Count Marron was questioning his ability to judge a person’s character.
He had been very against his wife’s decision to let the Heir of the Fresa mingle with his daughter. Though it was slim, there was a chance his daughter might take an interest in Heir Fresa when they were older. What if his beloved youngest actually wanted to marry that boy? He didn’t want to be in-laws with Marchioness Fresa!
But when it came to socializing the children, that was firmly in the women’s sphere. Men ruled the land, but women ruled the home. This was a belief deeply held by not just the Kingdom of Salvias, but the surrounding countries too. Therefore, Noblemen didn’t interfere with their wives when it came to their children’s education, friends, or even who they married later in life.
This absolute tyrannic control women had of the home, and those in it, was why marrying a good wife was so important to a nobleman. A nobleman’s wife could make or break their household within a generation.
Count Marron felt lucky because his wife had a keen eye for people and was a gentle spirit, never bullying him or his children to get what she wanted. She would even take his opinion into account when making household decisions, which he found gratifying and secretly boasted about to his friends.
But on the subject of the Marchioness, they could not come to an agreement and she had straightforwardly ignored all his objections. He’d been so upset by her decision, he refused to talk to her for almost an entire day. The usual cheerful household was plunged into an icy coldness, causing even the most ignorant servants to walk with light steps.
Of course it didn’t last past bed time.
The Countess refused to sleep, waiting patiently for him to come to bed. What was he going to do? Keep snubbing his ill wife until she runs a fever from not getting proper rest? He wasn’t angry enough that he wanted her to die!
This insistence on seeing him every night, being held in his arms as she drifted off to sleep, even when they were in the middle of a fight… he had no defenses against it at all… in the end he conceded.
Sometimes she was very ruthless in her gentleness.
When the Marchioness came with her son, there were three strange children tagging along. He naturally knew about the foreigners, both from rumor and from what his wife relayed. But seeing them in person was really different than hearing about them second hand.
They had skin like polished bronze! He had to resist the urge to walk up to them and poke their skin to check if it felt like metal or flesh. Montana, his youngest daughter, didn’t have any self-control and boldly did what he’d only thought of doing, promptly declaring afterward, “It feels like just my skin!” Thus satisfying everyone’s curiosity despite being rude.
The Marron household was thoroughly distracted by these three children. Heir Fresa's existence was greatly diminished in their presence. Montana likely would have ignored him completely in favor of the two young foreign children if not for the fact they were shy. Especially after being manhandled by her, they hid directly behind Heir Fresa, using him like a shield. They stared at everyone with big round eyes in silent accusation, without uttering a word.
Apparently Marchioness Fresa had expected their behavior and had given his wife warning of it too. Rather than force everyone to get along immediately, they had a light lunch with foods that children traditionally enjoy. The two bronze children clearly loved to eat and quickly forgot their fear and annoyance in the face of delicious food.
Heir Fresa was very polite throughout the entire process. If he was nervous or excited or annoyed at being neglected on his first visit, he didn’t show it. Most of the meal was spent with him fielding questions from the Marron children about his shiny playmates.
If Count Marron thought anything of his behavior, it was only that he was lacking the enthusiasm appropriate for his age and that was a little pitiful. In the Count’s mind, children should be free to laugh, cry, and explore the world without fear. After all, this was their only chance to face life honestly and not be judged for it. Once they grew up, they must put on a mask and act with restraint at all times.
As to the oldest foreigner, he remained against the wall while everyone else ate. As a valet in training, he couldn’t sit with his siblings at “the master’s table”. This division of status between the siblings was a little unsettling, but the Count had already heard the reasoning behind it and knew he had no place to judge.
The Count watched the interactions between the Marchioness and Heir Fresa very carefully. The Marchioness actually did not talk much to her son. Heir Fresa would take the initiative to speak to her frequently. The Count noted this because the Marchioness talked to everyone else the same as usual but it was only with her son she acted reserved. Yet Heir Fresa did not seem bothered by it at all. Even if she spoke very little, the Marchioness was clearly affectionate towards her son when she interacted with him.
He was very confused by this way of communicating between mother and son. It was unnatural and stilted, but Heir Fresa treated it as a normal thing and the foreign children were also used to it. They clearly liked each other, why must things be awkward between them?
Strange behavior like this was part of why he didn’t like the Marchioness. Why must she be so odd? Especially to her own flesh and blood? There was something simply not right with that woman’s head...
As to Heir Fresa himself, the child seemed… good. Polite but friendly, patient towards strangers and those younger than himself, able to clearly articulate himself and willing to ask questions about things he didn’t understand. All signs of an intelligent boy. If it weren’t for his mother, Count Marron thought he would actually be a calming influence on his wild, unrestrained youngest daughter.
The three visiting children were dragged around by Montana all day to play. Heir Fresa took the act of playing much more seriously than necessary, wanting to know the rules and restrictions involved for each thing they did. This vexed Montana, who was used to doing things on a whim. Heir Fresa made up for it by introducing his own, unique set of games. The Count eavesdropped on their playing, which included games he hadn’t heard of either.
There were new outdoor games called “Mother, May I?”, “Simon Says” and “Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button?” and several inventive variations of the basic game of tag. The Marchioness also brought over several indoor games involving painted boards or thin cards and tiled pieces with dots on them called “dominoes”. These indoor games were so interesting even the adults got involved.
By the time the Fresa family left the next morning, Montana was thoroughly won over. In her entire life she’d never had that much fun! She begged them to stay a whole week and when denied, tried negotiating down to an extra day. After that didn’t work, she fell to the ground in tears and only calmed down after the Marchioness promised they would come back again soon.
As a token of their first family meeting, Marchioness Fresa gifted the box of dominoes to the Marron family. Count Marron had found the dominoes the most interesting, seeing the potential for more kinds of games and even ways to use them for some light gambling among friends later. This kind of novelty was useful for networking and he was honestly pleased with the gift.
That night he took the dominoes out, one by one, examining them closely. When his wife saw him, she laughed at him. That was when he realized he’d almost been won over by a game, putting him on the same level as his 5 year old daughter!
———
Felicia made it a habit to “collect” people on her return visits to the Mansion after going out. She was careful on how often and who she brought in. They weren’t people of influence or notable talent and could be easily passed off as charity cases to make the Marchioness “look good” or whatever other excuse Felicia thought up.
At the beginning, they were mostly young women or girls from impoverished families. Maids had a high turnover rate in the mansion to begin with, since most got married and quit their jobs, making it easy to find a place to put new people.
The point of bringing in these women was not to gain loyal followers, per say. There were a select few who were talented and clever and would naturally side with the Marchioness once they figured out who the real villain in the fief was but most weren’t like that. If the Viscount demanded something of them, they would definitely give in without batting an eye. The usefulness of these timid girls was in who they knew, or more precisely, the family they came from.
The families weren’t from nobility and not powerful in the traditional way nobles thought of power. Rather, these girls had fathers who had a very unique skill set, mothers with a massive network of contacts, brothers with some astonishing talent, or sisters with spouses that had a bright future. They were all people who had the potential to do great things, if only someone got them through a really tight spot in their lives. By employing the young women of these families, Felicia became their benefactor.
The Viscount searched himself blue but could never find anything suspicious behind the Marchioness selection of new maids, other than it being odd she selected them in the first place. They were always chosen at random, like she was picking up stray cats and dogs from the side of the road. Their families had no ties to nobility at all and the maids themselves were very obedient when he or one of his men questioned them.
As the months passed and she continued this strange behavior that seemed devoid of anything malicious, his guard was lowered. Soon her hiring people at random became “the new normal”. Though he did have someone do a basic background check on them, he inquired less and less after the results, until finally he concluded it was a waste of his time to bother. He left the job to someone else and depended on them to alert him of anything unusual.
Whatever the new maid’s families thought of the Marchioness at the beginning, when their daughters started working for her, they would inevitably change their minds. This process wasn’t quick, but it would happen as news filtered back to them. And when the realization hit that the Marchioness was not as they thought, another thought would immediately follow…
If the Marchioness is not a witch, then why was everything so awful?
Commoners lacked political power and were easy to manipulate thanks to their ignorance, but that didn’t make them stupid. If they were given enough information, particularly from the source, they could very easily put it all together and come to the correct conclusion.
Once they came to that conclusion, there would be an inevitable outrage. This outrage was so intense they found themselves restless and more than willing to fight back against the wicked devil that had destroyed the places and people they loved so dearly.
And it was at that moment, when the discontent was at its peak, that Felicia initiated the second stage of her plan.
———
The nights that Claro spent with the Marchioness were more like sleepovers.
The first few times they put on this “lovers’ charade” he was very uncomfortable. He’d been single his whole life and was an upright man who learned from the mistakes of his parents and didn’t sleep around wantonly, or at all. His first instinct was to grab a blanket and sleep on the floor, but the Marchioness wouldn’t let him as she didn’t want anyone walking in at morning and realizing they were faking it. This further increased his embarrassment.
The Marchioness eased the awkwardness by acting like nothing remarkable was happening. Her total apathy towards Claro was one part a relief and one part a disappointment. Though he was not particularly keen on attracting the attention of a woman at least 10 years his senior, and a high noble to boot, a small part of his pride as a man was hurt by her calm responses. Even if he knew he was being irrational and stupid thinking that way, he couldn’t help it.
He could only console his ego with the fact that she’d been married once and likely didn’t see anything exciting about having a man in her room. Perhaps because he was much younger than her too, she viewed him more like a brother than a man.
A surprise benefit was included at least: her bed was extremely comfortable. Once he got over his jitters about having a woman sleeping beside him, he had to admit the bed was excellent. As visiting her at night became routine, he would simply pass out once his head touched the pillow and wake up the next day feeling refreshed. This further added to the authenticity of his role as “lover”.
From the first night, it was clear the Marchioness intended to use these late night rendezvous as impromptu meetings. An easy way to give instructions or share information without anyone snooping. Therefore, if she “invited” him to “sleep” with her, he knew that what was really happening was a meeting to discuss dealing with the Viscount or to check up on the Heir Querido.
One night she asked him, “Do you know anyone who is well acquainted with the lay of the land in Fresa March and tactically minded?”
“I know a few, why?”
“Well….” She fiddled with the end of her braided black hair. “I have been thinking that the Viscount could use a good distraction while also taking his reputation down a peg or two among his peers and the commoners.”
“Really? What’s your plan?”
Claro had long since discovered that the Marchioness had a mind full of schemes. For every bit of kindness she showered on those she favored, there was an equal heaping of viciousness waiting for her enemies.
“Hm… I want to form a well armed group of rebels to steal the Viscount’s ill gotten gains, give back to the poor he’s unjustly taxed, and perhaps disrupt some of his more nefarious plans. Rebels with hearts of gold, who look out for the commoner’s best interests.” The Marchioness raised an eyebrow, “Without any of it being traced back to me, as a safety precaution.”
His mouth fell open, “Would that work?”
“It depends on how well trained they are from the start and how fast they can run in a pinch. I believe the Viscount has a few very talented people at his side but the vast majority are nothing more than empty headed thugs. If rebels begin bothering him, the Viscount will have to choose whether to send his talented men out or depend on his thugs. The thugs can be beat with a bit of planning and clever thinking. As for those talented ones... if the Viscount is foolish enough to leave himself vulnerable,” She gave a wicked grin, “I would be sincerely grateful to whoever saw his vulnerability as a chance to kill him off and did so.”
The Marchioness’ extreme vindictiveness towards the Viscount made Claro relieved he was on her side.
“But wouldn’t there be a chance these rebels, not knowing it’s you backing them, might try to kill you instead of the Viscount?”
“Mmmmm…. Would they though? My intention is to convince these rebels that Heir Childe is the solution to the March’s ills. Killing me means someone else must raise Heir Childe. Who will that be? The Viscount? My family? None of those options will lead to positive change. If their intention is to make the March better, they can not just kill me, they must also kill off the Viscount and the Mora Family. That will lead to the King sending in the army and the army will engulf the whole fief in flames to flush them out. But if they kill off just the Viscount and leave me, they need only wait a few years and I’ll be gone. I can’t, after all, rule anything once Heir Childe receives his title. I am a temporary ruler and a woman to boot. Of the options available, the Viscount is the easiest to kill off.”
“I beg to differ. People that are willing to rebel against the established order are those with an extreme and unstable mind, and likely severely lacking in morals. They may not think or even care of the repercussions of killing you or the Viscount… they may go so far as to try to murder everyone in power, even Heir Querido, despite him being a child.” Claro frowned, “What good is it giving the Viscount a hard time if you or Heir Querido die in the process?”
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“I have no intention of dying or letting Heir Childe die.” The Marchioness pursed her lips. “This is why I am asking you if you know someone. A strong leader with clear goals and missions should mitigate the chances of them trying to kill innocent people, including myself.” She paused, “It would also be better if they didn’t think of themselves as rebels fighting against the law, but rather free men fighting against a local tyrant who disobeys the law of the land. After all the Viscount is disobeying the King’s Law. If Heir Childe wins, they won’t be counted as rebels but be rewarded for their efforts.”
Claro furrowed his brow a bit at this and went silent in thought.
“It would be difficult to find a person of that disposition while still maintaining a strong sense of integrity.”
“It can’t be that all the men in Fresa March are content to watch as injustice happens before their eyes, in broad daylight? If given the means and the chance, surely at least one person would be willing to take a risk? If there is just one brave enough to forge a path, they can convince others to follow them, I am sure of it. So I need just one.”
He scratched the side of his head and then sighed, “There is one person I can think of but…”
“But what?”
“He’s got a rebellious, arrogant nature…. but is also extremely skilled and very high minded, adhering closely to his moral code without bending. He is the type to take a risk. But he won’t let himself be branded a rebel or outlaw unless he is firmly convinced in the righteousness of his cause. My recommendation won’t be enough to convince him. He will want to meet you in person, if only to force you to prove your sincerity by taking a small risk first. And, to truly get him on your side, you will need to give him a strong show of support right from the start...”
———
“Come out with your hands up and give me all your money if you know what’s good for you!”
“You ruffian, how dare you rob the carriage of Marchioness Fresa!”
A man was currently pointing his long-gun’s muzzle into the window of Felicia’s carriage. The gun was aimed at the maid, who’d managed to gather the courage to mouth off to him. Other than his eyes being dark, possibly black, not much else could be noted about his face or hair, as he was wearing a very strange version of a ski mask. He must have stitched it himself. It was clear he wasn’t good at sewing and so the image he gave off was more humorous than threatening. Or it would be, except he was pointing a loaded gun at them.
“Stupid woman, why else do you think I’m robbing this carriage, if it weren’t that I knew Marchioness was inside? Everyone knows she’s loaded!”
The maid was still unwilling to concede, and threatened, “The— the Viscount won’t let you get away with this!”
“Oh no, I’m quaking in my boots! The fat pig with spectacles is coming to get me!” The man laughed heartily, causing the maid to noticeably shake in fear.
It was one thing not to respect the Marchioness, it was another to be fearless in the face of the Viscount.
The bandit suddenly stopped laughing and motioned with his gun, “Get out.”
Though Felicia knew who was robbing her, she was still nervous about having such a Ye Old Gun pointed in her direction. She was fuzzy on the details, but these kinds of guns most likely didn’t have a safety catch on them. One wrong move and he really might blow them to smithereens. She’d died from a gunshot wound once and had no intention of repeating the experience.
She grabbed her maid’s arm roughly and hissed, “Just get out! Or do you want to have a body full of holes?!”
The maid paled at her words. Now that the Marchioness was giving in, there was no hope of fighting back. She could only slowly get out of the carriage first, clearly being used by the Marchioness as a meatshield. It turned out no matter how fair the Marchioness was in the mansion, when put in a difficult situation she would easily prioritize her own life.
Once they were fully outside, the man in the mask walked over and used the edge of his hand to hit the maid in the meat of her neck. The first hit stunned her and the second hit on the opposite side caused her to crumple like a rag doll. Felicia watched this with raised eyebrows, impressed. She didn’t think anyone in this time period knew to hit a person in the carotid artery well enough to make them pass out without accidently killing them.
“She’ll have a sore neck and probably a bruise, but otherwise be fine.” The masked man commented, apparently misunderstanding the expression on Felicia’s face as worry. He had already knelt down and taken a dirty cloth, wrapping it around the maid’s eyes and using another to tie her up. “The driver and this maid won’t be out for long. Hurry it up or things will get complicated.”
“Very well.” Felicia went back inside the carriage and pulled out a plain wood rectangular box.
He opened it without commenting and saw a rolled up piece of paper with a black ribbon tying it closed and a black obsidian brooch placed next to it. The brooch’s obsidian had a snake carved into it, the lines painted white. He unfurled the paper and quickly read through it.
There was a long stretch of silence after he finished, his expression unreadable thanks to his mask. Finally he turned to her and asked “And the rest?”
She handed him a key and pointed to the back of the carriage.
He walked over quickly, saw the locked chest and opened it. He gave a long whistle at the pile of coins and the bag of precious gems. He promptly closed the lid and locked it.
“I thank the lady for her… heh, generosity.”
“Hmmmm.” She responded ambiguously. Since neither knew when the two servants would wake up, it was better not to speak too much. “Is there anything else?”
“None at all. I am thoroughly satisfied with what I’ve acquired today.” He walked back over to her and looked her up and down. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “I heard you carry a mean grudge.”
“Only for my enemies.” She responded quietly in return.
“Remember that, when you wake up.”
He immediately hit her, just as he did to the maid. She felt a moment of pain and then blacked out. She had no idea how much time had passed, but the next thing she knew her maid and driver were leaning over her with an extremely worried look on their face.
When Felicia opened her eyes, the maid looked thoroughly relieved.
“Marchioness, are you alright?”
She sat up and felt throbbing pain on both sides of her neck and a fierce headache developing and groaned. Reaching up she gingerly touched where she’d been hit.
To the maid she said, “Considering he had a gun, I got off rather lightly.” She glanced at the carriage, which was now worse for wear and wrinkled her nose. “How much did he take?”
While she was speaking to them she complained bitterly to DARS, ‘Frick that guy! Why’d he have to be so rough!?’
[You were the one who said it wouldn’t be realistic if you were left unharmed.]
‘Remind me to never put realism over personal safety!’
[...I will try.]
‘Try? There is no try! There is only do or do not!’
[????]
‘...never mind… shouldn’t try to joke with an interdimensional life form…’
[Ah, it was a joke.]
‘Anyway, did my pain reap the reward I’d hoped for?’
[It did. Between Lord Curtidor’s recommendation and this show of good faith and support, he will definitely do as requested.]
‘What do you think? Will people be talking about the legendary Salvias’ Robin Hood hundreds of years from now?’
[Since you insisted he go by the alias “Robin Hood”, most likely.]
‘Heheheheheheh!’ She mentally rubbed her hands together. ‘Your welcome, England!’
[You do realize neither the country or people of England will ever know you have spread their legends across timelines, correct?]
‘Tsk, don’t take this moment away from me by bringing common sense and logic into it!’
———
When word got back to the Viscount that the Marchioness had been robbed at gunpoint, he quickly returned to Fresa Mansion to inquire about her health and the incident. It was clear from his rushed questions about her physical wellbeing, he was much more concerned about figuring out the bandit’s identity.
“Viscount Barrera, no matter how many times you ask, I really have no idea of this man’s appearance. He was wearing a mask and his clothes completely covered his body.” She paused, “He did have a gun though? Surely that’s something? My understanding is not just anyone could afford one of those.”
The Viscount looked thoroughly disgruntled, “In fact, I had just got a report about a famous blacksmith having one of his nicest guns stolen right from under him.”
“...oh.”
“We’ve had problems with bandits in the past, but none of them have had guns or gone after a high noble. It seems he knew you were going down that road with quite a lot of money and targeted you specifically.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat gathering around his balding forehead. It annoyed him that the Marchioness had withdrawn so much money just to go shopping and hadn’t bothered taking any guards, leading to their current predicament. “That someone planned this far in advance… really, very alarming...”
Felicia sported her best most sincere impression of being anxious. “What can we do, dear Viscount?”
“Hm… if you plan to travel from now on, we must absolutely have a guard go with you, at least until this criminal is caught.”
She nodded in agreement.
“It might also be good to hire some guards for the mansion as well, just in case…”
“Do you think the bandit might rob from us directly?!”
“Well, no, the chances are small, but…”
Felicia looked relieved, “That’s good to hear. If it’s alright with you, may I pick the guards?”
“Hm? You pick? Why bother when I can do it?” There was an obvious sharpness to his words.
She looked a little embarrassed, “Well, I would feel a bit better picking them myself. Not because you’re lacking in your ability to find good guards, but because I will have to house them and see them every day. And since you’ve admitted yourself that the chances of anyone robbing the mansion are small, even if my choosing is rather poor, it should be sufficient for scaring away any would-be robbers.”
“....hrm…”
He clearly didn’t seem willing.
“Of course, as to the ones guarding my carriage, that I will leave to you. I should rather not get robbed blind twice.”
His expression loosened somewhat, so she pushed a little harder.
“You will also have your best people looking for that bandit and once he is captured the guards I hire will be dismissed.” She gave a tinkling laugh and admitted, “Honestly, I am just hoping to be surrounded by some good looking men, if only temporarily.”
The Viscount completely relaxed when she made this statement.
“Are you already bored with that foreign boy and the teacher?” He asked in good humor.
“Bored?” She squinted her eyes in playful thoughtfulness. “Rather than bored, I am always on the hunt for something new. I have some interesting fellows at home, but there’s no reason to restrict myself, don’t you think?”
The Viscount laughed and then gave a sharp nod.
“Alright, since my Marchioness asked, how could I turn her down? It’s a small thing.”
She clapped her hands cheerfully, “Ah, this is what I love about you Viscount, you truly understand me in a way no one else ever could!”
His smile became extremely warm as he said, “I will always do my utmost to make the Marchioness… happy.”
———
From then on, news spread that the Marchioness was looking for “handsome guards”. The handsome part was stressed over the qualifications, such as having some basic fighting skills, able to use a sword or being familiar with guns. When people heard the request they didn’t know what to make of it: did the Witch want some fresh man meat or did she actually want people to protect her?
Speaking of “the Witch”, the rumors of the Marchioness remained mostly negative. Those who lived closest to the Mansion were the least hostile towards her, since they often had family working in the mansion and got news from the source. However, the further from the Mansion a person went, the more vicious talk of her became. While it was true a lifetime of wickedness couldn’t be overturned in a few months, the resilience of the negative rumors suggested they weren’t natural.
That is to say, it was clear the Viscount was feeding the flame of hatred. Constantly deflecting the people’s criticism away from himself and towards her. Even if the Marchioness repented publicly of her past misdeeds and donated all her money to the church, her past would never be forgotten or forgiven because the Viscount wouldn’t let that happen. She must always be the “soul eating witch” in the commoner's mind.
The turn out for her call for guards was, therefore, rather lackluster. A little over twenty people showed up, and of them only half could be counted as above average in looks. The group of twenty or so could be divided into four parts: a part that thought themselves more handsome than they actually were, a part that knew working in the Mansion was actually a good move financially, those picked by the Viscount and lastly, Felicia’s “own people”.
This last group had been acquired through Lord Curtidor and “Robin Hood”. Felicia had to give both of them two thumbs up. Not only did they find some highly trained individuals, they were also the best looking out of the bunch. Just at a glance, it was clear they were significantly better looking than the rest of the men there and absolutely trounced the Viscount’s planted men by a mile. She could visibly watch the Viscount’s men’s faces turn ugly when they realized they had no hope of being picked.
It didn’t matter if the Viscount was suspicious that she skipped over his spies. One look and even he would have to begrudgingly agree that a “shallow” person like the Marchioness had no incentive to pick his men. It was his own fault for being lazy about his men’s appearance and thinking they would be “good enough” to appeal to her high standards.
Felicia picked the 5 originally sent by her contacts and 1 spare. The “spare” happened to be one of the many people DARS had run across in her travels. When she could, she would always prioritize someone DARS recommended over anyone else.
The “spare” was a young man who was astonishingly strong. His future potential was high but currently he lacked knowledge and experience— he didn’t know how to do anything other than street fighting and had no idea how to use a sword or gun. His go-to method of winning a fight was “bash it ‘till it’s dead”, which admittedly worked well for him up until he was hired. Because he had no idea how to be a real guard, she sent him over to Lord Curtidor to get proper training.
Lord Curtidor was not very happy getting stuck with a second student, especially one so ignorant. But Felicia knew that this young man had a mind that easily absorbed martial arts and, with guidance, would be very good at violence. He was also a simple soul who would be sincere with his loyalty, even willing to risk his life for those he’d pledged his honor to. That person would, naturally, be for Rido.
Rido’s martial arts teacher had thought the men he’d brought in would be protecting the Marchioness and Heir Querido. However, that had never been Felicia’s intention. From the beginning, they were to be the strong, deadly “hands and feet” for Rido when he was older. These people would remain by his side, or nearby, and be used when diplomatic words and stealth failed. Basically, they would be the stick to smack the enemy with, and her safety would never be a priority for them.
They just didn’t know that yet.
The bandit called “Robin Hood” was extremely good at his job. He really did know the March like the back of his hand. His ability to fight and run was so good even Felicia had no idea how he got away with the things he did. His targets were tax collectors, the main bullies working for the Viscount, and the corrupt lower nobles and merchants.
He never stole what was lawfully obtained by any of these dirtbags, only what they had robbed under the guise of the law. Taxes of a certain amount were still allowed to be collected, but anything over what had been approved by the Marchioness would be promptly stolen and then stealthily given back to the people who’d just had their pockets empty by the tax collector. Many families survived a harsh season thanks to Robin Hood’s “surprise returns”.
Because it was always the ill gotten gains that were targeted, Viscount Barrera was in a tough spot. He could easily put a bounty on Robin Hood’s head and brand him an outlaw, but he couldn’t draw too much attention to the man either. The things stolen and the plans ruined by Robin Hood often directly implicated him in serious breaches of the King’s Law. Other than Mora fief, which he controlled in every way except legally, he couldn’t ask for outside help like he typically would do. He was forced to use his own men, which limited his ability to catch this notorious thief.
The only option left was to oppress the people more than ever. He made it lucrative to betray Robin Hood and life threatening to accept any help from him. In the past, this method would have worked. But to the Viscount’s befuddlement, something had changed among the commoners.
He could not put his finger on where or who started it, but there was an air of repressed outrage among the Fresa masses. The usual snitches had no information to give him or simply disappeared into thin air, with none of their neighbors knowing what happened to them. It was impossible to find out anything because everyone claimed to be ignorant.
At one point he was so frustrated he ordered an entire village be burned down, only to discover that all the houses were empty and not a single corpse could be found. Not even the milking cow or dog had died! Where they all went, he had no idea, because no one in the surrounding areas would tell him. It was as if they just… vanished.
Naturally, the Viscount was thoroughly distracted by all this and did not care two wits about what the Marchioness was doing. He had people watching her already and knew she wasn’t related to the Robin Hood fellow and she also wasn’t doing anything any more outrageous than she had in the past. Therefore, as long as she didn’t add to his stress, he didn’t care about her.
His visits to the Mansion were further reduced, barely amounting to once or twice a year thanks to being kept busy by his number one nemesis: Robin Hood.
And just like that, ten years passed by and Heir Querido’s 16th birthday was fast approaching.