Leon had been sitting at the table in his small house—the one his now-deceased father had bought for him—for some time now, signing documents that Viscount Lines had given him. The young man had already lost track of why and for what purpose he was doing all this. His father, mother, Stella, and Noel were dead, yet here he was, filling out papers instead of properly mourning them and losing himself in his grief, if only for a while. But now, their deaths seemed to have faded into the background. Of all the words Lord Howard had said to him earlier, Leon only understood that all the seals his father had used to issue decrees and sign documents had been destroyed. Now, he first needed to submit some applications, certify his signature, and do a bunch of other things the future baron didn't comprehend. After the first few minutes of conversation, the young man realized he had fallen into a legal and bureaucratic hell—and that the only way out would be his own death. Perhaps his father had also realized the futility of existence and decided to escape this hell that way. But shaking his head, Leon quickly dismissed that joke. Of course, his father, the noble Charles, Baron Star, would never have allowed himself such a stupid death as a fire. He would have simply shot himself in his study, using one of the muskets that had begun actively being imported into the kingdom from the Free Cities located in the southeast—showing how the Baron kept up with the times. It was precisely because his father always tried to follow innovations and stay informed that Leon had been sent to the Scientific Corps of the Royal Academy, rather than the Military Corps, where most other junior members of noble families were usually sent. Of course, in the Military Corps, he would also have encountered incredible inventions like pistols or muskets, but he wouldn't have had to study how they worked.
"Daydreaming, young Baron?" a rough, deep male voice addressed him. Leon realized he had been staring at the document for some time without understanding what was written there. In fact, he had long since stopped understanding what was in these documents and what he was even signing, but he needed to focus again on the voice that had spoken to him. This voice belonged to Count Sky, who was currently sitting on a small sofa in the guest room. He had casually spread his arms out, crossed his legs, and was impatiently waiting for the Viscount and the Baron to finish their business. Why Lord Sky was present for all this paperwork was unknown to anyone; ostensibly, Viscount Lines was signing all the papers as the Count's right-hand man. But if it was necessary, then it was necessary.
Lord Lines let out a small cough, then reached somewhere inside his frock coat, presumably for a handkerchief, thereby indicating that the pause the young Baron was taking was too long.
"Yes, forgive me, my Lord," Leon mumbled quietly, trying not to look in the Count's direction at all. "Grief is clouding my thoughts."
"Pull yourself together, you rag. What would your father think if he saw you behaving like this before a Count?" Eduard said sternly, without changing his casual posture, without even raising his voice, yet his words still etched themselves with a certain terror somewhere into the young Baron's subconscious.
*He wouldn't think anything—he's already dead,* Leon thought to himself, but aloud he said, "Yes, my Lord, my apologies."
The Count merely snorted and stared back at the ceiling, his entire demeanor signaling that the house Leon had brought him and the Viscount to was a miserable shack, and that he was wasting his time here altogether.
Another cough from the old Viscount, and the young Baron turned his attention to him. A small smile appeared on the Viscount's face, as if he were trying to apologize for his lord's behavior, and then he said in a soft voice, "Shall we continue, young Baron?"
Leon simply nodded and, without really understanding the document before him, signed it. This continued for another thirty minutes or so, after which all the formalities were observed. All the while, Count Sky continued to stare boredly at the ceiling of Leon's temporary residence, making almost no sound. When the processes were finally completed, he stood up and approached Howard, pulling yet another document from his doublet along the way.
"Lord Lines," the Count said, handing the document to him. "From today until such time as Leon, Baron Star, completes his education at the Royal Academy of Crow, you are appointed steward of all property and lands belonging to Baron Star. You may also manage these lands on his behalf as if they were your own. This document is signed by me and approved by His Majesty Crow. I trust in your full cooperation and fulfillment of your duties, Lord Lines."
Leon noticed the old man's eyes were slightly wide, and he was barely containing his utter surprise at the responsibilities that had just fallen upon him. In the Kingdom of Crow, viscounts have no lands of their own, except for the city they live in, and not always even that; they are the right hands of counts, helping them resolve territorial and other matters. Therefore, to prevent viscounts from settling disputes in their own favor on behalf of their lords, the first King of Crow had decreed that viscounts could not hold lands. On one hand, Viscount Lines hadn't acquired Baron Star's lands; he would merely be an overseer and manager. On the other hand, he would still be assisting Count Sky himself. And what would happen if Leon suddenly and accidentally died? Would all power then remain in the hands of Viscount Lines?
Now it was Leon's turn to look with slight fear first at the Count, then at the Viscount. Eduard continued to stand next to Howard while he, unlike Leon, meticulously familiarized himself with the document. When his old eyes stopped scanning the lines, he carefully rolled the paper given to him into a tube and placed it on the table before him.
"May I stay and speak with Baron Star, Your Grace?" Howard asked the Count. In response, the Count merely waved his hand and headed for the exit of the guest room. When the Count had left them, the old man placed his hand over his eyes and muttered something unintelligible.
"What does this mean, Your Grace Lines?" Leon asked the Viscount.
The old man was silent for a while longer, then, apparently gathering his thoughts, removed his hand from his face and looked the Baron in the eyes with a rather serious expression.
"Boy," the Viscount began. "You and I—specifically, you—have found yourself in a very unpleasant situation. Effectively, with this document, everything that currently belongs to you is mine, and until you complete your education at the Royal Academy, it won't become yours. Do you know what that means? It means if you suddenly get expelled from the Academy, decide you don't want it, or something else of that sort happens, you won't get your lands back. Well, technically they'll be yours, but you won't be able to manage them, nor will you be able to dispose of the wealth your late father left you. Neither you nor your children. Considering this paper is signed by His Majesty Crow himself, the only place you could appeal Lord Sky's decision is to him. But it's unlikely His Majesty would be lenient towards someone who couldn't even graduate from the Royal Academy. And to get any part of your inheritance, you'll have to come to me. And for me, that's quite a headache, despite all the documents you and I have signed."
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"I don't understand any of this," Leon admitted honestly, listening to the old man's monologue.
"I know," Howard nodded understandingly. "But I had to explain the details to you. Understand this, son: neither I nor Count Sky wish or wished you or your family any harm. Charles was a good friend of ours and an excellent comrade, and his death is a great loss to us. He had numerous projects and ideas that were already beginning to be implemented, and you, due to your youth, simply wouldn't be able to oversee them. That's why Count Sky issued this decree—so that your inexperience wouldn't affect the prestige of the County and Royal families..."
"The Royal family?" the Baron interrupted the old man. "What does the Royal family have to do with this?"
The Viscount sighed and looked at the young man with slight reproach, clearly displeased at being interrupted.
"Don't forget yourself, Baron Star," Howard began. "Even though I'm addressing you informally, do not dare interrupt your elders! It's bad form! Damn it, boy, what manners do they teach you at the Royal Academy?"
Leon lowered his gaze slightly, not daring to look the old Viscount in the eyes. Then the old man continued:
"You don't even understand what the Royal family has to do with it," the Viscount waved his hand. "Your father started designing factories to produce rails for the first railway, which would connect the Duchy of Wood with the rest of the kingdom, ensuring the supply of timber and other resources via these newfangled trains. They say these very trains cross all the lifeless steppes and meager forests where the Free Cities are located, thereby boosting their economy to a new level, ensuring demand and sales of goods. The acceleration of all logistics will ensure the kingdom's financial stability and also allow for faster troop movement than by horse. The Free City of Novgorod even agreed to sell us one of their old trains, and scientists from the city of Starhorod have also arrived in our kingdom and are now teaching and researching these trains and their steam... something technologies."
"Steam," Leon corrected, but immediately caught himself, realizing he had interrupted again. The Viscount looked at him disapprovingly but continued nonetheless.
"Yes, that's right, my boy, steam technologies. All the Free Cities are now studying and promoting them, as well as gunpowder. Muskets are an excellent innovation that changes all the principles of combat and tactics. Perhaps with their help, we can better protect our northern borders from attacks by barbarians from the Wild Lands. And, you probably remember, about fifty years ago the Free Cities started a war against the Desert Empire and won. The Empire didn't collapse, of course, but the superiority of technology was evident—the Free Cities didn't have large armies, unlike the Empire, but they had prototypes of the first muskets. Who knows what weaponry they might have now. That's why the invited specialists are very important for our country, and your father's territory—or rather, your territory—was used, on Charles's initiative, for planning the construction of future manufacturing plants. Including this reason, based on everything I've just said, Count Sky appointed me steward of your lands."
The Viscount finally fell silent, allowing Leon to digest the information he had heard. The Baron leaned back in his chair, his gaze darting around the room, unable to settle on anything specific—aside from a couple of chairs, a table, a sofa, and a few empty cabinets, the room was bare. He wanted to find something, anything, that would remind him of his family, but the fire had destroyed almost all the portraits depicting his relatives, including distant ones. Leon closed his eyes to recall what his father and mother, his older brother and sister looked like. Their images flickered in his mind, and he barely held back the surging tears, trying not to cry again, even despite the presence of the old Viscount. The young man gripped the arms of his chair tightly, as if expressing a pointless anger directed at no one. What could he do? How could he possibly take revenge?
Leon felt a warm hand touch his shoulder. The Baron opened his eyes and saw Howard standing beside him, who hadn't uttered a word yet. He simply nodded, as if signaling that the time for serious talk was over for today, and then the boy allowed himself to shed a few tears, immediately covering his eyes with his hands. The Viscount's warm hand didn't leave Leon for some time, until he gradually composed himself. After that, Viscount Lines quietly sat back down, just as silently as he had approached the young Baron.
Leon understood that he had just shown weakness. Had it been Count Sky or some other baron in Viscount Lines's place, they would have used it against him immediately, or spread rumors about the current Baron Star's weakness to undermine his authority and position in the eyes of his own Count, the Duchy, and possibly the Royal family. Perhaps the Viscount would do it later; one could never be sure with that old fox. The Baron knew that Howard had already served two Counts Sky and that currently, he had no heirs. Howard was likely the last of the Lines line to be Viscount to the Sky family. Leon didn't know much about the old man's past, except for these small facts, and that Eduard's father—Elgar Sky—had also valued the entire Lines family. If Howard had lived to such an age without losing his title, he must certainly have some experience and knowledge of how and with whom to interact. Considering that the old man was giving Leon some time to think, he probably wouldn't oppose the young Baron. At least, not openly.
Trying to gather his thoughts, the Baron released the chair he had been gripping and looked toward the old Viscount. He, meanwhile, was still sitting before him, filling something in a notebook he held in the air. Noticing the youth's gaze, Howard looked up from his notes, silently questioning whether Leon had finished his emotional moment.
"When should I return to the capital city of Crow?" Leon asked, catching the Viscount off guard.
Howard stroked his cleanly shaven chin, considering his answer for the Baron. After a few minutes, he replied:
"I think you should return to continue your studies. Returning too soon would seem like you're disrespecting your dead relatives; returning too late would mean missing classes, as if showing disregard for your education after receiving your lands. So returning at the start of the new semester is the most convenient. Ah, yes, you can, of course, say that you've entrusted your lands to my management—that won't shake your prestige at all, quite the opposite, it will show your wisdom as a future administrator. You don't need to mention the Count's decree—I don't think he'd want anyone spreading that around; let's not undermine his authority, or people might think he doesn't trust his vassals. In this situation, I'll be able to act more freely while simultaneously boosting your reputation as the manager of the lands inherited by you. Does such an arrangement suit you, Lord Star?"
Leon thought about it. It was an unusual proposal for him, but it sounded too advantageous. Besides, he had gained a bit more information than he had expected when asking his question. Did this mean the old Viscount had planned it all out in advance? Or was he imagining things?
Leon stood up from the table and extended his hand toward Howard, looking him straight in the eye.
"I find it acceptable, Lord Lines," the Baron said firmly.
"I like your resolve, boy," the Viscount chuckled, also rising to shake the young Baron's hand. "Trust me, and we will immortalize the name Star, just as the Crows did."
At the old man's words, a slight chill ran down Leon's spine. He felt uneasy, as if he had just made a contract with some unspeakable evil from beyond the fortress wall on the northern borders, and now God would not accompany him to His heavenly pastures until the sin was atoned for. Howard merely chuckled, frightening the Baron even more, but the young man was surprised by his own moral and physical fortitude, and that his body didn't tremble. He released the old man's hand, slowly lowering himself back onto his chair, trying to conceal all the fear he had just experienced.
"Well then, my boy," the old man spoke, not sitting back down. "I need to go to my residence in the city of Sky; after all, the Count's proposal was unexpected for me too, and I need to fetch some things. You rest, recover. We'll see each other again before your departure for the capital, so we'll have time to talk. If you have any questions, be sure to ask them. But now I must set off, to leave with Count Sky."
And with these words, Lord Howard, Viscount Lines, walked out of the guest room of Baron Star's temporary residence, leaving the latter alone with his thoughts.
