The dawn was slow to rise over Ravenshade, its pale light filtering through the gray clouds that still clung to the horizon like a stubborn shroud. Baron Alistair Ravenshade stood at the balcony of his chambers, overlooking the barony that was now his to rule. Below, the town still slumbered in the quiet morning mist, unaware of the events that had transpired the night before. Yet, Alistair knew that his life had changed irrevocably.

The Arcane Dominion, the system that now pulsed quietly in the back of his mind, hummed with latent power. It was as though his very being was connected to something vast and ancient, an unseen force woven into the fabric of the world. He could feel it gently nudging him, urging him to take the first step on a path that would lead him far beyond the borders of his humble barony.

But Alistair's mind was troubled. Though the power was exhilarating, he could not shake the feeling that he had been thrust into something far greater than himself, something that his father had kept hidden from him. Why had Baron Cedric never spoken of the Arcane Dominion? Why had he not prepared Alistair for this?

Alistair's gaze drifted to the forest beyond the town's walls—the Eldorian Forest, vast and dark, stretching for miles in every direction. The forest had always been a place of mystery, where old magic still lingered and strange creatures were said to dwell. It was no secret that his father had often ventured there, sometimes for days on end, under the pretense of hunting. But now, Alistair wondered if those trips had been more than just hunts. Perhaps they were part of a larger plan, a secret quest tied to the Arcane Dominion.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Alistair turned, and his steward, an elderly man named Duncan, entered the room. Duncan had served the Ravenshade family for as long as Alistair could remember, and his wisdom was often sought by the late baron.

"My lord," Duncan said, his voice soft but firm, "the council is gathered in the hall. They await your presence."

Alistair nodded, straightening his tunic and pushing aside his lingering doubts. "Thank you, Duncan. I will be down shortly."

As Duncan bowed and left the room, Alistair glanced once more at the orb, now safely tucked away in a chest beside his bed. Its presence seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat, a constant reminder of the power at his fingertips. With a deep breath, he left his chambers and made his way to the council hall.

The hall was less grand in the light of day, the flickering torches replaced by the pale sunlight streaming through narrow windows. The council members, a group of seasoned knights, merchants, and lesser nobles, sat in their usual places, their expressions serious but expectant. They had served his father loyally, and Alistair could only hope they would grant him the same respect, despite his youth and inexperience.

At the head of the table, Sir Branford, his father's most trusted knight and commander of the Ravenshade forces, rose to greet him. Branford was a towering figure, his face weathered by years of battle, yet his sharp eyes gleamed with the fire of a man who still had plenty of fight left in him.

"My lord," Branford began, his voice gravelly but steady, "we offer our deepest condolences for your father's passing. He was a great man, and his loss will be felt by all of Ravenshade."

Alistair inclined his head, acknowledging the sentiment. "Thank you, Sir Branford. I intend to honor his memory by serving Ravenshade to the best of my abilities. I know I have much to learn, but I hope I can count on the council's wisdom and support in the days to come."

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The council members exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. But it was clear that beneath the surface, they harbored doubts—doubts Alistair could not afford to let fester.

Branford continued, "There are pressing matters that require your attention, my lord. Reports of bandits have increased in the northern territories, threatening our trade routes. The townspeople grow anxious, and without proper action, we risk losing valuable resources."

Alistair frowned, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavier upon his shoulders. "How many men do we have stationed in the north?"

"Not enough," Branford admitted. "Your father had been planning to send reinforcements before he... passed. I suggest we send a contingent of knights and foot soldiers to deal with the threat."

Alistair considered this, his mind racing. His father's death had left the barony vulnerable, and bandits were only the beginning. But even as the weight of reality pressed in on him, he felt the familiar hum of the Arcane Dominion stir within him.

An idea formed in his mind, unbidden but clear. He could use the system.

"Sir Branford," Alistair said, his voice more confident than he felt, "I believe I have a solution that will require fewer resources than sending our men north. I will deal with the bandits myself."

The room fell silent. Sir Branford's brow furrowed in confusion. "My lord... I do not doubt your courage, but to face bandits alone is reckless. You are the baron now. Your life is not yours to risk so lightly."

Alistair met the knight's gaze, his heart steady. "I will not be alone."

Branford looked as though he would protest further, but the conviction in Alistair's voice silenced him. The council members, too, remained quiet, their eyes watching the young baron with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

"I ask only for a small scouting party to accompany me," Alistair continued, "and the rest I will handle. Trust me, Sir Branford."

Branford hesitated for a long moment before finally nodding. "Very well, my lord. We will make preparations immediately."

As the council dispersed, Alistair stood alone once more. The hum of the Arcane Dominion thrummed in the back of his mind, urging him forward. His father had kept this power hidden, but now it was Alistair's to wield.

Later that evening, as Alistair made his way to the stables, he activated the interface. His vision shifted, and lines of information appeared before his eyes. His stats floated in the air, clearer now than ever before.

Strength: 5

Endurance: 3

Agility: 4

Magic: 2

Skills:

Swordsmanship: Level 2 (150/300 XP to next level)

Leadership: Level 3 (275/500 XP to next level)

Arcane Magic: Level 1 (120/250 XP to next level)

And below his stats, a menu appeared—an option he had not yet explored.

Troop Summoning Available

Pikemen: 50 gold

Archers: 40 gold

Swordsmen: 30 gold

With a deep breath, Alistair selected Pikemen and watched as the system responded. A faint shimmer filled the air, and from the ground, as if conjured from the very earth itself, a group of six pikemen materialized before him, each clad in armor and bearing long, gleaming pikes.

The Arcane Dominion provided a breakdown of their stats as Alistair studied them:

Pikemen (Tier 1 / Trainee)

Strength: 6

Endurance: 5

Agility: 3

Discipline: 7

Morale: High

They bowed their heads in unison. "At your service, my lord," one of them said, his voice firm and resolute.

Alistair's heart pounded with a mixture of awe and determination. The power of the Arcane Dominion was real, and it was his to command. With troops like these at his disposal, he could face the bandits without sending a large contingent of his forces from the barony.

As he mounted his horse and led his newly summoned soldiers into the fading light of dusk, Alistair knew that this was only the beginning. The bandits would be dealt with, but beyond them, greater threats loomed.

The Arcane Dominion was his, and with it, he would carve out a legacy that would be remembered for generations.

The first step on the path to greatness had been taken.