Paul stifled a yawn, stretching his arms overhead. The morning sun filtered through the narrow windows of the castle, casting long shadows on the stone floor.
"Master Paul, I apologize for being so direct, but your behavior earlier is quite unbecoming for the heir of House Greyman," Butler Philip said, his voice a mix of concern and disapproval.
"Here we go again," Paul thought to himself. He straightened his posture, mentally bracing for another round of the butler's critiques. Since waking up that morning, Philip had scrutinized every little action—from the way he dressed to how he washed his face. The so-called "toothbrush" was a twig, and the "soap" was made from pig pancreas—purely organic, Philip insisted.
The priest who had visited him the night before had returned to check on his recovery and left with a grim nod.
Fragments of memories from the previous owner of his body flooded Paul's mind. He was the son of an earl, and many of his daily habits mirrored those of a spoiled noble, something he found both amusing and troubling. Fortunately, his body hadn't matured enough to act on any of the more reckless impulses that had plagued him in his previous life.
Tragically, his father had led an army against pirates just days before. The earl had thought it time for his son to see the realities of war, bringing him along. Yet, they fell into an ambush, and his father died heroically in the skirmish. Paul had suffered a blow to the head from a pirate's stone, leaving him unconscious.
Thanks to the knights and guards loyal to House Grayman, they managed to return to the castle with both the earl's body and Paul, who remained comatose. With the young master still out cold, the castle had no choice but to proceed with the earl's funeral in his absence. When Paul finally awakened, it had been a week since the tragedy.
Philip had taken it upon himself to help Paul regain his memories, recounting tales from their past and answering his questions, thus alleviating some of the burden of pretending to know everything.
"So, my father and I were ambushed by pirates, and he's... gone?" Paul asked, the weight of the revelation settling heavily in his chest.
"Yes, those wretched pirates! They must pay for their crimes! You must seek justice for your father!" Philip's voice trembled with emotion, and tears welled in his eyes.
Paul nodded, his resolve hardening. "Rest assured, we will avenge my father. I long to see those pirates brought to justice." The words felt hollow, but they were what was expected.
"Those pirates are emboldened by their victory, having ravaged nearby villages and towns in the absence of leadership. They are becoming increasingly brazen. We must act swiftly," Philip said.
"Will they dare come here?" Paul asked, a sense of dread creeping in.
"The knights have established defenses around Deepvein Town. We are safe for now, but we must take decisive action. I've informed the region's stewards of your awakening. They will arrive this afternoon to discuss our strategy."
"First, I wish to visit my father's grave," Paul said, a newfound determination in his voice.
Philip hesitated, concern etched on his face. "Your health is still fragile, young master. It may be best to wait."
"I need to pay my respects. Lead the way," Paul insisted, a flicker of defiance igniting within him.
…
Later that afternoon, the hall of the castle was filled with the stewards and knights of Deepvein Town. The atmosphere was heavy with grief following the earl's death. Sad faces reflected the loss of a respected leader.
Paul sat at the head of the table, anxiety gnawing at him. He had spent his previous life observing meetings like this, always a passive participant. Now, the eyes of seasoned warriors and stewards were upon him, and he felt painfully out of place.
"Ahem…" He cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the tense silence.
"Master Paul has recently recovered from a serious illness," Philip began, his voice authoritative. "Let us discuss how to confront the current crisis."
Murmurs of agreement filled the room, but the conversation quickly devolved into heated exchanges.
"I believe we must regroup and launch an offensive against the pirates! They've crossed a line by attacking our villages!" a burly man with a square jaw declared, rising to his feet.
"Agreed!" came the chorus of voices supporting him.
"It's risky to act now. The morale of our soldiers is low after the earl's death. We should seek assistance from our neighboring lords first," another voice countered.
Paul listened, feeling the tension rise as arguments erupted. He wanted to contribute but found himself at a loss for words, so he took a sip of water to mask his discomfort.
"Enough!" the square-jawed man shouted, regaining control. "We should hear from the young master. He is our rightful leader now."
A sneering voice piped up, "But he's just a child! What does he know of leadership?"
"Watch your tongue!" Zilian, one of the knights, barked, stepping forward. "Paul Grayman is the legitimate heir to this territory. Show some respect!"
The dissenting man recoiled, clearly intimidated by the knights' fierce loyalty to Paul.
"Let us not bicker amongst ourselves," Philip interjected, eyeing Paul. "What say you, young master?"
With newfound confidence, Paul straightened his back. "We must remain calm and united to face this challenge."
The room fell silent, and Paul felt the weight of their gazes. "Who are you?" he asked the square-jawed man.
"Bryce Alder, your Marshal," he replied, a hint of respect in his tone.
"How many soldiers do we have?"
"We have 263 capable fighters, including 15 knights and 20 retainers. There are also militia forces from the villages, adding up to around 300 men—though they lack formal training."
"Are our soldiers a standing army? Do they train year-round?" Paul asked.
"Not quite. They are primarily laborers. We train them monthly, but now they are assembled here because of the pirate threat."
"How many pirates are we facing?"
"Estimates suggest around 500. This is unprecedented. We may be outnumbered, but they've spread themselves thin by raiding villages. We could ambush them if we act wisely," Bryce suggested.
"How long can our supplies sustain us?" Paul pressed.
"We have enough food for now. Soldiers brought rations, and the town's stores are ample."
Paul's inquiries earned him nods of approval. Despite the initial skepticism, it seemed he was earning their respect. "I propose we expand our forces to match the pirates, train diligently for at least a month, and seek assistance from neighboring territories."
"Excellent suggestion!" he said, slapping the table, eager to assert his authority.
With no objections, discussions turned to the details of recruitment and strategy. Soon, they began to address the formalities of Paul's ascendance to leadership. As the discussions progressed, Paul grew more comfortable in his role. With each passing moment, he felt the weight of his father's legacy pressing down on him.
"In light of the recent instability, I declare we shall hold a military parade to bolster the morale of our forces," he announced, his voice steady.
Whispers of disbelief rippled through the room. "You're not even an official lord yet," someone muttered under their breath.
As the meeting wrapped up, Paul felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He had a chance to shape the future of this territory, and while the challenges ahead were daunting, he was determined to rise to the occasion.
"And so begins my journey as the heir of House Grayman," he thought, a spark igniting within him. "Let's see what this world truly has to offer."