The imperial envoy stood aghast, staring at the man before him. It was one thing to curse the Emperor in private when no one was around. But to spew such blatant venom in front of an imperial envoy, bearing the Emperor's own missive?
"How dare you! How could you speak so disrespectfully of His Imperial Majesty—"
"Shut your mouth unless you want to be thrown alive to a pack of starving hounds. I'm in a foul mood."
The envoy flinched, his body trembling at the man's threat. If it had been re bluster, he might have retorted with righteous indignation, accusing the man of treason.
But this man was no re braggart. The cold gleam in his eyes, the way he carried himself—it was clear that he wouldn't hesitate to follow through on his words.
"This bastard… there were already whispers about him killing one of the Emperor's envoys before…"
Swallowing hard, the envoy shrank back slightly, his instincts screaming at him to avoid provoking the predator before him. The man's icy gaze was suffocating, promising swift violence at the slightest provocation.
"Hmph."
The man scoffed, satisfied by the envoy's silence. He smirked as if to say the envoy had finally understood his place.
The envoy burned with indignation but dared not let it show. The Emperor might have been far away in the central provinces, but the blade of this man was far too close.
"So… Sylas Corleone, is it? Or should I say Sylas Drakenfels now? What a grand na that is."
The man chuckled bitterly, his mirth laced with disdain. Even now, in the fractured South, none could truly call themselves the master of Drakenfels.
No one dared to claim the na, for no one had the power to command the entire region.
"Not even those of legitimate lineage could use the Drakenfels na," the man thought bitterly.
The small lords who once bowed to the previous Count had quickly banded together after his death, declaring:
"Unless one rules all of Drakenfels, no one has the right to bear its na."
And so, even the descendants of the late Count had been forced to adopt the surnas of their maternal lines. It was a humiliation that stung deeply, one they endured while awaiting the day they could reclaim their legacy.
"And now so outsider dares to call himself Drakenfels?"
Grinding his teeth, the man crushed the decree in his hand. It didn't matter whether this so-called Count was a fool acting on his own or a pawn in the Emperor's sche to provoke his assassination.
The Drakenfels na was sacred in the South, a symbol not to be tarnished. Anyone who dared to use it without rightful claim would pay the ultimate price.
"The new Count seems terribly unlucky. So young, and yet he'll be eting the goddess soon."
A murderous gleam filled his eyes as he whispered his intention, making no effort to hide his plans from the envoy. The man's predatory smile widened, promising carnage.
"Send word to Baron Harald. Tell him to prepare a grand welco for the new Count."
And to send him to heaven, he added silently, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.
anwhile, on the Road to Drakenfels
Sylas and his party had completed their preparations and left the capital within two days. Staying longer would have only brought more impatient prodding from the Emperor, so departing sooner was preferable.
Those two days were spent eting with Bjorn and Aratheon. Had it not been for their etings, the group could have left within a single day.
"We'll be off now," Sylas said as he prepared to leave.
"Take care of yourself," Bill Corleone replied.
"It's not my safety you should worry about—it's my enemies who need to tread carefully."
"Ha! Fair point," Bill laughed, recognizing the truth in his son's jest. It might sound arrogant to others, but Bill knew Sylas had earned the right to such confidence.
"Once I've secured Drakenfels, I'll send you a letter."
"I'll be waiting. Though I suspect it won't take you long."
"Naturally."
Sylas offered his father a knowing smile before leading his entourage out of the capital, heading south along the central highway.
The journey was uneventful. Monsters kept to the shadows, and neither bandits nor wild beasts dared to appear. Surprisingly, the road felt as safe as those in the East.
"I thought the southern lords were too busy fighting each other to bother with governance. But they seem to be doing their jobs well enough."
"Not quite," Toby interjected, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand.
As the group's resident expert on the South, Toby was better acquainted with the region than anyone else in their party.
"No southern lord bothers with mundane matters like security. As long as the taxes roll in, they couldn't care less."
"Then how do you explain how peaceful the road is?"
"That's just the way the South is," Toby replied, his tone certain.
"The southern provinces are the most blessed lands in the Empire. There are few monsters, the farmland is fertile, and there's plenty of ga. Even the predators are scarce because they have easier prey."
Sylas raised an eyebrow. Toby's words were unexpected.
"You're saying that even the poorest families rarely starve?"
"Exactly. Beggars can scrape together enough to make a thin soup every al, even in the worst of tis. It's a land where no one dies of hunger."
Luke's surprise was evident. In most places, starvation was a harsh reality, particularly during harsh winters. Entire families could perish if their lords failed to provide.
"Yet in the South, even with negligent lords, people survive?"
"The land is generous," Toby said with a wry smile.
But that abundance ca with a price.
"Because the land provides so generously, the lords have little else to worry about. That's why they focus all their energy on expanding their power instead."
Sylas nodded slowly.
"And since the region as a whole is wealthy, most of the lords are doing the sa thing."
"Exactly," Toby confird.
Normally, the Empire's central authority might step in to diate such disputes, but the South was a special case.
Its wealth made it dangerous. A peaceful South would see its lords grow stronger by the day, their abundant resources funding ever-larger armies.
For the Emperor, it was easier to let them weaken each other.
"A short-sighted policy," Sylas thought.
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