Chapter 81

Odelliana’s skill in managing finances had long been proven, ever since she first took over the household affairs of the keep.

Even so, Blair’s decision to hand her full authority—not just a voice in planning but the power to draft and operate the entire budget—was a startling move. She had expected, at most, to advise from the sidelines and watch Blair make the final calls. To be entrusted with everything came as a surprise that left her momentarily speechless.

So this is what it feels like to be truly acknowledged.

When she had once served Jocelyn with unswerving loyalty, what she had received in return had been little more than tolerance—a sense of being “useful.” But from Blair, what she now felt was something far greater: endless affection and an unshakable trust. That subtle difference between mere usefulness and genuine belief carried an emotional weight that threatened to overwhelm her.

Her chest tightened, and Odelliana pressed the sudden rush of feeling down, forcing herself to steady. To know that she had one sound, unwavering ally, someone who stood firmly at her side, was a comfort so precious it nearly broke her. Blair’s warmth and confidence in her were so profound that she sometimes despised herself for not yet being able to return that trust without reservation.

***

Less than three months remained before war would erupt.

The barbarian tribes were moving fast, mobilizing at a speed that left little doubt. At the rate they were preparing, an outbreak of civil war as early as the following month would hardly be surprising.

Odelliana wasted no time. After assessing the liquid funds available for rapid movement, she immediately reached out to the great merchant guilds scattered across the region. She mapped the shortest routes with meticulous care, factoring in transportation fees and commissions, and compared the market prices of goods in each territory before pushing hard to finalize contracts.

Even in the midst of these ceaseless days, she did not abandon her training with Malena. To keep herself in peak condition, she exercised faithfully, building strength and endurance, while still managing the castle’s affairs. Each day became a battle against the clock, every moment claimed by one responsibility or another.

One evening, a maid approached as Odelliana was reviewing ledgers.

“My lady,” the girl said, voice quick, “the monster-slaying expedition is expected to return soon. They may arrive as early as tomorrow, or within four days at the latest.”

Odelliana’s head snapped up. “Already?”

“I was surprised as well,” the maid admitted, almost breathless. “To think they’ve cleared the entire region in barely two months—it’s extraordinary.”

“How many casualties among the knights?” Odelliana asked, her tone sharpening.

“None,” the maid replied at once. “Three emergency patients were sent to the infirmary yesterday, but that was all. The heavy losses were among the private mercenary bands.”

It was no wonder. Unlike the knightly order, who carried specialized equipment designed for monster hunts, the mercenaries fought practically barehanded, forced to face the beasts with little more than steel and grit. Injuries and death were always more common among them. Still, the pay for slaying even a single monster was so immense that for those living hand to mouth, risking their lives was often worth it.

“Already, the streets are full of stories of Sir Matthias’s deeds,” the maid added, a touch of awe in her voice. “They say his knowledge of the beasts’ habits, their traits, and the ways to counter them astonished even seasoned experts. His tactics were unpredictable, and his strength… they say it’s beyond anything ordinary.”

Odelliana felt no surprise. Matthias was still little more than a boy, yes, but when grown he had been the commander who returned victorious even from the slaughter pits Jocelyn had once thrust him toward. And besides—at his core, he was a beast himself. It would have been stranger if he were anything less than exceptional.

“The expedition has worked hard,” she said after a pause. “It’s only proper that we hold a banquet for them.”

“A banquet?” the maid echoed, startled. “But my lady, you are already pressed for time. Do we have the resources to organize such an event right now?”

Odelliana’s eyes did not waver. “Those who risk their lives must never be treated lightly. If time is scarce, then we divide it—we make the time.”

Honoring the knights was more than custom; it was necessity. To neglect those who defended the land with their bodies was to weaken the very foundation of the domain’s strength. In the shadow of war, every knight was a resource too valuable to risk losing to neglect or resentment.

“How are the finances?” she asked. “How large can we make it?”

The maid hesitated. “What scale do you have in mind?”

“A full week of festivities,” Odelliana replied. “Food and drink provided daily.”

“My lady, the staff of the keep are already strained. Most of them are older—are you sure they can handle the workload?”

“I’ve considered that,” she said. “We will bring in more hands.”

“Where will you find people so quickly?”

“I’ve already marked a few quick and capable children from the poorhouse. They can help with basic tasks. As for the food, we’ll contract outside workers on a short-term basis.”

The truth was that more guests would come in the future. As Lord Blair’s name spread, there would be visitors to receive, and banquets to host. Most of the current servants were nearing the end of their working years; it was only prudent to begin adding younger strength to the household now.

“Summon all the staff,” she said finally, closing her ledger. “We need to discuss preparations.”

***

“Have you heard?” a knight murmured, lowering his voice. “The lord’s reward for this campaign is said to be immense.”

The news raced through the returning expedition like a spark catching dry grass.

How quickly the mood had shifted. When their first sortie was announced, they had grumbled bitterly, lamenting the end of peace. They had marched out like cattle to slaughter. Now, after two long months away, the same men were buoyed by thoughts of homecomings and heavy purses, laughter rising more freely.

“Well, they deserve it,” another said with a grin. “Do you know how many beasts we brought down? Every carcass was stripped and sent to auction. I heard the bidding alone fetched sums beyond imagination.”

A third, older knight only shrugged. “I’m just glad to have my limbs. Let others count their coin—I’ll count my blessings.”

“You’re not wrong,” someone muttered. “Truth be told, I half expected half our number to come back as corpses.”

“Same here. It’s been years since I’ve held a blade, and they suddenly call us to arms? I thought my end had come for sure.”

Their voices lowered as they noticed a figure apart from the rest—a boy with ink-black hair, standing silent, water dripping from his shoulders as he washed.

“Look at him,” one of the veterans muttered. “A dragon playing at being a snake. What’s he doing in a backwater like this?”

The lad had been a curiosity from the day he joined, his striking looks drawing every eye. Too young, too bright—a contradiction. Rumors had flown, that the tales of him slaying beasts were false, that he was no more than the lord’s pet, a favored recruit dropped into their ranks without merit.

But in this campaign, the boy had answered every doubt.

“What’s his name again?” someone asked.

“Matthias,” another replied. “From Köbeck.”

“The slum?”

“They say he’s an orphan. No parents, nothing.”

The older knights clucked their tongues as they watched Matthias finish his gear checks with brisk efficiency.

“A pity,” one of them muttered, voice sour. “Of all the women, he chose that one.”

Another smirked. “Ah, you mean the crippled girl he offered his vows to? He can fight, but he’s a fool. Could’ve had better patrons lined up. He’ll regret it soon enough.”

A third knight chuckled, leaning close. “Still, I’ve seen her. Plain clothes, quiet manner, but the face isn’t bad. And the body—when she was working at the poorhouse, I noticed. Full bust, slim waist. Shame about the leg, but I’d wager her skin’s soft, and gentle temperament too. A saint, they call her. I wonder how saintly she’d be in—”

The man never finished.

In the space of a blink, his feet left the ground, his voice strangled into a choked cry. A hand like iron clamped around his throat, lifting him bodily into the air.

It took the others a moment to register what had happened.

Matthias stood before them, small for his age, yet moving with lethal precision. How could such strength reside in that still-growing frame? The sight left the others frozen, breath held, as they watched the boy hold a fully armored man aloft with a single hand, without the slightest tremor.

“Stop!” someone barked. “What are you doing?!”

But before anyone could move, Matthias flung the man aside like a rag doll. He hit a boulder with a sickening crack, his spine twisting unnaturally before he crumpled to the ground. A strangled cry, then stillness.

The camp fell silent.

“Alive!” a voice shouted after a hurried check. “He’s breathing, just unconscious!”

Their commander, Captain Lahan, strode forward, sword already drawn. He leveled the blade at Matthias’s throat, steel gleaming cold against skin.

“This is insubordination,” Lahan said, voice hard. “You nearly killed a fellow knight.”

Matthias did not flinch. “Nearly,” he said calmly. “Not quite.”

The words carried weight—a quiet, undeniable claim.

“I executed my duty,” he added, gaze turning icy as he glanced at the fallen man. “He insulted my liege’s honor. I merely delivered justice.”

Lahan questioned the others, piecing together the incident. When he heard the truth—that the insult had been a lewd remark about Odelliana—he exhaled sharply and sheathed his sword.

Matthias’s reaction had been justified. If anything, his only fault was dispensing justice without the formality of a duel. But honor, after all, was worth a life. A tongue that defiled it deserved no mercy.

No one spoke after that. The camp’s laughter died, replaced by silence and quick, careful glances.

Matthias, still not officially knighted, carried himself like a commander. His brief act of defiance would become another tale whispered in streets and taverns, a story of raw strength and unwavering loyalty.

It was, in every sense, a triumphant return.