The Way of KnightChapter 13 – The Marquis' Invitation
That night, the skies of Luminaria glittered with stars, but the atmosphere inside the Eisenwald residence was heavy. The sealed letter bearing the golden lion of Marquis Helbrecht lay on the wooden table. Fenrir stared at it with a mix of curiosity, caution, and a rising ambition that burned within him.
"Marquis Helbrecht," he murmured softly. The name was one he had often heard from the elders of the village—one of the most influential nobles in the northern regions of the Luminaria Empire. His wealth was vast, his armies numerous, and his reputation… not entirely clean.
Cedric sat slouched in his chair, still weary from his wounds, yet his eyes were sharp as they bore into the letter as if to pierce its hidden meaning.
"Fenrir, understand this. Helbrecht doesn't write letters for idle courtesy. Every word in this summons carries intent."
Fenrir inclined his head. "I understand, Father. But isn't this also an opportunity? If I wish to climb higher, sooner or later I must face the great nobles."
Cedric fell silent for a moment, then exhaled heavily. "You're right. But remember, behind the wine and feasts lie poisons and traps more lethal than a thousand spears."
By the next morning, the modest Eisenwald household had become a hub of activity. Geralt oversaw servants preparing formal clothes, cleaning the family's old carriage, and polishing the sword Fenrir would bring.
"Young master," Geralt said as he arranged a black coat trimmed with simple silver embroidery, "you must appear dignified before the Marquis. They judge not only your words, but your bearing."
Fenrir gave a faint smile. "Don't worry, Geralt. I won't bring shame to our name."
Several village youths gathered, gazing with awe. Fenrir, once seen merely as the son of a poor baron, now seemed different. His presence carried the early weight of leadership, even though he was barely a teenager.
Though still frail, Cedric insisted on accompanying them. "I will not let you walk into a wolf's den alone," he declared firmly.
Fenrir didn't argue. Deep down, he knew his father's presence would be a source of strength, even if Cedric's body was no longer what it once was.
The Eisenwald carriage rolled slowly over the stony road. Along the way, Fenrir gazed out the window, watching villages and farmlands stretch into the distance. This was the reality he had chosen to face—not theories in books, but the dangerous game of noble politics.
In the distance, Helbrecht Castle rose tall and imposing. Its gray stone walls towered dozens of meters high, its spires piercing the sky, and its blue banners bearing the golden lion flapped proudly in the wind. It was not just a fortress, but a declaration of power.
Geralt, riding outside the carriage, whispered, "Look at that, young master. Just staring at it makes you feel its pressure."
Fenrir tightened his grip on his sword. This is my first stage in the world of nobles. I cannot falter.
Inside the grand hall of Helbrecht Castle, chandeliers glittered, polished marble floors gleamed, and rows of lesser nobles had already gathered. Music floated softly in the air, yet tension simmered beneath the surface.
Marquis Helbrecht sat on a golden-trimmed chair. His frame was broad, his black beard neatly groomed, and his eyes narrowed in calculating appraisal. His wide smile looked less like hospitality and more like a wolf baring its teeth.
"Ah, Baron Cedric Eisenwald," Helbrecht's deep voice echoed. "And this must be your son, Fenrir. I've heard many stories about you lately."
Fenrir stepped forward, bowing politely but not too low. "It is an honor for us to answer your summons, Your Excellency."
Helbrecht studied him with a piercing gaze, as though attempting to unravel the boy's mind. "Hmm… your eyes are not those of a child. You remind me of a young lion that has just discovered its fangs."
Some nobles chuckled mockingly, others whispered warily. Fenrir only gave a faint smile, refusing to be baited.
The banquet began. Lavish dishes were served—roast meats, soft bread, and fine red wine. But Fenrir remembered his father's warning: Behind the feast, lies poison.
And indeed, the conversations of the nobles dripped with veiled barbs. Some ridiculed the Eisenwalds' poverty, others questioned Fenrir's ability to lead his lands.
Fenrir responded calmly, sometimes with subtle humor, sometimes with sharp logic. He avoided appearing weak, but also refrained from drawing too much attention. Just as Sun Tzu said: When strong, appear weak. When weak, appear strong.
Helbrecht slapped the table and laughed heartily. "Interesting! You've got a sharp tongue for your age, boy. I like that."
But behind his laughter, Fenrir sensed something—an even greater test waiting in the shadows.
As the banquet neared its end, Helbrecht rose and clapped Fenrir's shoulder.
"Tomorrow morning, I want to see your skills firsthand. Not just your sharp tongue, but your sword as well."
Fenrir met his gaze without flinching. "It will be my honor, Your Excellency."
The hall buzzed with murmurs. Some nobles sneered, certain the poor baron's son would be humiliated. But Fenrir felt his blood boil with excitement.
This is it. My first trial as a true knight. If I fail, I'll be nothing but a laughingstock. But if I succeed… the gates to greater heights will open wide.
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