Morning broke, casting a warm glow over the grand estate of Agneyastra. The elegant corridors echoed with the sound of her fearless footsteps as she emerged from her bedroom, adorned in her armor. The glint of her sword sheathed at her side caught the light, symbolizing the power and grace she embodied.
Descending the grand staircase, Agneyastra's presence commanded the attention of those gathered in the living room. There, she found Sinai engaged in conversation with Harkan and Emathion. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, captivated by the energy that radiated from Agneyastra.
Greeting her family with open arms, Agneyastra's eyes sought Harkan. A subtle furrow formed between her brows as she asked, her voice tinged with concern, “Where is father Rufus and Father Marudeva?”
Harkan's gaze shifted, his voice carrying a faint trace of worry. “Rufus did not arrive at the guest house last night. I sought out Marudeva to discuss the matter.”
A heavy silence hung in the air, but before despair could tighten its grip, a creaking door broke the stillness. All eyes turned towards the figure stepping into the room - Rufus, disheveled and awash with weariness. Agneyastra's face lit up with relief as she embraced her father.
“I am ready, father,” Agneyastra declared, determination twinkling in her eyes. “Shall we savor a hearty breakfast in the marketplace before we embark on our training?”
Rufus stood at the foot of the grand staircase, his gaze fixed upon the figure of Marudeva perched on the top step. A faint fragrance of aged wine lingered in the air, a testament to the revelry that had taken place the night before. Rufus contemplated his own disheveled appearance and the undeniable languor that clung to his bones, evidence of a sleepless night spent in Marudeva's chair.
Rufus finally broke his gaze from the enchanting sight and turned to Agneyastra. “Allow me a moment to freshen up,” he said with a weary smile. “Marudeva and I may have indulged in a bit too much wine last night. But fear not, I shall join you shortly.”
Agneyastra and Harkan exchanged a knowing look, their eyes filled with anticipation and excitement. They bid Rufus farewell and ventured out into the lively city streets, their journey guided by the rhythmic clatter of hooves on dirt roads as they hailed a passing carriage, eager to embark on their adventure in Dweller City.
As the carriage came to a halt, Agneyastra and Harkan emerged into the bustling marketplace, greeted by a sea of vibrant colors and the savory aroma of exotic spices wafting through the air. The women of Dweller City, radiant and enchanting, bestowed warm smiles and nods upon Harkan, their eyes filled with admiration and curiosity. “Do you think it is possible for me to approach one of these captivating ladies and ask her to become my wife?” Harkan's voice trembled
Agneyastra chuckled softly, breaking the spell of Harkan's musings. “dear Harkan,” she advised. “Remember, the Dwellers hold family bonds close to their hearts, the Underworld is far away.”
Both Agneyastra and Harkan satisfied their appetites with flavorsome delicacies from the bustling market before Rufus eventually appeared, invigorated and resolute. The trio found a welcoming spot at a nearby table, their hunger urging them to partake in a swift meal. Rufus acknowledged his companions with a nod, gratitude evident in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he spoke with a sense of urgency. “Let us fuel our bodies for today's challenges. I aim to be the first to arrive at the Warrior Training Building.”
The meal was devoured hastily, their senses savoring every morsel, and they rose from the table, united in purpose. With determined steps and resolute hearts, they strode across the marketplace towards the imposing Warrior Training Building.
The arena buzzed with potential as Warriors streamed in, their spirits ablaze with determination. The air crackled with anticipation as Agneyastra took her place at the forefront, instructing a group of Dwellers who clutched their weapons tightly, their bodies taut with readiness. Her voice carried not just instructions, but a deep sense of conviction and determination.
“Remember,” she announced, her voice carrying over the eager crowd, “as Rufus so wisely stated, when confronted with a demon host, severing the head is the key to freeing the vessels bound under their control.”
Ramil strode purposefully toward them, his presence commanding attention. Coming to a halt before Agneyastra, he observed her demonstration with keen interest. With a swift, fluid motion, he unsheathed his gleaming sword, its edges honed to perfection. Ramil confidently strides forward, demonstrating with an authoritative gesture. “This is how it's done,” he declares.
A hush cascaded through the training arena as Ramil wielded his weapon with masterful precision. His arm swung with a calculated force, a gleam of determination in his eyes, as the sword sliced through the air. It connected with the dummy's neck, severing the head in a clean, decisive motion.
Harkan's keen eyes caught sight of Agneyastra and Ramil engaged in a fervent argument a few paces away. An air of tension filled the space around them, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame. Ramil, with a defiant expression etched onto his face, had taken a step closer towards Agneyastra, clearly making her uncomfortable.
Without a moment's hesitation, Harkan swiftly maneuvered his way towards the commotion. His formidable presence loomed over Ramil as he positioned himself in front of him, casting an intimidating shadow. Looking down upon the shorter man, Harkan's voice carried an air of authority as he addressed Ramil.
“Is this how you treat a lady, Ramil?” he spoke with a hint of disappointment in his voice. “I wonder why you haven't obtained a wife with such behavior.”
Ramil's dismissive wave only served to infuriate Harkan further. Ignoring the gesture, he continued to stand strong, resolute in his defense of Agneyastra. “Go away and stay out of our conversation,” Ramil retorted, attempting to assert his dominance.
Refusing to back down, Harkan's determination shone through. He beckoned Agneyastra to his side, his tone both compassionate and commanding. “Come, Agney, let's go back and continue helping the others.” Guiding her away from the escalating conflict, Harkan cast a pointed glance towards Ramil, silently conveying his disapproval.
As she glanced back at Ramil, her eyes betraying a hint of concern, Harkan quickly reassured her. He spoke softly but firmly, making it clear that Ramil was not worth her thoughts. “Don't think about him, Agney. He doesn't deserve a single thought from you.”
***
In the scorching heat of midday, the Training Arena came alive with the clash of Weapons. Ramil stood before Rufus, Ramil swung his sword with a flick of his wrist, displaying a hint of arrogance as he declared, “See, I have skills. I don't need more training.”
However, with a lightning-fast movement, Rufus drew his own sword and effortlessly deflected Ramil's blow, sending his weapon flying out of his grasp. Rufus' voice was cool and measured as he chastised the young warrior, “The way your Father talks about you, I expected more.”
Baffled, Ramil asked, “How did you do that?”
Rufus, his eyes shimmering with a mix of wisdom and experience, twirled his sword expertly before explaining, “Because I train every day. Before I became the ruler of the Red Hell, I roamed the realms as the finest Demon hunter. It didn't matter how valiantly I fought the day before, for the demons would grow stronger and more cunning with each passing minute. Rest was a luxury I couldn't afford; I had to be prepared for any challenge that came my way.”
Ramil, with sweat glistening on his brow, sparred with Rufus, whose swift movements and sure strikes made him a formidable opponent. As they engaged in their sword fight. “My Uncle Tyson told me you are the best swordsman,” Ramil remarked.
Rufus, parrying one of Ramil's attacks effortlessly, responded with a wise tone. “Demons, are not to be underestimated. They have the power to infiltrate your mind if you get too close. It is best to vanquish them swiftly and decisively. Tell me, Ramil, what kind of Demons have you encountered?”
With a determined swing, Ramil deflected Rufus's sword, allowing his gaze to wander towards the other side of the arena. He watched as Agneyastra, trained a group of novices under the watchful eyes of Harkan.
“Gold, blue, and red,” Ramil replied, his voice filled with intrigue. “But is it true that the Water Kingdom was responsible for the massacre of Harkan's entire family?”
Rufus stole a quick glance towards Harkan, his eyes filled with both sorrow and understanding. “Yes, it is true. If not for the quick thinking of his nanny, Harkan would have met the same tragic fate. King Arroyo, driven by vengeance, had his own daughter carry out the brutal execution.”
An anguished look crossed Ramil's face as he muttered, “They killed my mother too. I wanted to despise them, but growing up under King Arroyo's care makes me feel conflicted. It's hard to harbor ill-will towards those who have suffered as I have.”
Rufus's weary muscles begged for respite. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with the dust kicked up by his intense sparring session with Ramil. With a gentle exhale, he lowered his sword, the weight of it suddenly heavier in his hand.
Relieved, Rufus extended his hand to Ramil, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “That is good, hate is never a good thing,” he remarked, his voice awash with wisdom. “I am going to clean up. I told your father I would cook dinner for you all. Are you coming for dinner at your father's house?” Rufus' invitation hung in the air, laced with warmth and camaraderie.
A slight smile played at the corners of Ramil's lips as he nodded in agreement. Stepping forward, he firmly shook Rufus' hand. With a decisive turn, Ramil left the Training Arena, entering the locker room where a much-needed respite awaited him. The sound of water cascading from the showers filled the air as he immersed himself in cleansing solace, washing away the remnants of exertion and fatigue.
Emerging anew from the locker room, Ramil's gait was light, his spirit refreshed. He stepped out into the world beyond the training building, greeted by the gentle whisper of wind through the air. His loyal steed, waiting patiently for him. With a sonorous cry, Ramil mounted his horse, urging it forth into a spirited gallop as they embarked on the journey to his father's house.
Ramil arrive in flash, he swung open the heavy wooden door, his eyes eagerly scanning the interior of his father's home. But to his dismay, the house appeared deserted, devoid of any sign of life. The Harkan, his followed closely behind him, Agneyastra in tow.
“Why are you here?” Agneyastra's voice cut through the silence, heavy with suspicion. Yet Ramil chose to remain silent, his gaze fixed ahead, his mind set on finding his father. Driven by an inexplicable urgency, he strode purposefully towards the dining room, his footsteps echoing in the empty house.
As he crossed the threshold, Ramil's eyes were drawn to the flickering light that spilled from the kitchen. His pace quickened, a glimmer of hope dancing in his eyes. Pushing open the kitchen door, Ramil's breath caught in his throat as he witnessed a scene before him.
Marudeva, leaning on the counter beside the stove, his laughter echoing off the walls. Across from him stood Rufus, stirring a tantalizing stew over the crackling flames of the stove. The delectable aroma engulfed the room, weaving a tangle of savory scents that seemed to awaken Ramil's senses.
“It smells good,” Marudeva remarked, a hint of anticipation in his voice. Rufus, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, dipped a silver spoon into the simmering pot, drawing out a generous portion of the savory liquid.
“Tastes even better than it smells,” Rufus declared, his words laced with confidence. With practiced finesse, he raised the spoon to his lips, briefly blowing on the steaming broth, before offering it tantalizingly towards Marudeva's awaiting mouth.
Ramil stood in the bustling kitchen, his eyes widening as he watched the scene unfold before him. His confusion turned to shock as Rufus gently blew on it before offering it to Marudeva. Ramil's father accepted the spoon with a mix of hesitation and curiosity, tasting the stew with a flicker of surprise on his face. “It tastes better than it smells,” Rufus remarked with a knowing smile.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Rufus returned to his cooking, while Marudeva glanced towards Ramil, catching his son's bewildered expression. Ramil hadn't seen his father act this wat with another since his mother's passing, and the unexpected presence of Rufus only deepened his confusion. Seeking an explanation, Ramil spoke up, his voice laced with uncertainty, “Father?”
Marudeva turned his gaze towards his son, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and tenderness. Rufus continued to stir the stew, seemingly unaffected by the brewing tension. Marudeva’s voice was gentle as he addressed Ramil, “What are you doing here?”
Rufus chimed in, his voice calm and soothing, “You said you wanted a family dinner, so I invited him.”
Ramil pointed to Marudeva, then Rufus, his voice trembling with curiosity and apprehension, “What is going on in here, Father?”
Marudeva sighed, running a hand through his silver hair, his expression flickering with a mix of sorrow and determination. He turned to Ramil, looking him straight in the eyes, “Ramil, I am helping Rufus cook dinner. Now, go set the table.” With a nod, Ramil quietly left the kitchen and made his way to the dining room.
***
As the afternoon sun poured through the clinic room window, casting a warm glow on the pristine white walls, Emathion diligently tended to his patient. The air was heavy with the scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of medical equipment provided a soothing backdrop. Patient charts were meticulously organized on the desk, while tools and supplies were neatly arranged on the stainless-steel tray.
Just as the patient departed, a brisk knock echoed through the room, signaling the arrival of the nurse. With her bright smile and caring eyes, she exuded warmth and compassion. She approached Dr. Ash, her words gentle yet full of urgency, “Dr. Ash, they sent me in here to tell you that your shift is over. I'm leaving and I'm going home to cook dinner. Do you want to join me?”
Emathion paused for a moment, his fingers methodically removing the exam gloves. His tired eyes met the nurse's gaze, gratitude shining through. His mind was filled with the weight of the day's responsibilities, but also a gentle longing for the comforts of his own home.
“No, thank you for the offer,” he finally replied
Emathion stepped out of the bustling hospital, removing his white doctor's coat and gently hanging it on the door. The weight of his responsibilities lifted for a moment as he ventured into the streets of Dweller City. People hurried by, lost in their own worlds, adding to the vibrant tapestry of life.
As he walked, Emathion absentmindedly rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension that had settled within. But the tranquility of the city streets was soon disrupted by a distant echo - a voice within his mind, it was Moriko.
“Moriko, are you okay?” Emathion's voice resonated within his own thoughts, a gentle concern laced in his tone.
In response, a soft sob emanated from the depths of his mind, Moriko's voice carrying an undercurrent of weariness. “Sorry, I am just tired,” she admitted.
Instinctively, Emathion offered his support. “Maybe you should go take a nap or something,” he suggested.
“It's hard to sleep when you're in a tree,” she whispered.
“Why are you in a tree?” Emathion inquired, his voice laced with concern. As, Emathion found himself navigating through the crowded streets.
Moriko replied, “I was healing the force, as I do every day. But... demons, they emerged from portals, blocking my path back to the safety of the tunnel. I sought refuge up in the towering trees of the green forest.”
Emathion's heart filled with an overwhelming desire to protect her. “I will come for you, Moriko,” he declared, his voice filled with determination. “You can find stay here, in my family’s home, until the demons retreat from your Kingdom.”
Moriko's voice trembled with gratitude yet laced with caution. “Do not fret for me, dear Emathion. I will find a way to ensure my own safety. You are not a warrior, and I fear for your well-being.”
The fire of determination burned fiercely within Emathion's soul, his resolve unyielding. “I shall not be dissuaded, Moriko,” he declared with unwavering conviction. “Come what may, I am coming for you.”
Yet, despite his proclamation, Moriko's voice carried a note of concern, a plea for him to reconsider. “Be mindful, my brave companion. This battle is relentless, and danger lies in wait. Do not be foolish in your pursuit of rescue.”
Emathion raced through the bustling streets, his eyes caught sight of another group of soldiers clad in armor, their swords glinting under the scorching sun. Without hesitation, he quickened his pace and followed them towards the top of the desert, where the sound of battle grew louder with each passing step.
As he reached the chaotic scene, his eyes widened with both awe and dread. The clash of steel echoed in the air as warriors fought valiantly against a horde of demonic creatures. Emathion felt the adrenaline surge through his veins, fueling his resolve to join the fray.
Suddenly, a demon, its twisted and malevolent features illuminated by the fiery glow of its sword, bore down on Emathion with a savage swing. It was Agneyastra, her glass armor gleaming like a celestial star. In one swift motion, she swung her own sword with uncanny precision, severing the demon's head from its host. The sight both terrified and awed Emathion, as he stared at her with a mix of gratitude and disbelief.
Agneyastra turned to face him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and exasperation. Her voice cut through the din of battle yet held a reassuring undertone. “Are you crazy?” she shouted.
Struggling to find his bearings amidst the chaos, Emathion rose to his feet, his eyes darting from one foe to another. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he mustered the strength to respond. His voice brimming with urgency, he said, “Moriko is stuck up a tree in the Green Forest, the demons have taken it over. We cannot leave her there!”
Agneyastra, her eyes blazing with determination, turned to Emathion and whispered, “I have an idea, just stay close to me.” As if on cue, she let out a sharp whistle, and in that instant, her horse rode over to them. With a swift motion, she and Emathion leapt onto its back, their bodies engulfed in an ethereal glow.
Agneyastra and Emathion dismounted the horse in front of the dense forest. Agneyastra, invoking her formidable powers, engulfed the horse in an ethereal flame, causing the demons lurking within the woods to flee in fear. As the terrified creatures scattered across the desert, Agneyastra and Emathion stepped forward, ready to venture into the enigmatic depths of the forest.
As they passed through the flames disappear, Emathion's voice rang out, cutting through the eerie silence. “Moriko!” he called, Like a nimble spirit, Moriko slid down from the trees and embraced Emathion. Agneyastra, ever watchful, sensed the demons regrouping and tugging at the fringes of their newfound sanctuary.
Agneyastra spoke with a firm resolve. “Let's head for the tunnel.” They moved with purpose, their actions synchronized, like instruments in a symphony of survival. Guided by Emathion's hand and driven by Moriko's unwavering resolve, they ran through the forest.
Moriko's Earth Kingdom Powers materialized as they reached the entrance to the tunnel. With a gentle sweep of her hand, she commanded the stones to shift and part, revealing a hidden passage to safety from the encroaching horde. As the three friends stepped inside, Moriko closed the entrance behind them with a flourish, sealing the demons away in the darkness. Within the confines of the tunnel, Agneyastra breathed a sigh of relief.
As Moriko led Emathion and Agneyastra out of the narrow tunnel, they emerged into a breathtaking scene. The Earth Kingdom Castle and Stone City stood proudly against the dusky sky. With a hint of remorse in her voice, Moriko apologized, “I am sorry, I didn't mean to put you both in danger.”
Emathion, overwhelmed with relief, pulled Moriko into another tight embrace. “You are safe, and that is all that matters to me,” he whispered softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.
Agneyastra watched the tender moment between the two, a warm smile gracing her lips. Not wanting to intrude, she cleared her throat gently, drawing their attention. “We will have to spend the night in the castle,” Agneyastra suggested. “I will send a message to Aurgelmir and Marudeva, let them know we're here.” Emathion and Agneyastra followed Moriko as she led them through the imposing gates of the Earth Kingdom Castle.
***
As Evain stands in the shadows of the Water Kingdom Palace, a sliver of afternoon sunlight filters through the windows, casting vibrant hues across the grand corridors. She watches intently as her father, King Arroyo, emerges from a concealed doorway. The weight of her curiosity propels her forward, and with a deft and silent movement, she slips into the secret office undetected by her father's discerning gaze.
Inside the office, Evain's eyes adjust to the dim lighting, revealing a room seemingly devoid of life. Her gaze sweeps across the walls, adorned with various artifacts and trinkets. Amongst them hangs a portrait, faded with time, capturing a tender moment between her father and a young Evain cradled in his arms. Intrigued, she steps closer, drawn to the peculiar sight lurking on its periphery.
With trembling fingers, Evain gingerly presses against the protrusion, and to her astonishment, the very wall she had deemed stagnant suddenly begins to shift and reveal a hidden passage. The wall slides open, unveiling a hidden chamber. Rows upon rows of shelves line the walls, filled with meticulously arranged scrolls, their delicate parchment bearing the weight of ages. A desk, weathered and teeming with yellowed documents, stands as a silent sentinel amidst the sea of knowledge.
Evain approaches the desk, her footsteps like whispers in the stillness of the chamber. Evain's eyes were drawn to the desk, where her father's worn notebooks lay open. The pages were filled with his meticulous handwriting, a testament to his dedication and wisdom. Among the scattered parchment, she noticed old scrolls, their faded texts hinting at forgotten knowledge and mythical legends.
Evain approached the desk and delicately picked up one of her father's notebooks. With nimble fingers, she ripped out a blank sheet of paper from the back and began jotting down snippets of information she spotted on his desk. The ink seemed to flow freely, as if guided by a force beyond her control. She whispered to herself, “This is a start.”
Quickly, she concealed the paper in the folds of her sleeve, ensuring its secrecy. Just as she turned to leave, her father's voice echoed down the hallway, calling for her. Panicking, she tucked the hidden paper even tighter against her heart.
“Evain!” Her father's voice grew closer, filled with concern. She turned to face him, attempting to mask her unease.
“Yes, father,” she responded, her voice trembling ever so slightly.
Arroyo, a towering figure of authority, approached with a mix of warmth and weariness in his eyes. “We were missing you at dinner. Come join us,” he said softly. “I might have found a new wife. Help me decide.” With a deep breath, she followed behind her father
As the golden sun cast its warm glow upon the village, Devereaux followed closely behind Alura's graceful stride. The streets were lined with quaint cottages and bustling market stalls, each painted in vibrant hues that added life to the otherwise serene surroundings. The air was filled with the intoxicating scent of freshly baked bread and the distant melody of laughter that drifted from nearby taverns.
Alura's eyes sparkled with determination as she steered Devereaux towards a nondescript bar nestled amid the lively atmosphere. Its weathered sign swung gently in the wind, its faded letters hinting at stories untold. The sound of jovial chatter spilled from within, punctuated by the clinking of tankards and raucous laughter.
Stepping inside, a wave of warmth enveloped them like a comforting embrace. The room was dimly lit, the flickering fire casting dancing shadows upon rugged wooden tables. Conversation came to a hush as Devereaux and Alura crossed the threshold, curious eyes turning towards the pair.
With a gentle squeeze of Devereaux's hand, Alura leaned closer, her voice a whisper against the backdrop of murmurs. “I found the soldiers who are not happy with your father. They gather here, seeking solace in their shared discontent.”
Devereaux's brow furrowed with worry, his gaze searching Alura's face for reassurance. “What if this plan doesn't work? What if my father finds out?”
A wry smile tugged at the corners of Alura's lips, her eyes filled with unwavering determination. “Devereaux, my love, we are but two souls seeking friendship at this time.”
Devereaux and Alura stepped further into the dimly lit bar, its wooden beams creaking in harmony with the raucous noise that filled the room. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and spilled ale, mingling with the smoky haze that hung in the air. A lively tune filled the space as a band played fervently in a corner, their instruments creating a vibrant melody that cut through the clamor of conversation and laughter.
Amidst the bustling scene, soldiers in battle-worn armor, weary yet resolute, were scattered in groups around the bar. Their tired expressions were etched with a deep determination, fueled by a shared cause. One of them, a grizzled warrior, raised his voice above the din, his words dripping with anger and resentment. “May King Arroyo burn in hell for selling our kingdom out to the demons!” he bellowed.
Alura gently pulled on Devereaux's arm, her touch both comforting and enticing. As she affectionately kissed his cheek, her eyes glimmered with a fierce determination. “See, my love,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet determination, “we have come to the right place.”
United in purpose, Devereaux and Alura took a step forward, their presence commanding attention among the soldiers. Devereaux, his voice calm yet firm, addressed the soldier who had voiced his anger. “Allow me, good sir, to buy you a drink,” he offered.
The soldier, his hardened features softened for a moment, pushed two of his fellow comrades away from their seats, pointing towards them with a determined nod. “Yes,” he gruffly responded, a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes, “you and your lovely wife can join us.”
Inside the grand Water Kingdom Palace, Marius sat perched on the edge of his father's ornate desk, his youthful face reflected in the glossy surface. The office exuded an air of authority, its walls adorned with shimmering paintings of mythical sea creatures and regal tapestries depicting the kingdom's glorious past.
Two formidable Water Kingdom soldiers entered, their uniforms gleaming in the soft glow of an enormous crystal chandelier. With a sense of purpose, they guided a man towards the prince. This enigmatic figure had a skin tone reminiscent of a colossal squid, deep red and mesmerizingly captivating.
The soldier addressed Marius, his voice tinged with deference. “My Prince, may I present to you the Lower Trench Lord,” he announced, indicating the captive whose attempts to break free from their grasp were futile.
The Lord's fiery eyes blazed with defiance, and a growl escaped his lips as he tried to assert his dominance. “Unhand me, you scrum!” the Lord hissed, his voice dripping with disdain.
Marius, fueled by righteous fury, leapt to his feet and rushed towards the Lord, his fingers closing tightly around the nobleman's collar. The room trembled with the intensity of their clash, as Marius's voice boomed with authority.
“Behold, these men before you are loyal servants of the Water Kingdom,” he declared, his eyes ablaze with determination. “Had you heeded my summons from the start, there would have been no need for them to track you down.”
The Lord, seemingly unperturbed, arched an eyebrow and replied with an air of nonchalance, “I am attending to my duties, ensuring the farmers abide by their obligations.”
Marius scoffed, his voice laced with disdain. “Your methods are not unknown to me,” he derided, his words dripping with contempt. “I simply will not tolerate it any longer. I have consulted with my father, and he has cast you out of your position of authority. From henceforth, I will personally oversee the affairs of the farmers, ensuring fairness and justice prevail. Leave the Lower Trench lands by tomorrow, for you are no longer welcome here.”
