Iron Hearth Castle Courtyard. Two Weeks Later – Morning, Exactly on Deadline.
The sun had yet to climb high, but a thick fog blanketed the vast, cobblestone courtyard of the castle. The sound of massive, rhythmic hoofbeats shattered the morning silence.
Baron Gorm did not come alone.
This time, he brought a terrifying "circus troupe." Fifty fully armed soldiers from House Valerius, two empty carts (for confiscated goods), and an iron-barred carriage—a prison wagon specifically prepared for Lady Rhea.
Gorm sat atop his white horse, wrapped in a thick fur cloak. He smiled cunningly. In his head, the scenario was clear: The Sudraths have definitely defaulted. I will burn their village, drag their daughter away, and spit in that arrogant Duke's face.
"Open the gates!" shouted the captain of Gorm's troops.
The castle's heavy wooden gates, usually tightly shut, slowly creaked open. Creaaaak...
Gorm smirked. "See, they've already given up."
The Valerius troops marched into the courtyard.
However, Gorm's smile slowly faded.
The castle courtyard... had changed.
Two weeks ago, this place was as quiet as a graveyard.
Now?
Dozens of men were practicing formation drills on the right side. They weren't elite soldiers, just newly recruited village youths, but they held brand-new, gleaming spears.
On the left, piles of construction materials were visible: teak wood, river stones, and sacks of lime cement. Workers were busy repairing the cracked walls.
And in the center of the courtyard, sitting on a wooden throne brought out from the castle...
Duke Lucian Sudrath.
He wore a suit of jet-black plate armor, polished with oil until it shone. Across his lap lay his unsheathed greatsword, its tip resting on the ground.
To his right: Sir Riven, standing like a giant statue with a new battleaxe on his back.
To his left: Sir Rianor, holding a large ledger and a quill pen, his face as emotionless as a wall.
"You are five minutes late, Baron," Lucian's voice boomed, echoing off the castle's stone walls. "Does the clock in Valerius territory run slower due to the weight of your sins?"
Gorm snorted, trying to mask his nervousness. He looked around. Where did they get the money to buy those new spears?
"Save your pleasantries, Duke," Gorm shouted from his horse. "I came to collect on a promise. 50,000 Gold Coins. Or..." Gorm pointed to the prison wagon behind him. "Your daughter gets in there."
Lucian didn't answer. He simply glanced at Rianor.
"Sir Rianor. Explain the mathematics to our guest."
Rianor stepped forward three paces. He opened his ledger.
"Correction," Rianor said, his voice calm but sharp. "According to our last meeting and Royal Law Chapter 12 Article 4, the principal debt plus lawful simple interest is 35,000 Gold Coins. Not 50,000."
"To hell with the law!" Gorm barked. "Duke Varkas demands 50,000! If it's short by even a single coin, we consider it a default! Troops! Ready!"
Fifty Valerius soldiers drew their swords simultaneously. Shing!
The atmosphere tensed. The new Sudrath recruits on the sidelines looked shaky, but Riven simply yawned in boredom.
"Oh, you want the money?" Rianor asked. He closed his book. "Very well."
Rianor snapped his fingers.
From behind the castle doors, the warehouse opened.
Captain Thorne and ten veteran soldiers emerged. They carried no weapons. Instead, they hauled wooden crates that looked incredibly heavy.
They marched in a line, then threw the crates right at the feet of Baron Gorm's horse.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
The crates shattered from the impact.
And the contents spilled out.
Gold.
Thousands of Aethelgard gold coins glittered under the morning sun.
A small mountain of gold formed in the middle of the muddy castle courtyard.
Gorm's eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
The Valerius soldiers lowered their swords, gaping at that much wealth. In their entire lives, they had never seen 1,000 gold coins, let alone tens of thousands.
"Count it," Rianor ordered coldly.
"W-what?" Gorm stammered.
"You heard me," Rianor pointed at the pile of gold. "There are exactly 35,000 gold coins there. According to the law. I want you to count them one by one, right now. Because if you go home and claim the amount is short, I don't want to hear excuses."
"You... you expect me to pick money out of the mud?!" Gorm's face turned beet red from the insult.
"Money is money, Baron," Lucian interjected from his throne. "Unless you want to go home empty-handed and explain to Varkas why you refused 35,000 gold just because of your pride."
Gorm trembled with suppressed rage. But he was utterly defeated. He couldn't attack because the debt had been paid. If he attacked now, he would be a bandit, and Lucian would have the legal right to kill him.
Gorm dismounted roughly.
"You lot!" he barked at his men. "Pick it up! Put it in the carts! Hurry!"
The sight was incredibly satisfying for the Sudrath family watching from the upper windows (Aurelia, Roland, and the others). The enemy troops who arrived with arrogance were now squatting in the mud picking up coins like beggars.
Two hours passed.
Gorm's carts were full of gold.
Gorm mounted his horse again. His pride lay in ruins.
"This isn't over, Sudrath," Gorm hissed. "You may have money now. But money can't buy safety. Duke Varkas will hear of this insult."
Lucian stood up slowly.
He walked down the throne steps, approaching Gorm.
Lucian's height made Gorm's horse look small. He patted the horse's flank gently.
"Send my regards to Varkas," Lucian whispered. But the whisper was heard by everyone.
"Tell him: The Lion of the North has finished sleeping. Now, we are awake."
Lucian locked eyes with Gorm.
"And one more thing, Baron. Carry this gold carefully on your way back. The Black Forest is full of bandits these days. It would be a... pity... if the gold you worked so hard to collect was robbed in the middle of the road."
Gorm's face went deathly pale. He caught the implied threat.
Will Sudrath send men to steal this money back?
The fear was real.
"Move! Move out, quickly!" Gorm shouted in panic at his troops. "Guard the carts! Don't let a single coin drop!"
The House Valerius convoy turned around and rushed out of the castle gates as if chased by ghosts. Arrogance was gone. Replaced only by paranoid fear.
After the gates closed again...
"Bwahahaha!"
Laughter exploded from Sir Riven. He slapped Rianor's back so hard his brother coughed.
"You're crazy, Nor! 'Count it in the mud.' That was brutal! His face was red as a boiled crab!"
Rianor adjusted his collar, smiling with satisfaction. "That's called a psychological Power Move, Bro. So he knows his place."
Lucian exhaled in relief. The ten-year burden on the original body owner's shoulders was finally lifted.
"Debt paid," Lucian murmured.
He turned to look at his children and the new recruits staring at him with absolute admiration.
"But Rianor is right," Lucian said, his face turning serious again. "Now Varkas knows we have money. He won't use subtle methods anymore. He will prepare for real war."
"We have 15,000 Gold remaining," Rianor reported. "Enough for salaries, but not enough for a long-term war."
"In that case," Riven's voice sounded eager. "It's time we shop for muscle."
"Not just muscle," Rianor cut in. He gazed toward the black smoke rising from the distant blacksmith workshop.
"We will start an Industrial Revolution. I need paper, I need a printing press, and I need gunpowder."
Lucian nodded.
"Do it. Wake this Sleeping Giant."