Lucios adjusted the belt around his waist, feeling the soft leather against his skin as he pulled the sleeves of his best tunic, trying to hide the slight tremor in his hands. The gray tunic, with its delicate blue embroidery that shimmered in the soft candlelight, was the only ceremonial garment he had brought with him to Mbara’ba. It had been carefully stored for special occasions, and he wanted to make an impression. Most of his belongings, however, had been left behind at his grandfather’s mansion in Sucundo, abandoned in haste when he had to leave without raising suspicion.

Thinking of that event brought back a glimpse of the uncomfortable journey he had to endure, and for a brief moment, Lucios wondered why those pirates had attacked him at sea. What were they after? But before his mind got lost in theories, he forced it back to the present, to the dilemma before him now. Although he had been at the baron’s house for a few weeks, this was the first time he had been summoned personally.

Soon, a young soldier silently approached. He stopped beside him, slightly tilting his head before speaking in a respectful, soft tone, “The baron awaits you, young noble.”

The cold stone corridor seemed narrower than usual, and the distant sound of servants at work barely reached his ears. However, as he walked toward the baron’s office, the initial nervousness tightening his chest began to ease.

With each step, he reminded himself of who he was, heir to a lineage that carried the weight of generations of tradition. The nervousness gave way to controlled serenity, as if he were putting a firm mask over his emotions. His shoulders, once tense, subtly relaxed, and the irregular beating of his heart began to sync with his steady steps. When he reached the door, he looked up, now calmer and more focused, reflecting a quiet confidence in his posture and the slight gleam of determination in his eyes.

………………………

Meanwhile, the scene cuts to the baron’s office a few moments earlier.

An eighteen-year-old young man, with impeccable posture, was serving a glass of wine to Sir Patrick, the head knight of the Kamaiura house. Sir Patrick was seated across from the baron, both in the midst of a serious conversation.

“…All the captured bandits have already arrived in Mbara’ba and are ready to receive their sentences,” Sir Patrick reported in a soft tone. “Additionally, Girma has just returned. He said that after a few days of tracking the bandit leader, they clashed in a confrontation. Despite managing to shoot a few arrows at the leader, he still managed to escape, jumping into one of the arms of the Akua River.”

The young man, Evan, who had just served the wine, now stood by the door in absolute silence, attentively observing the scene, listening to the words exchanged in the center of the room. His eyes moved from Sir Patrick to the baron, absorbing every detail of the discussion but not daring to interrupt.

The baron, with his fingers intertwined on the table, thought for a moment about the bandit leader. His expression was serious, but the sharp glint in his eyes revealed a calculating mind. “Lucky fellow…” he murmured, breaking the brief silence. “I doubt he’ll become a problem again in the future.”

After a brief pause, the baron adjusted his posture and calmly spoke again, “As for the captured bandits, interrogate them. Those who don’t have blood on their hands will do forced labor in the fields. As for those who do, they will be hanged.”

The baron paused again, his fingers lightly drumming on the solid wooden table. He raised his eyes to Sir Patrick, his demeanor relaxed, as if the matter were nothing more than a formality. With a slight wave of his hand, he spoke, almost nonchalantly:

“Dedicate more effort to the group that attacked the caravans. I want a detailed report on them,” he said, in a disinterested tone, as if merely passing along a routine message.

Sir Patrick, however, did not share the same lightness. His eyes shone with focused intensity. To him, this was not just a detail to be resolved but a critical point. He nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the baron, and responded in a soft but serious voice. “That was already my intention. After all, a bandit in the metamorphosis stage in the northern lands is very strange.”

Despite the controlled and low tone, there was an undeniable determination in his words, as if dedicating more energy to this interrogation was, to him, the most obvious and natural thing to do. The baron’s lightness contrasted with the gravity Patrick placed on the matter, showing that the knight was keen on the details, looking for any clue that could lead back to the bandit leader who had escaped.

With the matter of the bandits concluded, Sir Patrick shifted in his chair, his gaze focused on a new topic that seemed to trouble him. With an almost imperceptible sigh, he commented, “The boy from the Apurina house is taking too long. The servant was sent to summon him at dawn, and so much time has passed, and he still hasn’t arrived. It seems he needs one or two lessons about not keeping his elders waiting.”

Patrick’s voice, though soft, carried a veiled and severe critique. His eyes then rested on Evan, who stood still by the door, and without hesitation, he ordered, “Evan, go after him and hurry the boy.”

Upon hearing the order, Evan felt a wave of discomfort. His gaze, usually calm and observant, instantly shifted, revealing a slight, contained panic. A few weeks ago, obeying an order from the head knight of the house would have been incontestable. Sir Patrick’s authority was clear, and his word, law. However, since he had received the honor of becoming the personal assistant and squire of Baron Oliver a few days ago, the dynamic had changed. Now, theoretically, he should only take orders directly from the baron, and any other instructions would have to be sanctioned by him. Confused about how to act without disrespecting any authority, Evan merely diverted his gaze to the baron, seeking guidance.

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Baron Oliver, always attentive to details, immediately noticed the dilemma unfolding in Evan’s silence. He also understood the hidden meaning behind Patrick’s request. Oliver, for his part, saw no need to prolong the tension. With his characteristic calm, he gave a slight nod and spoke, his voice firm. “Go and bring the Apurina boy here.”

The clear and direct order brought immediate relief to Evan, who finally felt the weight of indecision dissipate. He straightened his shoulders, assuming a confident and firm posture, as his new role demanded. With a determined and respectful voice, he responded to the baron, “Immediately, my lord.”

Evan bowed slightly in a gesture of respect, his eyes now carrying the certainty of someone who knew exactly what to do. He then turned smoothly, his boots echoing on the floor as he left the room. The door closed softly behind him, leaving Sir Patrick and the baron alone again, while the young man hurried to carry out the task assigned to him.

As soon as the door closed behind Evan, silence filled the office for a brief moment. Sir Patrick, still gazing at the polished wood of the door through which the young squire had exited, broke the silence with a comment that carried the weight of a veiled critique.

"It was a hasty decision to accept that boy as a squire," he said bluntly, his voice controlled but revealing the discontent he had harbored for some time.

Baron Oliver did not seem bothered by the observation. He maintained his relaxed posture, fingers interlaced on the desk, and after a moment of reflection, responded calmly, his voice measured, as if he had already considered this matter many times before.

"I've seen the boy in action," he began, his eyes softening for a brief moment, almost as if recalling a distant memory. "He has talent."

Sir Patrick's dismay became even more evident as he listened to the baron's simple response. His lips tightened, and with a slightly more serious tone, he continued. "Since your return, the news that you accepted a mere soldier as a squire has caused a mixed reaction among the house's knights," he said, frowning. "Many of them are displeased."

The baron closed his eyes, as if savoring the simplicity of the moment before diving into what he knew would be a complicated conversation. He didn’t seem concerned, and when he spoke again, his voice had a relaxed, almost uninterested tone. "Will these opinions be a problem?"

Sir Patrick let out a heavy sigh, one that carried not only frustration but also the resignation of someone caught in the intricacies of internal politics. He ran a hand over his chin, clearly exasperated, before responding with a question that sounded more like a lament. "Why are you making my life so difficult?"

There was a bitter lightness to his tone, as if he were on the verge of surrendering to the situation. He then proceeded, explaining the true depth of the issue. "Since Russel advanced to the metamorphosis stage and was promoted to knight, all the knights in the house have been fighting for their sons to be the next chosen as his squire."

He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the baron, searching for any sign that his words were being taken seriously. "I’ve had to waste time in dozens of meetings with each of these knights, all with sons of the right age, all of them, directly or indirectly, making requests for me to convince you to take one of their sons."

Sir Patrick paused, as if recalling with exhaustion all the conversations he had endured. He shook his head slightly, disappointed. "I even made a list for you. I put on it the names I thought were the most promising, young men with good records and potential." His tone turned slightly accusatory, though still composed. "And don’t tell me you didn’t read the list... because I saw you open the document in front of me, three months ago."

He crossed his arms, staring at the baron with an expression that mixed weariness and frustration, as if already knowing that his carefully crafted list had been ignored or, at the very least, set aside. To Patrick, this was not just an individual decision by the baron, but a move that affected the internal politics of the house.

Baron Oliver kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds, as if contemplating Sir Patrick's words. Then, with a deliberate movement, he opened them, his gaze fixed on the knight commander in front of him. The previous lightness disappeared from his face, replaced by a sharp expression. His eyes, now as sharp as blades, conveyed an unshakable authority as he straightened his posture in the chair. When he spoke, his voice was firm, carrying a tone that brooked no argument. "My decision is final, Patrick."

There was a brief pause, where the baron allowed the weight of his words to sink in. He leaned slightly forward, the intensity in his gaze unchanged. "Control their tempers..." he continued, his tone more severe now. "Come up with some excuse for my choice of the boy. You’re very good at making those things up."

What might initially have been an informal suggestion now carried a clear order. The baron knew that Sir Patrick, with his experience and influence over the other knights, was perfectly capable of calming internal tensions. And he made it clear that he expected this from him, leaving no room for negotiation.

Sir Patrick, for his part, did not show any immediate reaction. He remained still, absorbing the seriousness of the baron's words. The atmosphere in the office seemed to grow denser, with anticipation hanging in the air. Finally, he lowered his head slightly, in a respectful gesture, acknowledging that the baron was no longer open to discussions on the matter.

When he looked up again, the change in his expression was noticeable. The previous discontent had disappeared, replaced by a calculated calm, almost resignation. Sir Patrick, with his meticulous nature and discipline forged in years of leadership, knew when to accept an order without further delay. He nodded subtly, and his voice came out controlled, methodical, without any trace of unnecessary emotion. "As you wish, my lord."

The tone of his response was soft but firm, as if he were concluding a task. He knew what was expected of him, and even if the baron’s choice did not please him, loyalty to the house and its leadership came first. Sir Patrick had the skill to manipulate the internal dynamics among the knights of House Kamaiura, and though he preferred another choice, he was prepared to handle the conversations and calm tempers, as he always had.

Just as the heavy tension between Baron Oliver and Sir Patrick began to dissipate, both heard a knock on the door. The sound echoed through the office, interrupting the serious exchange of glances between the two. The dark wood of the door creaked slightly as it opened, revealing the figure of Evan. The young squire maintained a firm posture, despite his quiet steps as he entered the room. He bowed his head respectfully before speaking.

"Young noble Lucios Apurina has arrived, my lord," Evan announced, his voice clear and respectful, though he couldn’t completely hide a slight tone of anxiety.

Sir Patrick and the baron exchanged a quick glance but said nothing. The baron, maintaining his serious demeanor, turned slightly to Evan, who stood near the entrance, waiting. His voice was firm and decisive. "Bring him in."

Evan bowed in obedience, and with a quick movement, turned to carry out the order.