[“This—what is it?”
High Priest Lef of the Theos faith asked.
“It’s a dried basilisk heart,” Thomas replied with a sly grin, handing over a sealed jar.
The basilisk heart was a top-grade medicinal ingredient. A foolish noble, close to death, had spent his entire fortune to buy it. At first, he had intended to consume it himself, but after listening to Thomas’s sermon, he changed his mind and offered it to the Theos temple. He came to believe it was better to die and go to paradise than to cling to life.
Whether the fool truly went to paradise after death was unknown, but Thomas knew one thing: with that heart, he could pave his own path to a paradise on earth.
“You work tirelessly guiding the ignorant believers of this land. You must take care of your health.”
“I will accept it with gratitude.”
Lef smiled faintly as he pulled the jar toward himself. Thomas bared his teeth in a matching smile.
Lef was the high priest who oversaw the entire Aerok diocese, one of the top ten figures of power in the church. For Thomas, gaining favor with such a man filled him with elation. His rise was now assured.
“Theos teaches that those who receive must also give.”
“There’s no need, High Priest. This is offered purely out of concern for your well-being. I expect nothing in return.”
Thomas lied smoothly.
“Theos also teaches us to show gratitude for noble hearts such as yours. So let me share something with you. Something important.”
Thomas pricked up his ears.
“Our order will withdraw from here completely in four years.”
“What? What do you mean?”
The sudden news struck him like lightning.
“Just keep it in mind. If you want to profit, do so before then.”
Lef offered only a faint smile, revealing nothing further.]
This was a memory lingering in Thomas’s soul.
There were countless sordid fragments, but this was the one that caught Edward’s attention. According to the memory, Thomas had bribed Lef three years ago. Which meant the church’s withdrawal from Aerok was now only a year away.
Why?
The greater the reach, the stronger the church became. Even a small nation like Aerok was valuable; abandoning it would normally be a loss.
And Lef, as the high priest of Aerok, would have his own career stained by such a retreat.
But he had not spoken of it with regret.
They’re plotting something.
Knowing the church’s history, it could not be anything good.
Vile bastards.
The church’s greed for Griffith’s mana water, and Thomas’s petty fraud of selling it as holy water, all made sense now. It was a scramble for resources before their planned withdrawal.
Edward resolved to uncover the true reason behind the church’s retreat. But for now, rebuilding the domain and growing stronger took priority.
“Mount this on a pike and display it in the square.”
Edward tossed Thomas’s severed head to a soldier. The man flinched as blood dripped onto his hands.
“Burn the body.”
“Yes, young lord!” the soldier barked.
“My lord,” Frederick approached hesitantly, his face pale.
“Was this really necessary?”
He had expected a trial, but not an execution. That explained his shock.
“Why else do you think I ordered that fat priest excommunicated?”
“But he was still a priest…”
“A corrupt priest.”
“I fear the church may bear a grudge.”
“The filthier they are, the faster they cut their own tails. They’ve already pinned the mana water embezzlement solely on Thomas.”
“What?”
“They’re treating it as if he acted alone, without the church’s sanction. That’s why he was excommunicated—accused of sacrilege.”
“I see… Still, there was no need for you to stain your own hands. We could have brought an executioner from the city…”
“Frederick.”
“Yes?”
“A throne can only be seized with bloodstained hands.”
Frederick’s expression grew conflicted as he looked at Edward.
“Even if that throne is only in a rural domain like this one.”
The old steward was loyal and kind, skilled enough at his work, and strong in battle as well. But his worry often made him treat Edward like a fragile child. Given Edward’s past, it was understandable. Yet now, it had to change.
“I understand, my lord.”
The old steward bowed with a sad smile. He had realized it too: the fledgling under his care had spread his wings, and it was time for him to fly on his own.
“Let’s return to the manor.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll make the arrangements.”
While Frederick set about organizing matters, Edward approached Logan.
“Logan.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Once arrogant and dismissive, the man now stood stiff as a soldier before his general.
“How is the farming?”
“F-farming, sir?”
“Yes. You’re a farmer, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes, that’s right.”
Logan couldn’t meet Edward’s eyes, glancing away nervously.
Edward already knew the truth: the villagers had stopped farming. Though it was the season for sowing, they wandered the village idly instead of working the fields.
“Is it because of the drought?”
“…Yes, sir. That’s right.”
Farming seemed pointless. No rain meant inevitable failure. The drought had lasted ten years; they had already tried everything.
“I see.”
Edward lifted his gaze to the cloudless sky.
Strange…
Until ten years ago, the land had been fertile. Then suddenly, not a single drop of rain. Even with his knowledge, Edward could find no answer.
I’ll have to investigate.
The drought was at the root of all the domain’s problems. It would have to be solved eventually. But it was not the most urgent matter.
What mattered most now was reviving the villagers’ spirit. They needed to plant seeds, or else even if the drought ended, there would be no harvest.
Should I just order them?
That would be fastest. With discipline restored, they would obey. But unwilling work would bring little result. They would slack off, drained of energy.
And constant surveillance would only worsen morale.
No… they must act willingly.
Edward decided to move forward with a plan—one that would stir the villagers’ hearts while also guiding them back to the fields.
—
The next day, in the tavern of Griffith’s domain.
Farmers who once spent their days at the temple, listening to sermons, now gathered there instead. Their pockets were suddenly full, their daily lives aimless—so they sought out drink.
“We really knew nothing about the young lord.”
“He’s completely different now.”
“Right. Is that even the same man we thought we knew?”
The villagers could not stop praising Edward’s actions from the day before.
“He’s becoming like the lord himself. Ever seen a dragon hatch into a lizard?”
“True. If only his health had been better, he’d have turned out this way long ago.”
To the villagers, Baron Roland Griffith had always been worthy of admiration.
When the drought first began, he had opened the storehouses and shared grain with the starving. As it dragged on, he reduced taxes, then eventually stopped collecting them altogether. He abandoned noble luxuries, living frugally and spending his money to buy grain for the people.
“And to think we cursed the young lord because of that pig priest.”
“Yeah… we didn’t realize how great he really was…”
“Now we’d better watch our tongues. Otherwise, our heads will roll like that priest’s.”
“Too right.”
The villagers remembered not only Edward’s mercy, but also the awe he had inspired.
“But how did he even get the money?”
“Yeah, the church isn’t exactly easy to deal with…”
“I heard from the steward that he put the inquisitor in his place.”
“No way.”
“I’m telling you, it’s true. At first the inquisitor tried to intimidate him, but when the young lord stood firm, he backed down.”
“You expect me to believe the inquisitor—the one they say can topple even birds from the sky—walked away with his tail between his legs? That’s nonsense.”
“Then where do you think the money came from? It’s not like the young lord had that kind of gold lying around.”
“Well… that’s true.”
They didn’t know the details, but it was clear enough that the church had yielded to Edward. And that alone was enough to make them look up to him.
“Maybe things really will change now.”
The young lord, who everyone thought would rot away in his room until death, had stepped outside. And in such a way that erased the memory of all the scorn he once endured. Naturally, it made the villagers expect change for the whole domain.
“No matter how great he is, he can’t do anything about this drought,” Logan said with resignation, lifting his cup.
“Right. Besides, he hasn’t got long left to live.”
Logan froze, then slammed his cup down.
“What did you just say?”
“Did this bastard just—?”
The villagers’ faces darkened. Logan seized Hans by the collar and yanked him to his feet.
Small and frail, Hans couldn’t break free of Logan’s grip.
“You looking to lose your head like that fraud priest, huh?!”
“I-I just meant it as fact. I want the young lord to live long too, but it’s true he’s sick—”
“Even so, you don’t say something that damned unlucky out loud!”
“Calm down, Logan.”
“He just misspoke. Let it go.”
“S-sorry…”
Others stepped in, and Hans stammered an apology. Logan finally released him, though his shoulders still heaved with anger. The air in the tavern, once lively, grew heavy.
“…I’m leaving Griffith.”
Hans broke the silence.
“What?”
“There’s no hope here. Better to get out while I’ve still got a little money in my pocket.”
“You think the young lord gave you that gold so you could run?”
“Then why else did he? What can we even do in this place?”
Logan had no answer.
Both he and Hans had once been hardworking farmers. Taxes were fair, and they had built up some savings. But when the drought began, those savings dwindled. By now, everything of value had been sold or pawned.
“Even the baron himself told us to go if we must.”
By law, most peasants were bound to their lords’ lands. Leaving without permission was impossible. But as the domain’s plight grew beyond saving, Baron Griffith issued passes, freeing his people to leave as they wished.
Many already had. Those who remained were weighed down by debt, living under the shadow of being sold into slavery. Griffith was on the verge of becoming a dead village.
And when Edward died, the Griffith line would die with him.
There was William, the bastard son, but his low birth and cruel nature made it so no one truly saw him as a Griffith.
“What about your sons?” Logan asked quietly.
Hans’s face fell.
Like Logan’s younger brother, Hans’s two boys had been taken by bandits.
The bandits appeared soon after the domain sold off all its horses to cover its debts. They were not stronger than knights in open battle, but on horseback, they were unmatched.
They struck swiftly and vanished just as fast. The knights tried again and again, but on foot, they could never catch them.
Even the wooden palisade built around the village burned to the ground under the bandits’ flaming arrows.
The villagers were left defenseless. Many were kidnapped.
“It’s been two years already. You really think they’ll come back? Just being alive would be a miracle.”
Hans’s words carried bitterness. Logan lowered his head. His own brother had been taken three years ago. By now, he was either living as a slave somewhere or already dead. Either way, he would not return.
“They could come back if heaven wills it. And if they do, how would your boys feel if you weren’t here waiting?”
It wasn’t just Logan who thought this way. Most who still remained in Griffith were waiting—for someone who would never come back. That was the only reason they hadn’t left.
Bang!
The tavern door burst open. Patrick, a soldier from the lord’s manor, stumbled inside.
“Patrick?”
“The young lord—!”
Patrick was panting too hard to speak.
“What is it?”
“What happened?”
“Haa… the young lord… has started training!”
Cliche Novel 