The fiery curtain had long dissipated in the palace, but the king remained still, standing like a statue.
"Ahem... The prince is still so young and impulsive," said an elderly man standing to the king's right. He was the mage who had just supported the flaming curtain. In this kingdom, only someone of his status and experience could speak so casually beside the king.
"Alas, I owe him and his sister," the king sighed, folding his hands in gratitude toward the old mage. "Thank you for your trouble."
"It's no trouble at all," the old mage replied with a slight bow. "I'm too old to fight on the battlefield. Being able to serve you in this way brings me great satisfaction."
"Escort the grandmaster back to the mage tower," the king instructed the attendants.
"Yes, Your Majesty." One of the attendants stepped forward and helped the old mage away. In Garrel, every high-ranking mage apprentice who served the kingdom for a certain number of years would be rewarded with their own mage tower—a lifelong dream for many lower-ranking mages.
Once the old mage had left, the vast palace hall grew quiet again. Apart from the king's attendants and a few maids, he was left alone. "Sofia, this is all I can do," the king murmured. Despite being only forty, an age still considered prime, King Garrel looked haggard, his face etched with weariness. Sofia—the late queen, his true love, and the mother of Angelina and Kensel—was never far from his thoughts.
"The children have grown up," he reflected, recalling the moment when his son erupted in fury earlier. A swarm of soldiers had immediately surrounded Kensel, their swords pointed at the general. It was clear: his eldest son had gained complete control over the Lion Legion.
The Lion Legion was Garrel's elite force. To control it was to hold the reins of the kingdom's military power. The woman who had spent years maneuvering among nobles and finance ministers did so for one purpose: securing the throne for her son.
But what she failed to realize was that years of war had drained Garrel's economy dry. Only a handful of ancient noble families still had the resources to make meaningful contributions to her son's cause. The most valuable asset in the kingdom was now its battle-hardened army, and Kensel was one of its principal commanders. What could his youngest son possibly use to compete with his elder brother?
Even with an uncle who was one of the great lords of the Licia Alliance, it was still just one of many lords. After absorbing Shiloh's territories, Garrel had grown so powerful that not only that lord, but the entire Licia Alliance had to bow before it.
The king trusted Kensel's abilities and believed he could govern the kingdom well. His remaining years would be dedicated to clearing obstacles from Kensel's path. Late into the night, the king and his attendants retreated to his study, where he continued to work tirelessly. Garrel's rise was no accident—it had a diligent and wise king at its helm.
It was late autumn again, and Iron Mine Town was preparing for its annual Beer Festival. This festival, originating from the capital, had been celebrated for centuries as a way to mark the harvest and pray for good fortune in the coming year. Though not every year brought abundant yields, the festival persisted as a cherished tradition.
This year's festival felt as lackluster as the last. The town's mayor, Old Billy, remained confident in his leadership. At forty, he had been in charge for fifteen years, having inherited the position from his father. His early years had been smooth sailing, but in recent times, it felt as though centuries of family misfortune had suddenly come crashing down on him.
"War! Always war!" Old Billy grumbled as he walked through the town. Age had made him more prone to complaining, and the burdens of leadership had left him anything but composed.
"Haggett! Send your youngest boy to help at the square!" he shouted at a half-open shop door. A muffled reply came from inside, and Old Billy continued on his way.
"Mauritius! Are the beers ready?" he barked at the town's only tavern—a multipurpose establishment offering food, drink, and lodging.
The tavern owner, Mauritius, was a barrel-chested man with bushy red sideburns, a bulbous nose speckled with black spots, and an impressive belly. How he maintained such a physique with rising grain prices was a mystery even to Old Billy, who had lost significant weight himself.
"Mauritius! Are you ready or not?" Old Billy knocked his cane against the door.
"Coming, coming!" came Mauritius's gruff voice from within. Moments later, the hefty man emerged, carrying two large beer barrels with ease.
"Why so slow..." Old Billy muttered, displeased.
"Ah, good beer takes time, Mayor! I was watching over it in the cellar last night and must've dozed off," Mauritius said sheepishly.
"More like you drank yourself silly!" Old Billy scolded, thumping his cane against the ground. "Will these barrels be enough for tonight?"
"Plenty! Plenty! Two whole barrels!" Mauritius patted the massive containers reassuringly.
Seeing Old Billy's stern expression, Mauritius quickly excused himself and carried the barrels towards the town square.
As Mauritius disappeared into the distance, Old Billy muttered under his breath. If there were any other taverns in town, he wouldn't have to rely on this one!
The town was in a dire state. Most of its able-bodied men had been conscripted. Even the baron's draft age had been lowered from fourteen to thirteen last year, leaving only the elderly and a handful of others behind. The town's economy was hanging by a thread, and its food supply relied heavily on imports from the baron.
Sighing, Old Billy made his way to the tailor's shop. Beer alone wasn't enough for a proper festival—there needed to be performances too. Last month, he'd commissioned old tailor Mitt to make costumes for the performers. Hopefully, they were ready.
In Maple Leaf Village, families were already busy cleaning their homes and preparing for the festival. Though the Beer Festival was considered a minor holiday in Garrel, it was the grandest celebration in the Kyle Barony—an event said to have originated from the first Baron Kyle's love of beer.
Leah had been up early, helping her mother feed the livestock and gather rice stalks. The family's chickens were a recent addition, purchased using money sent home by her brother Cæsar, who had been promoted to squad leader the previous year.
The chickens were valuable assets, and Leah devoted much of her time to caring for them. Today, she carefully collected a basketful of eggs—over a week's worth, saved for selling at the festival market.
Old Locke, Leah's father, finally rose around ten in the morning. His body had been worn down by years of hard labor in the fields. After a brief exchange with his family, he headed out to check on the crops, aware that wild rodents were beginning to stockpile food for winter.
The fields were quiet except for the rustle of fallen leaves and the occasional scurrying of gray-furred rodents. Old Locke muttered curses as he inspected the damage caused by the pests, carefully re-covering exposed tubers with soil.
In younger days, he might have hunted the rodents down for a meal. But now, all he could do was drive them away with a few swings of his cane, hoping to protect what little remained of their harvest.