A man muttered prayers while reading from a black book.
He lifted his left hand to touch his thigh, his fingers moving as his thumb pressed downward.
He closed his eyes, his lips continuously reciting prayers offered up to the Creator.
The man was Chandra Nayar.
Chandra’s scalp resembled a worn ivory chess piece, his baldness made more pronounced by liver spots that formed archipelago-like clusters across his skull.
A cherry-red birthmark curved from his left temple down to his jawline—sailors called it “the dying emperor’s seal”.
His hands, permanently stained with iron-gall ink, moved with the precision of someone mending a 7th-century manuscript while seasick.
He wore an outer shirt fashioned from a discarded monastic robe, the fabric stiffened by salt and decades of grueling labor.
His right earlobe was missing, sacrificed to frostbite during a winter he spent verifying snow patterns in the Akashi Record.
When Chandra smiled (which was rare), his teeth appeared filed flat from the nervous habit of chewing on reed pens.
For forty years, Chandra had walked barefoot along the spice trade routes, piecing together fragmented history into a coherent narrative.
His focus centered on the stories of Sri Jayanasa and Gawonii, the newly appointed Powhatan chieftain dubbed Weroance Powhatan.
His writings sought to chronicle the tales of these two figures as faithfully as possible.
Now, he had been granted the honor of witnessing Gawonii’s selection as chieftain firsthand.
On a crisp morning with dew glowing at the tips of the maple leaves in the Kingdom of Vermont, the sky stretched out like a freshly painted canvas.
The breeze carried the scent of damp grass and old stories hidden among wooden docks and green-lined yards.
In the tranquil capital, the townsfolk kept a secret—a scroll containing the history of the Powhatan tribe, a legacy woven into the lives of Vermont’s residents.
The scroll was more than a mere artifact; it was a doorway bridging two worlds: the domain of the Powhatan tribe and a municipal sanctuary named Pocantico.
The town connected the upper plains of the Pocantico River with the misty valleys of the Green Mountains.
As the sun rose, the golden lettering on the scroll began to glow softly, as if beckoning listeners to hear an ancient song that never faded.
The Powhatan tribe received more than just sanctuary and a page in history; the scroll inscribed a story of land, campfires, and seasonal songs throughout the Kingdom of Vermont—leaving Laëtitia utterly astonished when she read it.
The writings whispered to the new residents of the Kingdom of Vermont about how to tend the land, respect the shifting winds, and show compassion to the small creatures aiding their daily journeys: the deer in the forest, the birds marking the weather, and the tiny fish in the streams.
The scroll invited newcomers to maintain a balance between modernity and ancestral wisdom.
When the townspeople gathered in the square at night, the scroll was laid upon a flat stone, and candlelight danced to the rhythm of the ancient words.
Suddenly, the map within the scroll faded, replaced by images of places never seen by the eye yet felt close to the heart.
The inauguration ceremony for the latest Weroance Powhatan concluded solemnly, attended by the remaining martial artists.
Gawonii received honors from the Kingdom of Vermont, including a floral wreath and other tokens.
This included the proclamation scroll confirming the Powhatan tribe as rightful citizens of Vermont.
Admittedly, even without Laëtitia’s presence, the proceedings moved forward smoothly.
Next, Vermont’s children stepped onto the stage, teaching that the Powhatan tribe must learn that their identity was tied to no single place, but rather spanned rivers and fictional borders born of fairy tales and prayers.
Teachers then read aloud sections of the scroll, guiding everyone to respect the Powhatan as part of a broader universe rather than a separate tale.
The students replaced tree-leaf moss with symbols of friendship, inscribing hopes upon tree bark in the wish that the world might feel warmer and more welcoming.
Ultimately, the scroll taught that heritage belonged not just to the past, but served as a compass for daily life—a pledge to safeguard the earth together.
Though simple in essence, the Powhatan tribe cherished the natural ambiance brought by the educated class.
Amidst morning dew and babbling brooks, the scroll served as a beacon of light.
When autumn arrived, the leaves blazed in fiery shades of hope: orange, gold, and copper.
The scroll vibrated softly, prompting the citizens of Vermont to think twice before taking anything without gratitude.
They learned to erect protective brush fences around their vegetable gardens and set dining tables with simple meals inviting neighbors to share stories.
When night fell, the scroll did more than whisper history; a religious scholar offered prayers for a peaceful future, reminding everyone that friendship between communities of different cultures could grow like a sheltering forest, providing shade for all living things.
Cheers from the townspeople greeted the Powhatan tribe alongside warm handshakes.
No one cast judgment, given their formidable standing within the Kingdom of Vermont.
Beyond crushing three treacherous Counts, Gawonii and Sri Jayanasa were honored as pivotal figures in the raid on the Twin Tower Dungeon, one of the most punishing locations to conquer.
That wasn’t the only source of pride for Vermont’s citizens.
Both Gawonii and Charles de Lorme presented concrete proof through investigative documents gathered alongside Laëtitia, completely independent of royal or noble backing.
They exposed the hidden truths harbored by Count Lacan, Count Delcroix, and Count Kaplan, posting the findings in every public corner while executing all involved in the rebellion without exception.
The awards ceremony ended, leaving everyone utterly exhausted.
Gawonii wiped away his sweat, barely believing that attending such an event could go so smoothly yet drain him completely.
Charles de Lorme handed him a towel, which the newcomer gratefully accepted.
“Thank you, Charles.”
“Don’t mention it.
Gawonii couldn’t help but offer Charles a small smile.
The gesture alone made him feel considerably better, especially since Sri Jayanasa was currently studying and recataloging the remaining martial artists alongside Lansa and Bima Winarko, new recruits.
Other newly appointed warriors, such as Stormfinger, were locked in physical conditioning with the soldiers to build strength and resilience so that the tragedy of the rebellion would never repeat itself.
“Honestly, I never expected to receive such special treatment from the Kingdom of Vermont.
It feels a bit awkward.”
“You needn’t worry, my friend.
I’m certain Laëtitia-sama is delighted to gather talented individuals like yourself.”
“Talented…
you think?” Gawonii’s expression suddenly darkened.
The smile he wore vanished, overshadowed by the memory of the late Weroance Powhatan.
He knew full well that without his predecessor, he could never have reached where he was today.
“Still, I’m sure there are people far more talented than me.”
“Is that so?” Charles asked.
“Yes.
Even so, our priority must be strengthening our defenses and maintaining peace within the Kingdom of Vermont.”
“Is that all you wish for?” Charles de Lorme pressed.
“Yes.
Besides, I want to prove that the Powhatan tribe will stand as the vanguard if any enemy attacks the Kingdom of Vermont.
As long as they harbor no rebellious intent or desire to harm nature, we remain fully committed to staying here.”
He kept his face concealed behind a bird-beak mask, preventing anyone from reading his expression.
“Beyond that, my desire is to carry on the ideals of Weroance Powhatan as a leader.
I refuse to let the tragedies of the past bleed into the Kingdom of Vermont.”
Fu Gengming sat quietly, observing Gawonii from the left.
With a single blink, he vanished, erasing his presence entirely.
Charles de Lorme eagerly awaited the fruition of that unwavering resolve.