"M'lady, please allow me to take you to safety before anything happens."
In the dark castle, dozens of oil lamps were burning, making a crackling sound. Celeste Dunwold, who was blond and blue-eyed and beautiful in the high seat, turned bright and dark under the light of the fire.
"But whither shall I go? And what of the thousand or more souls dwelling in Brindlemark…" Celeste's tone was melancholy and sad.
"As for the civilians, we can only let them fend for themselves, milady," Sir Thorold said, standing below with a firm gaze.
"Is there truly no way? We can petition the king for help..."
"It's useless. Except for Baron Charles, no one would come to this barren, remote place, and we are too far from the king. Brindlemark might vanish before any letter of aid reaches him."
Hearing the name of Baron Charles, Celeste fell silent for a moment, then asked:
"You said if I inherit Charles' title, could I lead Brindlemark?"
"M'lady, forgive my bluntness, yet I fear it cannot be so. Baron Charles ruled Brindlemark not by noble title alone, but through his web of alliances and influence. Even were we to claim his ties as our own, we would hold no true standing among the aristocracy. Those grasping lords would surely devour us without a shred of mercy."
"Baron Charles has been in Brindlemark but a short three months. Were it three years, perchance the tale would differ. Yet now, the merchants and nobles see none but him as the face of Brindlemark."
"Most of all, the statutes of the realm forbid that any woman inherit a title—not even by the right of her lord and husband."
Looking at Celeste, whose face had turned slightly pale, Sir Thorold could not bear it but pressed on:
"Moreover, upon Baron Charles' death, the leading citizens of Brindlemark have lost faith. Though capable, their allegiance is essential. Without it, survival through the bitter winter would challenge even Charles himself."
"If we forsake them, these innocent souls shall surely starve…"
"M'lady, do not despair. Beyond Brindlemark, there are other towns in the Thryngard Mountains. If free people and tenant farmers agree to take on the duties of serfs, they can survive the winter. Though serfs are humble, they form the foundation of a lord's lands and rarely go hungry—as long as their lord fulfills his responsibilities."
"Did I make some mistake…" she murmured softly.
Sir Thorold hesitated, then spoke cautiously: "M'lady, there may yet remain one final option…"
"What option?" Celeste's eyes lit with renewed hope.
"To sell Charles' title and territory to another noble—"
"NO!" Celeste interrupted, her face flushed, whether from anger or despair, it was unclear.
Sir Thorold fell silent, recognizing his audacity, but duty demanded he lay out all possibilities.
"M'Lady, I beg pardon for my rudeness. Sir Galen and Lady Isolde seek your company." A guard's voice announced from outside the door.
"Let them in," Celeste said, gathering her composure and hiding her inner turmoil.
…
"Although it looks average, compared to other places, it's still pretty good."
Darien had moved to his new home before dark.
Although modest, the house was the largest in the central residential district. Built of stone with two floors, it included a wine cellar, a granary, and a spacious hall with tall ceilings.
The hall served multiple purposes—bedroom, studio, and kitchen.
The passageways were used for storage and servant quarters, and parts had been used to house livestock and poultry.
Darien was dismayed by this custom.
In his world, poultry and livestock never shared living spaces, due to hygiene and disease concerns.
Fortunately, this house had been abandoned for some time, and the dried waste did not smell particularly offensive.
He hired ten locals, paying 50 copper coins each for half a day, to thoroughly clean the house.
Darien supervised, especially in the areas previously occupied by livestock, and watched the thick layers of filth removed with satisfaction.
By nightfall, the house was tidy, clean, and without offensive odors.
Standing by the window on the second floor, Darien tore open a pack of Doritos and munched on them, gazing out over Brindlemark at night.
"It seems I am to dwell here now… and perhaps my old world will remain forever beyond my reach." he thought with a sigh.
Though just a minor outsider here, after more than 18 years in his previous world, this sudden transition was jarring.
Outside, a horse-drawn carriage ferried families and their belongings from the central residential area.
Darien frowned—he had instructed Pansy not to evict the residents, as he preferred to collect rent and observe the process himself.
Yet more and more families were leaving, some forming convoys, carriages packed full.
"Seems Pansy has other ideas..." Darien muttered, a little helpless, realizing things were more complex than he initially thought.
---
🔍 Did you know?
- In medieval Europe, women were often forbidden from inheriting noble titles or ruling lands directly. Even if they were capable, legal and societal restrictions frequently prevented them from assuming full control—much like Celeste in Brindlemark.
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