Chapter 445 Arriving

Michael was initially taken aback by the sight—but after a moment’s thought, it no longer seemed so surprising.

Considering Duke Evermoon’s centuries of heritage and influence, it would have been stranger if he

didn’t

have grand things tucked away beyond a personal monster zoo.

In the end, Michael realized he didn’t really care—so long as he reached his destination.

What truly occupied his mind were more pressing matters: the kingdom’s shipment of materials already en route to a territory he hadn’t even stepped foot in, the daunting task of managing said territory despite never having run so much as a company before, and most urgently... his Advancement.

He had just two days left before his college entrance exams.

As the final crates were loaded aboard, Duke Evermoon turned to Michael, his hands still folded behind his back.

"This vessel will take you to Thornvale and return here immediately after," the Duke said.

"I wish you a great reign," the Duke added. "May your rule be long... and worth remembering."

Michael nodded. "Thank you."

The Duke gave a brief, thoughtful smile. With that, he stepped back as the crew lowered the boarding ramp.

Michael stepped forward first.

Wisdom shifted slightly on his shoulder, adjusting his wings but not flying off.

Lyra followed, her boots silent on the wood. Ace and Lia walked behind, hesitant for most of their movement .

One by one, Michael’s soldiers boarded—forty men dressed in green armor bearing the freshly registered crest. Some looked curious, others disciplined, but none questioned the command. They were his now.

As the last man stepped aboard, the ramp pulled up with a faint hiss of magic.

Michael took one final glance back at the Duke, who raised a single hand in farewell.

Then the ship began to rise.

With a low hum, it floated skyward, guided by an invisible force.

*

Thornvale Territory — Barony of Greyfield

The skies above Thornvale carried a chill.

In the main hall of Greyfield Manor, two men sat before a crackling hearth, each nursing a goblet of spiced wine.

Baron Alric of Greyfield—stocky, sharp-eyed, and pushing into his late fifties—leaned forward in his seat. The flames played across his weathered face as he scowled into his drink.

Across from him lounged Baron Maddox of Redridge—leaner, younger, with a wolfish smile that never quite reached his eyes. He wore a red-trimmed coat that matched his namesake, and the confidence of a man who thought himself cleverer than most.

"So," Alric said, voice low and gruff, "we finally have a new lord."

Maddox raised a brow. "About time. I was starting to think the Duke had forgotten us entirely."

"I’ve heard this new lord is quite special," Alric muttered.

Maddox chuckled. "Special? You mean green. The boy’s barely old enough to shave. I still can’t believe he won the Duke’s competition. What’s the world coming to? Were the real contenders even competing? And don’t get me started on that ridiculous rumor about him being Grand-Tier."

Alric didn’t smile.

"Still, he isn’t just anyone," the older baron said.

Maddox’s expression tightened just slightly at that. "Luck. Or favoritism."

"Doesn’t matter which," Alric said, eyes sharp. "He’s our lord now. Viscount Thornvale. Like it or not."

Maddox drained the last of his wine and set the goblet down with a soft

clink

. "So what do you propose we do?"

Alric didn’t answer right away. The fire crackled between them.

"Watch," he said finally.

"Watch," Alric said finally.

Maddox frowned. "That’s it? Just watch?"

"For now." Alric leaned back in his chair. "Thornvale may be remote, but it’s not forgotten. There’s a reason the Duke didn’t let it stay vacant forever."

Both men turned slightly as the wind outside howled against the manor’s stone walls. Thornvale was dangerous—no one doubted that. Bordering the Everlong Forest, it was the kind of place where wild beasts roamed just a few miles from village fields.

But it was also rich.

Very rich.

It was why the barons had stayed.

And why they were nervous now.

With no superior to answer to for the past two years, they had grown used to the silence. They were used to eating without supervision.

Smugglers, rogue adventurers, even foreign merchants had begun making deals with the smaller lords of Thornvale. It was all done in the shadows, but no one interfered.

Now?

A young viscount, straight from the capital, was coming.

And no one knew what to expect.

"Do you think he’ll meddle?" Maddox asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Alric gave a dry laugh. "They always meddle. The question is how much."

"What if he has the power to contend with us," Maddox added. "Not the kingdom’s. His own."

Alric’s brows furrowed. "That... might be worse."

Maddox shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe not. If he’s just a boy, he’ll need advisors. Might even listen to people like us—people who know the land."

Alric gave him a long, pointed look. "Or he might be smart enough to know that people like us are the problem."

That shut Maddox up.

The truth was, they were all worried. Not just Maddox and Alric, but the other barons, too. The landed knights might posture with their code of honor, but they were in just as deep when it came to "redistributing" resources. Everyone had dipped their hands into Thornvale’s coffers. Everyone had something to lose.

"Still," Maddox said eventually, "he’s walking into a hornet’s nest. With his green hair, I give him six months before he flees back to the capital."

Alric didn’t respond immediately.

He stood slowly, walked toward the tall window overlooking the misted woods in the distance, and stared out for a moment.

"No," he said, his voice low. "He won’t run."

Maddox blinked. "Are you sure about that?"

Alric didn’t turn. "You don’t win a Duke’s tournament and then run. I don’t know who that young one is, but whether or not he was the Duke’s true contender—which I doubt, since the real players wouldn’t bother with a forsaken place like this—he’s definitely not someone simple."

He finally turned back to Maddox.

"Be careful," Alric said. "This boy may not be what he seems."

Maddox gave a forced chuckle. "Then what do you suggest? We bow and scrape?"

Alric’s smile was grim. "No. We greet him, smile, host a feast, toast to his reign, and offer to help him adjust."

He paused, voice hardening. "And we watch."

Maddox sighed. "Fine. We’ll play nice. For now."

"Good," Alric said.

The flying ship descended slowly, cutting through the early morning mist that clung to the highlands like a shroud.

From the deck, Michael stood near the railing, cloak flapping in the wind. His eyes narrowed as he took in the place that would soon be his new home.

"We’ll be landing in a moment, my lord," the ship’s captain announced behind him, his voice steady despite the occasional gust.

Michael gave a short nod.

Lyra stepped up beside him.

Michael, who didn’t have any immediate plans for her, simply let her act as she pleased. In any case, with the binding contract between them—and his own strength—he wasn’t particularly worried about her.

Wisdom, ever watchful, perched on the opposite shoulder, letting out a soft hoot.

The airship slowed its descent further, guided by an unseen array of enchantments.

The ship landed with a quiet thrum of mana discharging into the soil.

Michael waited until the ramp was lowered with a mechanical hiss before descending.

Boots hit soil.

The scent of wet grass and wild herbs filled his nose—stronger, earthier than the capital. The wind carried a bite.

His soldiers disembarked next in well-ordered ranks. Forty men in green-trimmed armor bearing Michael’s newly registered crest—the cauldron flanked by wolves. They moved with practiced efficiency, unloading crates, securing perimeter points, and managing the horses that had traveled in the cargo carriage.

Ace and Lia followed, blinking at the brightness of the sky. Neither had ever left the capital this far away before. To them, this may as well have been another world.

Behind them came the carriages—three in total—slowly rolled down the wooden ramps by the combined efforts of man and beast. The sleek personal one for Michael, the larger passenger transport, and the merchant-style cargo wagon. Horses were hitched to each one quickly, and within minutes, the group had formed a small, mobile camp.

The early morning mist clung stubbornly to the hills as Michael stood at the forefront of the small landing area, eyes sweeping over the vast, untouched wilderness that now belonged to him—Thornvale.

It felt different here.

The air was clean, the kind that filled your lungs and made you feel both smaller and more alive. Wild trees stretched along the horizon, and in the distance, faint outlines of mountains peeked through drifting fog. Somewhere out there, the Everlong Forest loomed.

This was what he’d chosen.

His boots sank slightly into the wet earth as he stepped forward.

The soldiers moved like clockwork.

They offloaded equipment, guided carriages down the ramps, and led the horses onto solid ground.