the villagers' votes. He handed the young lord the tally, his expression steady yet thoughtful.
"One hundred and thirty votes to nine," Brian said. "Even after a re-vote, most villagers, after some hesitation, have chosen the ransom."
Leon scanned the numbers, noting the overwhelming majority. "Everyone participated?" he asked, his gaze briefly lifting from the parchment.
"All except Tucker and his son," Brian confirmed.
Leon set the papers aside, already aware of Tucker's decision. "Tuckerr has resigned from his position and requested to leave Selva. There's no need to worry about him. Even if we collect the ransom, it won't be shared with them."
Brian gave a slow nod, his mind working through the implications. Before he could respond, Leon continued, shifting to a more personal matter.
"Uncle Brian, I want to appoint you as the new village official," Leon said, his tone both respectful and firm. "I trust you to lead the villagers and get them back to work. The winter crops are crucial, and I need someone with experience to make sure next year's harvest isn't a failure."
The old blacksmith blinked, momentarily taken aback. He hadn't expected such an offer, especially not so soon. He had been considering leaving the village himself, but this offer would complicate things. Still, he understood the weight of Leon's request.
He sighed, realizing that his plans would have to wait. "Well then," Brian muttered to himself, "perhaps Selva won't face another disaster so soon. I'll stay, at least for now, and see this through."
He mulled over the decision, thinking of Olivia and how these young lords had already offered her their protection. That fact alone gave him more reason to stay, at least until the time was right to reconsider his departure.
Before Brian could fully process his thoughts, Leon spoke again, breaking through his contemplation. "By the way, do you know of any reliable messengers who could safely deliver a letter to the south of Kantadar?" Leon asked, his voice casual but laced with urgency.
He had prisoners of war to deal with, and in a world without modern communication, even something as simple as sending a ransom demand required a skilled messenger. It wasn't like back on Earth; no quick calls or emails to handle the situation. They needed someone capable of carrying a letter through war-torn lands to the captive knight's family, who resided far to the southeast.
Leon knew the risks. Even if they managed to send the letter, there was no telling how long it would take for the ransom to arrive; if it arrived at all. As Brandon had mentioned, many captured nobles were executed simply because their families couldn't send the money in time.
Mammur, the knight in question, often resided in the northern regions of Kantadar, but his actual estate was far to the southeast, deep in the heart of the enemy kingdom. The sheer distance was daunting, and with war raging on both borders, it was a perilous journey.
Leon didn't expect much from Brian on this front. After all, the old blacksmith had spent most of his life in Selva and rarely ventured beyond its borders. But to his surprise, Brian had an answer ready.
"There are messengers in the Baron's town," Brian began, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "But with the war in the east, it's risky. Many have fled to places like Selva, and I doubt you'll find any willing to take on this commission until the fighting dies down."
He paused, then added, "However, you might have better luck if you send someone westward, to the county of Buneros in Farayer's territory. There's a thriving commercial city there. The Chamber of Commerce has its own messengers who might accept the job, though with the distance and danger involved, the price will be steep."
Leon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "The west? But isn't there a war raging on that side too?"
Brian nodded but gave a surprising response. "Yes, there is, but despite the conflict, the west is still trading with Kantadar. If you need a message delivered, that might be your best bet."
Leon leaned back, considering Brian's words. It wasn't the answer he expected, but it made sense. In a world at war, commerce often found a way to continue, even across enemy lines. The Chamber of Commerce would likely be able to navigate those risks, for the right price.
"Thank you, Uncle Brian," Leon said, nodding. "I'll take that into consideration."
As Brian left, Leon's mind churned with the many pieces of the puzzle he was trying to fit together. There were larger plans at play, ransom negotiations, securing the village's future, and of course, finding Liam's sister. Every step had its risks, but with the right moves, Leon knew they could navigate through the challenges ahead.
"Wait, what?" Leon furrowed his brow, utterly confused. He recalled the battlefield they had stumbled upon before entering the Nightmare Forest; a scene of carnage between the armies of Orland and Kantadar on the border of Mamor. Blood had soaked the ground, and the violence had been brutal, with no sign of peace in sight. How could these same nations still be doing business in another part of the world?
"How can they be killing each other here, but trading over there?" Leon asked, bewildered.
Brian stroked his beard thoughtfully, his face a mix of caution and insight. "No wonder you find it strange. The reasons are complicated, and they have deep roots in the history of Orlando. The Western Trade Route is critical, especially for Falayer and Greater Wester. As long as His Majesty the King hasn't mobilized the Duke of Wester, the West won't take the initiative to go to war with the Kantadars."
Leon listened closely, intrigued by the old blacksmith's unexpected depth of knowledge.
"In fact," Brian continued, lowering his voice slightly, "I believe General Trosa's recent campaign south might have been more about following the king's orders to pressure Kantadar than seeking a full-scale war. We don't truly want conflict with them. After all, they managed to breach the thousand-year-old holy city of Rolandar in Serrian, something no one thought possible." He paused, realizing he may have said too much, and beads of sweat formed on his brow.
Leon, catching Brian's hesitation, smiled and said, "Uncle Brian, you seem to know quite a bit about these matters."
The old blacksmith's lips twitched, and he let out a self-deprecating chuckle, bowing his head slightly. "Oh, I've just picked up bits and pieces from merchants passing through over the years. When I was younger, I had my share of ambitions, even served in the army for a time. But an injury sent me back home before I could make a name for myself." He gestured to his leg with a rueful smile. "I'm not as accomplished as you young men."
Leon didn't press him further, but he could tell there was more to Brian's story than the blacksmith was letting on. Instead, he shifted the conversation back to the practical matters at hand. "So, which city in Buneros County is still trading? Do you know how to get there?"
Brian hesitated, then said, "Well, I've never been that far myself, but I've heard if you follow the road to the town, then take the main route west, you should reach it. It's supposed to be a bustling trade city."
Leon nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, once the prisoner finishes writing the ransom letter, I'll head to Buneros County myself and see if we can make contact."
As the old blacksmith excused himself and left, Leon leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. His mind churned with questions. 'How does an ordinary blacksmith who's been in Selva for years know so much about geography and politics?'
He thought back to Brian's hurried words from earlier, and how carefully he had chosen them. Something wasn't adding up. And then there was Olivia, her own background seemed equally mysterious. Leon couldn't help but feel that these two were more than they appeared.
'But does it matter right now?' he mused. They had lived quietly in Selva for years, and if it hadn't been for the invasion by the Kantadar army, Brian and Olivia might have continued their peaceful lives here, their secrets buried in the quiet corners of the village. Leon decided not to push further, at least for now. Some mysteries were best left alone, and in time, he figured the truth would reveal itself.
For now, he had more pressing concerns.
'No fighting on the border of Buneros County?' Leon's heart raced with sudden excitement. If the region was still trading, did that mean he and his companions could enter Kantadar through the trade route? It seemed like a perfect opportunity.
Unable to contain his excitement, Leon jumped up from his seat, eager to share the news with Liam. If they could get into Kantadar through the western trade route, it would bring them one step closer to finding Liam's sister. It was time to interrogate the prisoner again and get more information about the Falcon family in Western Port.
His thoughts focused now, Leon felt a surge of determination. Liam's sister, that kind girl, was out there somewhere, and as long as she was still alive, Leon promised himself they would find her; no matter the cost.