Riding his horse along the crude dirt path, Richard felt every jolt beneath him, yet his thoughts were elsewhere—sifting through the lingering memories of this body. Memories of the land he had lost.
The homeland he longed for in exile was the Kingdom of Winster, situated at the southern tip of the Valdasia Peninsula. It was a rich and fertile land, a peninsula dotted with countless small realms.
Winster itself was encircled by five neighboring kingdoms, each unequal in strength. Among them, the Kingdom of Ravana—the destination of Richard's flight—was considered above average in power. Yet when Julian, once commander of Winster's own legions, rose in sudden rebellion, Ravana, though an ally, fell too swiftly to send aid. They could only watch as Julian flaunted his might and seized the throne.
Even before the rebellion, Richard had overheard whispers within the palace: rumors that behind Julian's treachery lurked the shadows of the neighboring Republic of Connor and the Principality of Lasker.
But such matters no longer concerned him. He was powerless to punish the true culprits. The kingdom that should have been his inheritance had fallen into the hands of others. His mother and father had perished in the flames of war. Only Magnus, commander of the Janissaries, and sixty of his elite guards remained at his side.
If vengeance against Julian and his allies was to be won, it could never be achieved with so little.
The most urgent task was to reach Ravana and join his grandfather. In Richard's memory, his grandfather, Harlaus, had loved his mother dearly, and he had always shown affection toward Richard as well. As long as Richard wept before him, even if Harlaus refused to send troops to help restore his kingdom, he would surely treat his grandson with favor.
But before that, Richard had to overcome the obstacles barring their path…
"Your Highness Richard, surrender obediently. For the sake of King Alfonso, I will not harm you!"
"Bah! Fulvio, you ungrateful villain! His Majesty appointed you mayor of Leon despite past suspicions, yet instead of leading troops to reinforce the capital during Julian's rebellion, you raised arms here to block our way. What right have you to even speak His Majesty's name?" Magnus, ever hot-tempered, surged forward, spittle flying as he cursed.
"Damn you! Do not mistake kindness for weakness. His Majesty Julian now sits upon the throne, recognized by the Kingdom of Connor and the Duchy of Lasker. What can you possibly do against him?" Fulvio snapped back, jabbing a finger toward the sixty Janissaries behind Magnus. "With only these soldiers? Stop your wishful thinking. It is impossible for you to oppose His Majesty Julian."
"But we can defeat you easily." Magnus's voice was low and deliberate, each word like a hammer. His eyes, sharp as a wolf's and fierce as a tiger's, locked on Fulvio's. The man faltered, trembling under the weight of that gaze.
Only then did Fulvio realize the truth: the men behind him were nothing more than peasants and conscripts from Leon, bolstered by a handful of knights and militiamen. Against Magnus's Janissaries, there could be only one outcome—his army would be utterly destroyed.
Thinking of this, Fulvio wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and compromised.
"Magnus, I can let you go, but I hope you will cooperate with me—pretend to be hunted by my men. Otherwise, I will have no way to explain myself to His Majesty Julian."
"Oh?" Magnus sneered. "The honor of the Praetorian Guard forbids me from accepting such a request. Fulvio, either step aside at once, or be defeated by us!"
"You…" Fulvio's face twisted with rage, his finger trembling as he pointed at Magnus. After a long breath, he finally relented. "Go. Leave Leon's territory at once, before I change my mind."
At Fulvio's harsh words, Magnus only sneered again and pressed forward with the Guards, not sparing so much as a glance at the levies of Leon. His disdain was absolute.
Richard did not react until they had gone some distance. It was not the exchange between Magnus and Fulvio that unsettled him, but rather the moment he had first laid eyes on Leon's army. For in that instant, an interface had appeared before him—an interface bearing a message, introducing the details of the troops.
Obviously, the interface could be seen by Richard alone. When he tried to show it to the guards on watch, they only stared at empty air, their faces full of bewilderment.
After the first interface vanished, another appeared before his eyes. This time, four bold Chinese characters glowed across the top:
Task Release.
[Mission Release: Possess a fief of your own.
Task Reward: Unlock all system functions; establish a system town with a population of 4,000.]
"The system… it really appeared?" Richard's heart leapt, and he nearly cried out in joy. But he quickly caught himself, clapping a hand over his mouth. Glancing around, he saw that none of the soldiers had noticed anything unusual. Only then did he exhale in relief and return his gaze to the task interface.
The mission required him to obtain a fief of his own, though it did not specify how. Richard reasoned that once he reached his grandfather, he might find a way to secure one, and the mission would be fulfilled.
Still, a shadow of doubt lingered. He had never met his grandfather—would the old man truly grant him a fief?
…
A few days later, Richard and his party finally crossed the border, leaving behind the lands of the fallen Winster Kingdom and entering the realm of Ravana.
The Kingdom of Ravana consisted of two cities and three castles—five counties in all—united under the rule of the Carrera dynasty.
It was this dynasty from which Richard's mother had been born. More than twenty years earlier, Alfonso II, then King of Winster, had proposed marriage to King Harlaus I of Ravana. Harlaus swiftly agreed, giving his beloved youngest daughter, Mary, in marriage to the King of Winster.
From that union, after years of peace between the two realms, Queen Mary bore a single child—the living bond of their love—Richard, the only prince of Winster.
But times had changed. More than twenty years later, both King Alfonso and Queen Mary had perished in the flames of war, leaving behind only their fifteen‑year‑old son, Prince Richard, now a fugitive in exile.
With a heart heavy with grief and longing, Richard and his small retinue pressed onward along the broad, stone‑paved Huban Avenue. Guided by the directions of passing travelers, they marched toward Ravana City, the capital of King Harlaus.