The baron's eyes lit up, and his sobbing stopped. He moved to stand, but Knight Marlleo placed a hand on his shoulder and kept him from doing so.
The baron looked up at Marlleo, confused, then at Licerio, who wore a broad smile. He looked away quickly, lowered his head, and settled back on his knees.
His back curved as far as it would go, dropping his posture to its limit, and his body trembled slightly. Once he had steadied himself, he began to speak without daring to lift his head.
"T-Ten years ago—no, thirteen years, yes, yes, I think, yes…" The baron continued wandering over the date until Marlleo gave him a light kick in the side, and he found his way back to the main point. He wiped the sweat from his brow nervously and went on. "Yes, yes, forgive me, forgive me. I'll continue. I was still a commoner in this territory. These lands had never been developed until your father acquired them, and as new settlers, we used to explore the surrounding area looking for resources. I found many things, yes, all excellent gold, gold; everything was new. The river was clear, and the trees—"
"Lord Grojo, please don't ramble," Licerio cut in. "Let's finish this as quickly as we can."
The baron shut his mouth and glanced sideways at Licerio. He looked away quickly after seeing that the smile was gone—Licerio was watching him steadily now, brow slightly drawn.
"Yes, young lord, forgive me, please. I'll continue." He took a deep breath and swallowed. "On one of those outings, I went deep into some hills and woods I had started exploring—I always found good things there. I was looking for interesting objects when the ground gave way beneath me. I fell into enormous ruins, dark and foul-smelling. Furthermore, I could only take one thing out with me; who would have thought that taking one would lead to all of this? It was a remarkable object, golden with so mu—" The more he spoke about the object, the faster his words came and the more his breathing quickened. He raised his head and looked at Licerio, pupils wide, sweat sliding down his face.
"Lord Grojo, I don't care about the object you took. Tell me—did something happen when you picked it up?"
"Ah, yes, forgive me, please," he begged, lowering his head until his forehead nearly touched the floor. "When I took it, it carried me out of the ruins by magic, and I was never able to find the hole I had fallen through again."
"Good. Let's keep this brief—no sense wasting each other's time on side matters, is there, Lord Grojo? We're both busy men. Did you tell anyone about the ruins? And what did you do with the object you took?" said Licerio, his tone somewhat softer.
Lord Grojo slowly straightened his back, which was soaked through with sweat, his gaze shifting nervously. He wiped his hands dry on his trousers.
"I didn't tell anyone… No, wait—yes, I did, young Master Poret. No one else knows. As for the object, I kept it with me always, since from that day on my luck seemed to improve—until, during one of my visits to the Marquisate of Chrysalis, a gentleman recognized the object I was carrying and offered to buy it. In exchange for the object, they gave me a barony and some funds. I had never been so fortunate." He raised his head suddenly, looking straight at Licerio, his pupils trembling, arms lifting. "If one object was worth that much, getting all of them would make me rich. I want to be a count—no, a marquis. All of it was mine. Just think about it…" he said, euphoric, breathing heavily, losing himself in his dreams.
Licerio narrowed his eyes. The sudden shift in the baron's manner toward the end of his story had caught him off guard; the man looked as though he might come apart entirely if no one brought him back down.
"López, bring a map of our territory and give it to the baron—have him mark the exact location. Also a parchment, so he can write down everything important about the place and describe it."
In the five minutes López was gone, Licerio let the baron settle his emotions and come back to himself. When López returned, he handed the baron the map, the parchment, ink, and a quill.
The baron turned the map over a couple of times before finding the location and marked it with a large circle, uncertain of the exact point. Then he took the parchment and the quill, dipped it, and forgot to wipe off the excess ink, spattering the floor and part of the parchment with large blots. His hand began shaking uncontrollably, scattering more ink across the page.
"Stop," Licerio sighed. "What on earth are you doing?" he asked, irritated. "It looks like the first time you've ever held a quill."
The baron's ears and face turned scarlet, and he shot Licerio a quick sideways glance, visibly embarrassed. Licerio opened his mouth without knowing what to say. How was it possible that a baron could not write? It did not take him long to think of a solution, and he turned to Marlleo.
"Marlleo, bring my father's secretary and have him write it down."
A short while later, Marlleo returned with an older man—a few gray hairs in his hair and beard, a bearing that sat somewhere between dignified and rough, and old scars on his hands.
When he entered, he bowed respectfully to Licerio, took the parchment and quill from in front of the baron, and prepared to write.
About ten minutes later, the secretary finished and handed the parchment to Licerio before taking his leave.
"I have to say, your luck is remarkable, Baron. Neither the king nor the marquis nor anyone else had discovered the place—yet your luck led you straight to it. It seems mine is even better," he mocked loudly.
"Thank you, thank you. That's everything now, isn't it—you'll keep your word, won't you?"
"Of course. But there is one problem," he sighed. "I don't think the Bareos and the Grojos can coexist in these lands. Since you were a noble yourself once, I'll help you resolve that: I'll buy your properties from you, and you'll give me a small discount of—" Licerio rubbed his chin and looked at the ceiling, thinking, "—thirty percent. It seems like the only solution, don't you think, Lord Grojo?" he said, putting a particular weight on the word "only".
Lord Grojo's teeth began to knock together, his breathing hitching as he pressed one hand to his chest. He gripped his chest hard. He wanted to refuse, to negotiate if he could, but he knew he could not. His grip on his chest slowly loosened.
Knight López stepped up behind Lord Grojo, who was still on the floor, and placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his daze.
"Young master, your offer is far too generous for Lord Grojo. Look at him—look how happy he is; he can't even speak from the excitement. Look at him clutching his chest—he must be afraid his heart will leap out from the joy."
Lord Grojo pulled the hand from his chest and reached up to remove López's hand from his shoulder, furious. As he reached for it, López smiled and squeezed his shoulder with force. Lord Grojo yelped in pain, his body twisting as he tried to pull free.
"López, enough," Licerio said a few seconds later.
López apologized to Licerio for the presumption and stepped back behind him. Lord Grojo recovered and shot a venomous look at López. López answered it with a smile.
It was the only thing he could do—accept the outrageous offer from the young man before him and go and spend his wealth somewhere else.
"Thank you, young lord, thank you. I promise to leave as soon as possible; I will never show my face before you again, I swear it."
"You may go, but I'd like you to remain as my guest until the transfer of territory and the purchase of your properties has been completed."
"Of course, yes, yes, young lord. Thank you for letting me stay in your home. Thank you."
Lord Grojo left the room accompanied by some servants Licerio had just called to show him to his room, and he assigned four soldiers to stand guard at his door.
Licerio drummed his fingers on the table with a broad smile on his face.
"Marlleo. López."
"Yes, my lord," both knights said, kneeling on one knee before Licerio.
"Once we've completed everything with Lord Grojo and he's left our territory, I think he may find himself running into bandits on the road." Licerio stopped drumming the table, and his smile faded, replaced by a neutral expression. "Organize a team to protect him, and make sure they aren't seen."
"Yes, my lord. We'll make sure it's all arranged properly."
"You're dismissed."
Licerio went back to drumming the table as he smiled warmly at both knights. They said their goodbyes to Licerio shortly after and left the room.
Licerio leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath, grumbling inwardly: finally, it's all over—dealing with these highborn nobles is far too tedious.
Over the next ten days, Licerio took charge of all the paperwork and affairs of the territory alongside his mother, leaving his father to recover.
He also had to send an official letter to the king regarding the outcome of the war and carry out the transfer of lands, with the marquis's second son as witness. Along with the seal and signature of the former baron, Grojo.
But the matter that weighed on him most was the ruins in his territory. He took Lord Grojo's words seriously and approached the subject with great care; for the moment, he would set it aside until he had consolidated his hold over the new territory, the recently acquired properties, and absorbed all the residual power in the new lands.
He had gone to recruit the capable men they had captured; the captain called Sol agreed to join, while the knight refused outright, citing an unshakeable loyalty to his lord and insisting that a knight's honor could not be bought.
Licerio felt a small pang of pity for that knight; Lord Grojo had not so much as thought of him when he left, had not even asked about him—and here the man was, stubbornly loyal to a lord who would never return and had abandoned him without a second thought.
Finally, it was Knight Marlleo who rode out to ensure Lord Grojo left the territory alive, and Knight López was given the task of going to the new territory, announcing its new lord, and stabilizing it if needed.
Licerio was in his room, taking a short break from his work, his forehead resting on the desk, his eyes closed, his mind drifting between thoughts. A few moments later he lifted his head and opened tired eyes, sighing at the sight of the desk buried in papers again.
He picked up a random sheet and read through it quickly, skipping entire lines when he could. Near the end, three dry, even knocks came at the door. Licerio looked up, the corners of his mouth lifting, and allowed the steward in.
"Young master, the baron has asked for you."
Licerio set down the paper he was reading and followed the steward to the room where his father was resting.
The steward stopped to one side of the door and held it open for Licerio, who entered as the steward pulled it closed from outside.
In the room, it was only Licerio and his father, Lucio. Licerio stood for a moment, uncertain, trying to read the reason behind the summons.
"Come here, son."
Licerio moved to the bed where his father sat and took one of the chairs beside it.
"I've lost a leg, and the doctor has already told me that my organs are badly damaged—you already know I'll need a long recovery." Lucio turned his head and looked at Licerio—a very gentle look, with a touch of something like pride. "I'll petition the king to transfer the title, citing that I lost my mind during the war. The king will most likely accept—we're border barons, far too insignificant to the center of the kingdom, and the letter may not even reach his hands directly."
Licerio tried to push back against his father's account of his condition, saying he was not so badly hurt, that he could still recover—but the look in his father's eyes made it impossible, and a few seconds later he simply nodded.
Lucio watched his son; it had been a long time since he had allowed himself to simply look at him. He had already grown to the point of fighting and winning wars, managing a territory, and expanding it—there was nothing more he could ask of him.
A faint smile found its way through his usually stern face. This boy had been his greatest achievement in this life. Not even the day he had received this barony in that war came close.
"If you have nothing to say, you can go, son. Let me rest—I'm a little tired—and we'll talk another day. Before you go, tell the steward to bring my secretary."
Licerio said goodbye to his father and left the room. Outside, he passed the steward his father's instruction and made his way back to his room.
When he returned, he sat at his desk, and his mind was strangely calm; it seemed as though part of him had been waiting for his father to pass him the title, and that brought with it a set of conflicting feelings.
He put this down to the moment he had felt his physical enhancement—the one drawn from his talent—fade away, leaving him somewhat deflated. Even so, it gave him enough to work with in terms of theorizing the possible conditions his talent needed to take effect.
He had been managing the lands as regent during his father's absence, and although he had been controlling and running the entirety of the territory, he had not received any enhancement from his talent. That left him with two possible conditions: first, that hardly any people—or almost no one—knew he was regent, since it had never been made public; perhaps it was necessary for each person to know that he was their lord, in addition to actually managing the territory. The second possibility was that the title itself, granted by the king, carried some context or authority that conferred legitimacy and thereby activated his talent.
He spent a while scribbling on scraps of paper, setting down his theories and thoughts, but he never arrived at anything solid and had to give it up, setting it aside until he had his father's title in hand.
The new territory needed a great deal of attention, above all for the families who had lost fathers and brothers in the war.
For these, Licerio had agreed to waive two years of taxes and to help raise and educate one of their children.
Over these days, he had been deeply dissatisfied with what the records showed about his territories; if a family of six was lucky, one member could read—and if not, they relied on neighbors or village elders.
To address that, he would need to solve two problems: the enormous influence and control the guilds held over the knowledge of their respective trades and the creation of some kind of semi-public school to begin with.
He needed to cultivate the talents that were loyal to him, and for that he required capable people to manage the territories. To make that possible, he needed a great deal of money—and between the properties and the territories, it would take a long time to accumulate, since a large share of it went to the king in taxes.
He was somewhat exasperated by how his father had managed things. He had never tried to deceive the king—never skimmed funds or reported lower earnings than the real figures. In these times, a king cannot keep track of every corner of his territory; the distances are vast and the power of the kingdom is fragmented among the nobility, with royal authority only truly felt in the lands around the capital.
In every book he had read in his past life, in every country and era, in these kinds of old times, corruption was simply another feature of the landscape—woven into the nobles and those close to power—and Licerio did not believe this world was any different.
His father, though, was one of the rare cases that could genuinely be called loyal and honest. He put this down to the loyalty his father had forged during the wars he had fought for the king, which had only deepened when he was granted the title of baron.
Licerio, on the other hand, had never interacted with the king and had only heard his father mention him occasionally—which meant he felt not the slightest loyalty toward him.
Now that he had acquired new territory, he would report a lower figure than the real one in taxes to the king, and with a recent war and new lands to manage, having less money would raise no eyebrows.
The most important factor, though, was simply how small and new his territories were, which meant the forces within them were still very weak—and even so, he would have to be extremely careful.
He needed to break up the guilds, dismantle them, and bring their members over to his side, using them to teach the next generation and building up a pool of talented people he could rely on.
The more he thought about everything that needed doing, the more exhausted he became. For an ordinary person in this world, the current state of things was not ideal but was normal enough. For Licerio, it was nothing but inefficient and frustrating.
But now that his father would try to pass him the title of baron, he would be able to change everything in his territory that he found lacking—he only needed to be patient.
Over the following two days, Licerio managed the territory in the mornings; in the afternoons, he returned to his room to finish paperwork, sort out the next day's affairs, and, when he had time to spare, adjust his plans for the future.
He made note of the matters that required fixing as soon as possible, the dangerous situations he might encounter, and the events that could cause him trouble.
On the afternoon of the second day, he had finished organizing the schedule for the following day and had started mapping out his longer-term plans when someone knocked at the door and entered after Licerio gave permission.