Chapter 23
The Road to Rose
The return to Bluestone was a homecoming to a place that now truly felt like his. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and baking bread, the sight of villagers waving as he passed—it all settled the resolve growing within him. In the quiet of his manor, Renly sat at his heavy oak desk, the household ledger open before him. Lyra had kept impeccable records.
The currency of Valeria was a tangible representation of its social strata. Commoners traded in shillings—rough iron discs—and copper coins, which were minted by various great nobles and the Merchant Alliance, their values fluctuating slightly based on origin. A loaf of bread cost a few shillings; a chicken, a copper or two. Silver coins, stamped with the Alliance's scales, were the currency of knights, merchants, and the well-to-do. A good sword might cost ten silvers; a warhorse, fifty. And then there was gold, coins so rarely minted and spent that they were almost mythical. A single gold coin, bearing the crest of a king or a great duke, was worth twenty to thirty silvers, a sum that could buy a small estate or fund a knight's retinue for a year.
Renly calculated his resources. The village taxes, paid in kind and a little silver, were for the village—for repairs, for the militia, for seed for the next harvest. His personal funds, from his Viscount's stipend and the sale of his own hunts, amounted to a meager seventeen silver coins and a handful of coppers. It was a respectable sum for a young lord, but a pittance for what he needed. An advanced cultivation manual at a legal auction? That could cost gold. Even a lesser combat skill on the black market would run into hundreds of silvers.
The path was clear. He had to go to where the money was: the County City of Rose.
He announced his plan to a small council of Elder Elron and the militia captains. "I will be journeying to Rose City for a month, perhaps a little more," he declared. "I'll take the pelts and rare herbs we've accumulated to sell. And I'll register with the Mercenary Guild. The coin will flow back to Bluestone for our granary expansion."
He put Bor, the grizzled veteran, in charge of the village's security, the now well-drilled militia of fifteen men a capable force for routine threats. He sent a swift rider to Viscount Corvan, informing him of his temporary absence—a formality, but a necessary one to maintain goodwill.
Three days later, as a pale dawn broke, they set out. Renly rode Aethon, a powerful warhorse with a trace of Swiftwind bloodline from the eastern plains, giving the beast a stamina and grace that made the journey smoother. Lyra and Will followed on sturdy mules, the luggage—bedrolls, tents, food, and the trade goods—strapped securely behind them. The official trade route wound south-east, a ribbon of packed earth leading out of the familiar forests of the Viscounty and into the rolling foothills that cradled the Rose Valley.
The first few days were a journey of changing landscapes and deepening bonds. They camped in clearings by chuckling streams, the nights filled with the crackle of their fire and Will's endless questions about knighthood and the world beyond the woods. Lyra proved to have a sharp eye for foraging, supplementing their rations with edible roots and berries. Renly, or the part of him that was Kaelen, found a strange peace in the simplicity of the road, a stark contrast to the complex pressures of both starship and lordship.
On the fourth day, the peace shattered.
They were navigating a narrow stretch of road flanked by rocky outcrops when six men emerged from the shadows, their faces scarred and their gear mismatched. Bandits.
"Well, what 'ave we 'ere?" their leader sneered, hefting a notched axe. "A fine horse, a pretty girl, and a lordling playing at travel. Make it easy on yourselves. Drop your purses and the girl, and you can keep your lives."
Renly didn't answer with words. He dismounted smoothly, his movements calm. "Lyra, Will, stay back."
The months of training, of blending Valerian drills with Kaelen's hyper-efficient biomechanics, took over. He didn't adopt a flamboyant knightly stance. He stood loose, balanced on the balls of his feet.
The first bandit lunged with a rusted sword. Renly didn't parry. He sidestepped, the movement minimal and precise, his own sword a blur as the flat of the blade smacked hard against the man's wrist. There was a sharp crack of bone, and a simultaneous, faint fizz of blue energy. The bandit screamed, dropping his sword, his entire arm convulsing from the stunning shock.
The second and third came at him together. Renly flowed between them. A low sweep of his foot, perfectly timed to the microsecond one bandit shifted his weight, sent the man tumbling. As the other swung a club, Renly caught the weapon's haft with his free hand. The moment his skin made contact, another controlled pulse of the Electric Surge coursed through the wood. The bandit shuddered violently, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed, unconscious.
The remaining three bandits froze, their bravado evaporating. They were used to bullying merchants and terrified farmers, not a man who moved like the wind and struck like lightning. The leader stared, his axe wavering.
Renly fixed him with a calm, unnerving gaze. "Leave. Now. Or the next shock stops your heart."
They didn't need telling twice. They scrambled to grab their stunned and groaning comrades and fled back into the rocks, their threat dissolving into the clatter of panicked footsteps.
Will was staring, his mouth agape with hero-worship. Lyra let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her hands trembling slightly. "My lord... that was..."
"Efficient," Renly finished for her, his voice even. He checked Aethon, who had stood steady through the chaos. "They were amateurs. But it proves the road is not safe. We stay vigilant."
The encounter was a validation. His unique approach to combat—the fusion of two worlds' knowledge—was effective. He wasn't just a Knight; he was something new.
The journey continued, the land gradually rising into forested mountains. They camped one last time on a high pass, huddled around a fire for warmth against the chilly altitude. The next morning, as they broke camp and rounded a final, towering bend in the road, they saw it.
Spread out in the vast valley below, embraced by a wide, glittering river, was the County City of Rose. Its walls were high and strong, crowned with banners. Within, a city of stone and timber climbed gentle hills, streets teeming with life even from this distance. At the city's heart, on the highest hill, stood the Count's castle, its pale stone towers catching the morning sun, a testament to the power, wealth, and opportunity that lay within. The end of their journey was in sight, and the true beginning of Renly's gambit was about to start.