The following morning, they visited the small cemetery behind the keep where previous lords of the March had been laid to rest. Lord Harren's grave was the freshest, the earth still settling above it. With Garek and Tomas as witnesses, they carefully exhumed the body.
Death had not been kind to Lord Harren, but enough remained for Elara's examination. She worked methodically, her healer's hands moving with clinical detachment as she studied the corpse.
"The arrow wound is real," she confirmed, indicating a puncture in the chest cavity. "But it didn't kill him. Look here." She pointed to discoloration around the dead man's lips and fingernails. "These are signs of poisoning, not infection. Someone ensured he wouldn't recover from his injury."
Garek's expression darkened. "Murder, then."
"Calculated elimination," Elara corrected. "And given the similarity to the well contamination, likely by the same hand."
They reburied Lord Harren with a proper ceremony, then returned to the keep to discuss their findings privately. The implications were clear: someone had been systematically ensuring the Southern March remained weak, eliminating lords who might have changed its fortunes.
"We need to be careful," Elara warned as they sat in Kael's sparse quarters. "Whoever did this has likely noticed the changes you're making. The new well, the irrigation channels, and the improved health of the people. You're disrupting their plans."
"Good," Kael said simply. "That's precisely my intention."
Elara studied him with that clinical gaze that seemed to see beneath surfaces. "You're not afraid."
"I've faced death before," Kael replied quietly, the words escaping before he could stop himself. "Perhaps that's why the fear of it holds little sway over me now."
He hadn't intended even this hint of vulnerability; his past was something he kept closely guarded, but Elara's directness invited honesty.
To her credit, she showed no skepticism, only thoughtful consideration. "That explains certain... inconsistencies I've noticed in your approach."
"You noticed?" Kael asked, mildly surprised.
"I've spent enough time as a battlefield medic to know there are stories people don't tell openly," she said gently. "Is that why you push yourself so relentlessly? Because you've been given a second chance?"
Her question struck closer than he cared to admit. "Maybe," Kael conceded softly. "Or perhaps it's because I once spent years helpless, unable to affect the world around me. Now, given the chance to act, I refuse to waste it."
Understanding flickered across Elara's face. "The pulley system you designed for the well -how it accommodates those who can't easily lift buckets. Or the infirmary doors, widened to allow stretchers better..."
"Minor adjustments," Kael said with a dismissive shrug. "Perhaps they're just born from understanding difficulties better than most."
Elara shook her head firmly. "Not minor to those who need them. You see problems differently, maybe because you've lived them in ways others haven't."
Kael looked away briefly, uncomfortable yet touched by her insight. "Maybe," he echoed quietly, leaving it at that.
Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Corporal Tomas entered, his expression urgent.
"Riders approaching from the north, Sir Kael. Flying the Queen's banner."
Kael and Elara exchanged glances. Royal visitors were rare in the Southern March, and their timing so soon after the discovery of sabotage seemed unlikely to be a coincidence.
"How many?" Kael asked, already rising.
"A small party. Five riders, well-armed."
"Have Sergeant Garek prepare to receive them with proper ceremony," Kael instructed. "And Elara "
"I'll make myself scarce," she finished for him. "Former battlefield medics accused of poisoning noblemen tend not to be welcome at royal receptions."
Kael raised an eyebrow at this new piece of information about her past, but there was no time to inquire further. "Stay within reach," he said instead. "I may need your counsel."
As Elara slipped away through a side passage, Kael prepared to meet the royal envoys. He donned his knight's insignia but deliberately left off the more ornate trappings of lordship. Let them see him as he was a working lord of a struggling territory, not a courtier playing at frontier governance.
The royal party was just arriving in the courtyard. Their horses were fine northern stock, their armor polished to a shine that seemed almost obscene against the fort's weathered stones. At their head rode a man Kael recognized from court: Lord Veyne's steward, a thin man with calculating eyes and a perpetual expression of mild distaste.
"Sir Kael," the steward greeted him with minimal courtesy. "I bring greetings from Her Majesty Queen Lysandra."
"The Southern March is honored," Kael replied with equal formality. "What brings the Queen's representatives so far from Vesperia?"
The steward dismounted, handing his reins to a waiting soldier. "Her Majesty commends your... enthusiasm in assuming governance of the March. But she remains concerned about the region's obligations to the Crown."
And there it was, the true purpose of their visit, wrapped in diplomatic language.
"Please, refresh yourselves after your journey," Kael offered, gesturing toward the keep. "We can discuss the Crown's concerns once you've rested."
The steward's eyes lingered on Elara, who had positioned herself near the infirmary entrance, ostensibly sorting herbs but clearly within earshot. "Indeed. There is much to discuss."
As they moved toward the keep, Kael felt the system activate briefly, a flicker of assessment in his mind.
***
[Political Hostility: Royal Court (Rank 3)]
[External Threat: Identified]
[Diplomatic Challenge: Imminent]
***
The warning confirmed what Kael already sensed: this visit was not a courtesy, but a challenge. Someone at court had noticed the changes beginning in the Southern March, and they were not pleased.
That evening, as cactus wine was served in what remained of the great hall, the steward revealed the true nature of his visit.
"Her Majesty commends your efforts to improve the March," he began, his tone suggesting anything but commendation. "However, the Southern March remains obliged to provide two hundred bushels of grain or equivalent levy by harvest's end."
Kael sipped his wine, allowing a moment of silence before responding. "The March has been unable to meet such quotas for years. The land is only now beginning to recover from decades of neglect."
"Nevertheless, the obligation remains." The steward's smile was thin. "Perhaps if the current lord finds such requirements... challenging... Her Majesty might consider appointing someone more capable."
The threat was clear enough. Produce the impossible levy, or be replaced.
"Tell the Queen we'll pay in sandscorpion venom," Kael replied, meeting the man's gaze directly. "I hear it's popular with assassins."
The steward's smile froze. "I'm not certain Her Majesty would find such a substitution acceptable."
"The charter grants me discretion in how the levy is met, so long as the value is equivalent." Kael set down his cup. "Sandscorpion venom fetches a high price in eastern markets. The March will meet its obligations, but in a form that doesn't starve its people."
A tense silence followed, broken only when Garek refilled their cups with deliberate care.
"Very well," the steward finally conceded, though his expression suggested the matter was far from settled. "I will convey your... alternative proposal to Her Majesty."
Later that night, after the royal party had retired to their assigned quarters, Kael met with Elara in the shadows of the courtyard.
"They're here because of the changes," she said without preamble. "Someone doesn't want the March to prosper."
"The question is who benefits from our failure," Kael mused. "The Crown? Lord Veyne? The Sandblight bandits?"
"Perhaps all three, for different reasons." Elara's expression was thoughtful. "The steward's eyes lingered on me too long. I think he recognized me from court."
"Will that be a problem?"
"It already is." She sighed. "The nobleman I supposedly poisoned was Lord Veyne's cousin. A coincidence I find increasingly suspicious, given recent discoveries."
Kael considered this new information. "You believe your accusation was connected to the March's sabotage?"
"I believe there are no coincidences when power and land are concerned." Elara's gaze was steady. "I was the royal army's most skilled field medic. Then I treated Lord Veyne's cousin for battle wounds, and suddenly I was accused of attempted poisoning. I fled north rather than face execution without trial."
"And found yourself in the one place that most needed your skills," Kael observed.
"As you found yourself lord of a territory that needed your particular perspective." A hint of a smile touched her lips. "Perhaps there are forces at work beyond political machinations."
The system activated briefly, a warm pulse of assessment.
***
[Advisor Trust: Increased]
[Political Insight: Expanded]
[Alliance: Strengthened]
***
Kael nodded, both to Elara and to the system's evaluation. "Whatever forces brought us here, we now share a common purpose. The March will thrive, regardless of who wishes otherwise."
Elara's laugh was unexpected, a sound like a whetstone on steel, sharp but with purpose behind it. "To spite our enemies if nothing else."
"A motivation as good as any," Kael agreed, finding himself smiling in response.
The royal party departed the following morning, the steward's* farewell as coldly formal as his greeting had been. As the dust of their horses faded on the northern horizon, Kael turned his attention back to the work at hand: the ongoing irrigation project, the fort's defenses, the health of his people.
That evening, as he reviewed maps and reports in his quarters, the system activated with a more comprehensive assessment than any before.
***
[Territory Management Updated]
[Current Status:]
- Loyalty: 18/100 (Growing Trust)
- Water Source: Established (Expanding)
- Food Reserves: 14 days
- Defense Rating: Ruins (Initial Repairs Underway)
- Active Threats: Sandblight Bandits (ETA: 19 days), Political Pressure (Ongoing)
- Health: Improving (Medical Leadership Established)
***
The numbers confirmed what Kael felt intuitively the March was changing under his stewardship. Slowly, incrementally, but undeniably. Not through miraculous intervention or divine favor, but through the combined efforts of people working toward a common goal.
As he prepared for sleep, Kael found himself thinking of his first life in the hospital room where he had spent his final years, of the sister who had cared for him after the accident. He had died whispering, "At least she's alive," grateful that his sacrifice had saved his student.
Now, in this second chance, he had found purpose again. Not in grand battles or court politics, but in the simple, vital work of bringing life to barren soil. In digging wells instead of graves. In building something that might outlast him.
The challenges ahead remained immense. The bandits would come again, in greater numbers. The political pressure from the north would increase as the March showed signs of recovery. The saboteur who had poisoned the well might still be among them, waiting for an opportunity to strike again.
But for the first time since arriving in the Southern March, Kael felt something beyond determination. Something that might, with care and caution, grow into hope.
Outside his window, the stars shone with desert clarity, bearing witness to the slow transformation of the land below. In the distance, if one knew where to look, a thin line of darker soil marked the path of the new irrigation channel - a promise of green in a landscape of dust and stone.
From such small beginnings, greater things might grow.
***
Saboteur - Destroyer/Vandal