Arvind took in a long breath, the weight of his situation pressing down on him as heavily as the stone walls he was meant to restore.
His father's "gift" of 1,000 gold coins felt more like a dismissal than a blessing. For a commoner, it might seem a small fortune, but for the heir to a barony, it was barely more than a taunt.
Cast out with limited resources, a handful of men, and just enough supplies to stave off starvation, he was expected to fail—or, at the very least, to struggle long enough to lose hope.
The math was unforgiving: a single gold coin could cover a knight's armor and sword or provision ten men for a month.
But to turn a crumbling castle into a true bastion of strength? That required an investment beyond his father's grudging allowance.
He could manage basic repairs, patching cracks in the outer wall, perhaps, but real fortifications were out of reach. Each cost weighed heavily in his mind, a reminder of the odds stacked against him.
Yet, as bitterness welled up, so did a surge of defiance. Arvind had lived a life before this, in a world that valued nurturing talent over testing it.
He was no stranger to hard work, no stranger to starting from nothing. This wasn't just a test—it was an opportunity. Let his father watch from afar; Arvind would prove that even scraps could be woven into something stronger than pride.
As he looked out over his barren land, a plan began to form. The wild forest at the edge of his territory held resources untapped by his father's dismissive gaze.
The hills and valleys offered wood, stone, and perhaps game. If he was frugal, if he worked with his people instead of ruling over them, there was potential here—potential his father had failed to see.
At his side stood Aldric, his lone intermediate knight, whose loyalty was unquestioned. Along with forty-nine apprentice knights and two craftsmen—a blacksmith and a carpenter—they represented all the military and technical support he had.
These men weren't seasoned veterans or master builders, but they were willing to follow him, and that mattered more than skill alone. The blacksmith's age-worn hands could still forge steel, and the carpenter's knowledge of structure would serve as the first bricks in the foundation of something greater.
His gaze shifted to the people who had chosen to follow him. Families from the villages, bearing only what they could carry—simple folk who hoped for more than what their villages offered.
Among them was an old man clutching a worn tool, a young mother carrying her child, a youth with the gleam of adventure in his eyes. Arvind felt their unspoken trust, their faith that he would not treat them as pawns or tools.
To them, he was more than a noble; he was a chance at a better life.
This was not just about building a stronghold; it was about creating a home. He would show them that loyalty was earned, not demanded. Each person would have a place in his domain, each given the respect that nobles so often withheld from their subjects.
They had left behind the only homes they knew, braving the uncertainties of the frontier, and Arvind would repay that faith with action, building a place where they would not just survive but prosper.
The land he stood on was more than just soil and stone. To him, it was a blank slate, one on which he could carve a legacy. His people, his knights, his craftsmen—they were the pieces of a foundation.
The alliances he would forge with other races, be they the calculated elves, the astute dwarves, the fiercely loyal orcs, or the secretive dragons, would shape the next chapters of his life.
The world stretched before him, a living mosaic of kingdoms, races, and unyielding landscapes. Each race—elves, dwarves, orcs, dragons—held complexities and depths that his father's kingdom scarcely recognized.
The elves, with their layers of politeness hiding deep-seated rivalries. The dwarves, with their trade networks and political finesse. The orcs, whose fierce loyalty echoed his own drive to create a home.
Even the dragons, who had survived by choosing isolation over dominion, reminded him of the strength found in restraint.
Arvind's resolve grew stronger. This was his test, his challenge. His father might have sent him to fail, but he would turn this forsaken land into a kingdom that no one could deny.
Not through wealth or titles, but by the strength of his people and the alliances he would build. He had been cast aside, but he would carve out a place where honor held meaning, where loyalty was rewarded, and where his people could stand proud.
Let his father keep his wealth and his scorn. Arvind would create something far greater than gold. His legacy would be built on the unwavering strength of those who had trusted him, those who saw in him a future worth fighting for.
And one day, even his father would see that he had built a realm beyond anything that idle wealth or empty power could destroy.
--
Anika hurried through the camp, her eyes scanning the bustling surroundings until they landed on Arvind, standing outside his tent, his gaze lost in the distance. She called softly, "My lord, dinner is ready."
Pulled from his reverie, Arvind glanced at her, a slight surprise flickering across his face as he realized how much time had passed. With a faint smile, He rubbed his aching neck, stiff from hours of standing. "Yes."
As they reached the fire, he noticed Aldric, his knight commander, and Faelan, his advisor, already seated. Aldric, as always, held himself with a rigid posture, his gaze steady but impersonal.
Their relationship was one of duty, not camaraderie—a divide that felt both daunting and distant to bridge.
Nearby, Faelan sat quietly, absorbed in a book even as he ate.
Arvind found a strange comfort in his presence, sensing the scholar's keen intellect behind his quiet demeanor. Perhaps, with time, Faelan would become the counsel Arvind lacked.
Dinner passed in muted conversation, the crackling fire casting shifting shadows over the small circle of followers, and beyond them, the hopeful faces of commoners who had chosen to journey with him.
Each bite tasted of mixed determination and quiet resilience, like the taste of unseasoned bread made all the richer by hunger.
As they finished, Anika reminded them to pack up, and Aldric's crisp orders spurred the camp into motion.
Arvind lingered a moment, watching, as his thoughts circled around his father's absence and his own uncertain path forward. Could he create something lasting here, bound by loyalty, not fear?
With a final glance toward the faces around him, he fell into step, the weight of his title tempered by the faint spark of purpose.