Amara's voice dropped to nearly a whisper, her eyes locked on Elysian's face. "I've uncovered something significant, young master. The royal family has been financing your family's rule of Ironspire since your father's ascension to baron." She paused, scrutinizing Elysian's reaction, clearly hoping for some insight or confirmation.

Elysian's face remained impassive, but his mind raced.

'How could I have been so blind? As a baron in my past life, this should have been crucial information. But then...

Is it really surprising? I delegated everything, especially to my uncle. And when I finally took an interest in true leadership...'

Betrayal. Slavery. Perhaps my ignorance was by design.'

Elysian's jaw clenched imperceptibly.

Noting the young noble's prolonged silence, Amara pressed on, her tone measured and careful. "The funding has diminished significantly since the sudden passing of the previous king. However," she emphasized, leaning forward slightly, "it remains sufficient to keep the barony operational, ensuring your family's continued rule over Ironspire."

Elysian's eyes snapped back into focus, a newfound intensity in his gaze. "Tell me, Amara, how unusual is this arrangement? For the crown to directly finance a barony?"

Amara's brow furrowed. "Highly unusual, young master. Typically, a barony is expected to be self-sufficient, and not by the crown directly."

"And yet," Elysian mused, his voice low, "the royal family sees fit to prop up our rule over this supposedly worthless frontier." He stood, pacing the room, his mind working furiously. "What makes Ironspire so valuable that the crown would invest so heavily in its existence?"

Thomas, who had been silently observing, cleared his throat. "Perhaps it's not what Ironspire is, but what it guards against?" he suggested gruffly. "We are the first line of defense against whatever lies beyond the wilds."

Elysian nodded slowly, but his eyes remained troubled. "A plausible explanation, but it doesn't account for everything. The secrecy, the outside influences, the mine..." He turned back to Amara. "We need more information. Discreetly expand your investigation. Look into the mine's operations, any unusual shipments, and dig deeper into these royal connections."

Amara nodded, a glint of determination in her eyes. "Of course, young master. But we must tread carefully. If there truly is a greater game at play here, we don't want to alert the wrong people to our inquiries."

"Agreed," Elysian said, his voice firm. "We're standing on the edge of something far larger than we realized. It's time we learned what's really at stake in Ironspire."

The young noble paused, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. "Amara, what of my uncle? How does he fit into this web of influential families and outside noble interests?"

Amara's expression tightened, choosing her words carefully. "You've never hidden your disdain for your uncle, young master. Your hatred is..." She trailed off, waiting for Elysian to object, but he merely nodded, his face a mask of grim acceptance.

"Are you suggesting," Amara continued, her voice low and measured, "that your uncle might be in league with these families? That he could be betraying your father?"

Elysian's gaze was steely, his voice unwavering. "The thought has crossed my mind. Have you uncovered any evidence of such a connection? Any hint of betrayal?"

Amara sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I'm afraid, young master, that the reality is quite the opposite of what you suspect."

Confusion flickered across Elysian's face. "Opposite? You mean..."

"Yes," Amara interjected, meeting Elysian's gaze directly. "The power dynamics in Ironspire are more complex than they appear. There are multiple factions vying for control and influence."

She began to pace, her words coming faster now. "Your father, as baron, stands apart from these games. He controls the military—one of the strongest forces in the kingdom—and the other groups dare not interfere there. But beyond that, two main factions emerge: your uncle's group and the families influenced by outside nobility."

Elysian's brow furrowed. "And my uncle?"

"Is in direct opposition to these families," Amara revealed. "They're rivals, not allies. What's more, these families aren't a unified front. They have divergent interests, which your uncle has expertly exploited to keep them at bay."

Thomas, who had been listening intently, let out a low whistle. "So the old fox isn't as black as he's painted, eh?"

‘Well, that isn’t really surprising. He isn’t the type that will just give or share his power to anyone. He is a prideful b*stard. That doesn’t mean he isn’t a traitor. He betrayed my father and me. And I can’t let that happen again. Never.’

Elysian turned back to Amara, his eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. "My dislike for my uncle doesn't mean I can't offer a helping hand. We can offer him some help in the shadows..." He paused, a wry smile playing on his lips. "For the time being, at least."

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Amara nodded, a spark of understanding flashing in her eyes.

"We need more intelligence," Elysian continued, his voice low and intense. "Gather every scrap of information on these families—their weaknesses, their secrets, anything we can exploit. We'll pass it to my uncle, let him wield it against them." A devious smirk spread across his face. "Our interests align, for once. Why not capitalize on that?"

Amara's lips curled into a predatory grin. "Ah, I see. Like our strategy with Crimson Talon and Dread Raider—set them at each other's throats."

"Precisely," Elysian nodded. "But this time, we're not neutral observers. We're throwing our lot in with my uncle... for now." He paused, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Of course, young master," Amara replied, her voice tinged with respect. "I'll begin at once. But may I suggest we proceed with caution? These families have deep roots and long reaches. We don't want to alert them to our maneuverings."

Elysian nodded gravely. "Agreed."

He turned back to Amara, his eyes alight with determination. "Start with the three most influential families. I want to know everything—their sources of income, their political leanings, even their personal vices. Knowledge is power, and we're going to amass as much of it as we can."

"Knowledge is power indeed," Amara nodded, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "Which brings me to a proposition, young master. You've already deduced my use of street urchins for information gathering, haven't you?"

Elysian's lips curled into a knowing smile. "I had my suspicions. Your uncanny ability to predict clashes between rival factions suggested a network of eyes and ears. And if I recall correctly, we were tailed by a young lad when we first arrived... Timmy, wasn't it? One of the children we rescued from Grimscar?"

"Your memory serves you well," Amara confirmed, impressed. "Timmy had nowhere to go after we saved him. He'd spent his entire life on the streets. So, I offered him work, simple errands at first. But then, an idea took root."

She leaned forward, her voice growing animated. "I tasked Timmy with recruiting other street children. In exchange for bread and basic necessities, they became our eyes across Ironspire. When chaos erupted between Crimson Talon and Dread Raider, this network proved invaluable."

Amara paused, her expression turning hesitant. Elysian's eyebrow arched. "I sense there's more. What are you proposing?"

Taking a deep breath, Amara continued, "I want to expand this operation exponentially. It would not only enhance our surveillance capabilities but also provide sustenance for more street children. In turn, this could reduce petty crime born of desperation. A win-win scenario." She met Elysian's gaze directly. "However, it would require a substantial investment on our part."

Elysian leaned back, considering. After a moment, a slow smile spread across his face. "I like it. It's clever, efficient, and addresses multiple issues at once. You have my full support, Amara."

"Thank you, young master," Amara said, relief and determination mingling in her voice. "But I must stress, this will be a significant undertaking. The..."

Elysian held up a hand, his expression resolute. "I trust your judgment implicitly, my lady. You have the final say in this matter. Proceed as you see fit."

Thomas, who had been listening intently, chuckled. "Feeding the hungry and gathering intelligence in one stroke. Clever, that."

"Indeed," Elysian nodded. "But let's take this a step further. Amara, as you implement this plan, look for opportunities to groom some of these children for more specialized roles. Pick those that have some talent we can cultivate. We're not just feeding them; we're investing in Ironspire's future."

Amara's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in thought. "An excellent suggestion, young master. We could create a pathway for the most promising children to rise above their circumstances."

"Exactly," Elysian said, his voice filled with determination. "We're not just gathering information or feeding the hungry. We're planting the seeds for a new generation of loyal, capable individuals who understand Ironspire from the ground up."

As Amara began outlining the logistics, Elysian gazed out the window, a sense of purpose settling over him. In the streets below, he saw not just a city in turmoil, but a wellspring of untapped potential. The game was changing, and with it, the very fabric of Ironspire itself.

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Lysander's piercing gaze bore into Elysian as they walked. "What's prompted this sudden interest in city council meetings, nephew?"

Elysian fought to maintain his composure, acutely aware of his uncle's scrutiny. "Given Ironspire's current turmoil, I feel compelled to learn and grow. To better serve our people."

A flicker of approval crossed Lysander's face. "It's heartening to see you maturing, boy." His eyes narrowed. "Though I suspect you still harbor resentment over my inaction regarding those troublesome syndicates."

Elysian met his uncle's gaze, his youthful features a mask of earnestness that belied the steel beneath. "The lives of our citizens are at stake, uncle."

Lysander sighed heavily. "Your naivety persists, I see. Why concern yourself with these wretched plebeians? They contribute nothing but mouths to feed and filth in our streets." His lip curled in disgust. "Were it up to me, we'd follow other cities' example and expel them. But your father, in his... wisdom, welcomed these refugees."

‘Interesting. I did not know that. It finally makes sense since I could not imagine my uncle allowing these poor people to live here.’

Elysian's eyes widened slightly, carefully hiding his surprise. "Why would father do that?"

A derisive snicker escaped Lysander. "Why else? An endless supply of bodies for his precious military."

'Of course, it all makes sense now.'

Aloud, he pressed on. "Regardless, uncle, they're Ironspire's citizens. We have a duty to protect them."

"You speak like the child you are," Lysander retorted, exasperation coloring his tone. "Rulership demands practicality. Our land can barely sustain itself, let alone these hordes. Ironspire's soil is poor, crops fail more often than not, and we lack goods for trade. Tell me, boy, how would you propose to feed these vermin when our coffers run dry?"

Elysian fell silent, the weight of the impossible situation settling on his young shoulders.

Lysander's voice softened, taking on an almost pitying tone. "This way, their deaths at least serve a purpose. We're paid for their useless lives, giving meaning to their existence."

As they approached their destination, Elysian clenched his jaw, a storm of emotions raging behind his carefully controlled expression. The cruel calculus of his uncle's words warred with his own ideals, leaving him torn between the harsh realities of rulership and his burning desire for change. He simply could not accept his uncle's logic.

Lysander placed a hand on the door, pausing to glance back at his nephew. "Remember, Elysian, sentiment has no place in governance. Today, you'll see how real decisions are made."

With a decisive push, Lysander swung open the heavy oak doors, revealing a cacophony of voices that abruptly hushed. Elysian stepped into a world far removed from the streets he sought to protect—a realm of political machinations and moral compromises laid bare before his young eyes.