The next two days passed quietly for Leon. At least, as quietly as anything could be during a siege. Most of his time was spent sleeping, and whenever he woke, servants brought food—then more food, then even more food. Apparently Arthur and Raymond had taken his recovery very seriously. Not that Leon had much energy to argue. The exhaustion from the transformation lingered stubbornly, the headache faded gradually but the weakness remained, and even walking around the castle left him feeling tired. So he rested.
And while Leon rested, Arthur worked.
Reports continued arriving every hour. Reconstruction efforts progressed steadily—the damaged sections of the wall had been reinforced, collapsed buildings were being cleared, and food stores were being reorganized for long-term rationing. The city was slowly adapting to the reality of war. Arthur spent most of those two days reviewing reports, meeting officials, and inspecting defenses.
Occasionally another report would arrive regarding the transformed mare, and those reports were becoming increasingly unusual. The first stable hand reported that the mare was eating nearly twice its normal feed. Arthur dismissed it as stress. The second report arrived the following morning—the mare had consumed even more food, far more than expected, and was also drinking significantly more water. The third report was stranger still. The mare appeared healthier, its coat glossier, its muscles more defined. The stable hands described it as looking better with each passing day despite carrying a foal, and one even claimed the animal had become more energetic than before.
Arthur said little. But he remembered every word. The transformation appeared to be affecting more than the unborn foal—or perhaps the foal itself was demanding extraordinary resources as it developed. Either possibility was noteworthy.
By the afternoon of the second day, another set of reports arrived regarding livestock throughout the city. Arthur studied the documents for a moment before setting them aside. "There is something you need to know before we continue."
Cedric paused. Arthur rarely used that tone. For the next several minutes Arthur explained everything—the crystal, the visions, the transformed mare, the possibility that Leon's awakening could influence unborn animals. Cedric listened without interruption, his expression remaining composed throughout, yet Arthur noticed that at some point the old secretary had stopped turning the pages before him.
When the explanation finally ended, silence settled over the office. Cedric slowly removed his spectacles—not because they needed cleaning, simply because he needed a moment to think. Then he let out a quiet breath. "That explains it."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
Cedric gave a small shake of his head. "The sudden movement of livestock around the castle. The unusual orders regarding pregnant animals. The stable reports that kept finding their way to your desk despite everything else demanding attention." His gaze shifted toward Arthur. "I suspected something important was happening." A faint smile touched his lips. "I simply failed to imagine anything quite this unusual."
His eyes drifted toward the window. Beyond it stood a city preparing for siege—workers rebuilding walls, refugees crowding the streets, storehouses being stretched to their limits. For months nearly every report crossing his desk had carried the same message. Losses. Shortages. Problems. More problems. For a long moment he remained silent. Then a faint smile appeared, small enough that most people would have missed it.
"Well." He replaced his spectacles. "It seems the gods have finally decided to contribute something besides difficulties."
Arthur's lips twitched slightly. Coming from Cedric, that was practically enthusiasm.
The old secretary glanced down at the stable reports once more. "A city can endure many hardships if given enough time." His fingers rested lightly upon the documents. "Perhaps young master Leon has just purchased us some."
Arthur nodded. "That is my hope."
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, professionalism returning immediately. Cedric straightened the reports. "Then I suggest we keep this information buried as deeply as possible." His voice became serious. "Because if we can recognize its value, others certainly will."
Arthur was silent for several moments. Then he shook his head. "To a point."
Cedric looked up. Arthur folded his hands together. "Keeping it completely secret may prove just as dangerous. Eventually the truth will emerge—the transformed animals alone will make certain of that." His gaze drifted toward the reports. "When that happens, I would rather our most trusted people already understand what we're dealing with."
Cedric nodded slowly. Arthur continued. "There are members of the council who have stood beside this city through every crisis. Men and women who remained when leaving would have been easier. People who have earned my trust many times over." His expression remained calm. "When the time is right, a small number of them will be informed."
Cedric considered that for a moment before inclining his head. "A reasonable precaution." Arthur gave a single nod.
Only then did Cedric return to the documents in front of him. Adjusting his spectacles, he began reading. "Pregnant mares currently accounted for: twenty-seven." Arthur nodded—the number was slightly higher than expected. "Eighty-four cows. One hundred and sixty-three sheep. Ninety-one goats. Twenty-two hounds."
Raymond let out a low whistle. "That's quite a few."
Arthur simply studied the figures. Twenty-seven horses—a respectable number, but compared to the other livestock the scale changed considerably. If Leon's ability worked on all unborn animals, the possibilities became far broader than either of his sons had initially imagined. Arthur folded the report and set it aside. The implications would have to wait. More pressing matters demanded attention.
Unfortunately, the news from beyond the city walls offered little comfort. Or rather, there was no news—and that in itself was alarming. Scouts continued disappearing. No patrol had successfully approached the orc camps in days. The enemy had tightened its perimeter, watch rotations had increased, mounted patrols had become more frequent, and according to the last surviving reports Orc Chieftains were now regularly accompanying reconnaissance groups. The result was simple. The frontier had gone dark.
Nobody knew what was happening around Highcrest anymore. Nobody knew how many additional orcs had arrived. Nobody knew when the next major attack would come.
Arthur stood before a map of the region, his eyes lingering on the marker representing Highcrest. "They're preparing something."
Cedric glanced up. "You believe an assault is imminent?"
Arthur shook his head. "Not necessarily." His gaze remained fixed on the map. "But armies do not blind themselves without reason."
The room fell silent. Everyone understood—the orcs had deliberately denied information, which meant they had something worth hiding. Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Let's hope Highcrest can hold on."
Cedric understood immediately. "Because we need time."
Arthur nodded. Every additional day Highcrest survived was another day for the city to rebuild, another day to train recruits, another day to stockpile supplies, another day to prepare. And right now, time was perhaps the most valuable resource they possessed.
Two days passed like that—recovery, preparation, waiting. Then on the morning of the third day, Arthur finally sent for Leon. The summons arrived shortly after breakfast, and Leon found Raymond already waiting outside Arthur's office.
Leon rolled his eyes. "Good morning to you too."
Raymond grinned. "Father wants to continue testing."
Leon's interest immediately sharpened. "The animals?"
Raymond nodded. "But observation only. After what happened last time, Father doesn't want you collapsing again." That sounded reasonable—even Leon wasn't eager to repeat the experience.
Together the brothers entered the office. Leon took two steps inside before stopping. Cedric was already there, seated beside Arthur with several reports spread across the desk—stable reports, livestock reports, the census. Leon immediately looked toward his father. "He knows?"
Cedric glanced up from the paperwork. "Good morning to you as well, young master."
Leon pointed toward the reports. "You told him?"
"Two days ago," Arthur answered calmly. "During the livestock census."
Leon stared for a moment, then looked between them. Cedric adjusted his spectacles. "In fairness, I was just as surprised as you were."
Raymond snorted. Leon rubbed his forehead. "Father, this isn't exactly the sort of thing you casually tell people."
"Cedric is not 'people.'" Arthur replied without hesitation. The response was so immediate that Leon didn't even know how to argue. Cedric had served the family longer than Leon had been alive, and the old secretary managed half the city's administration—keeping him uninformed would probably have been impossible anyway.
Cedric offered a faint smile. "Your secret is safe, young master." A brief pause. "Though I confess it is considerably more interesting than tax records."
Raymond immediately laughed. "Everything is more interesting than tax records."
"Not true," Cedric replied. "Some tax records are fascinating."
Leon decided not to continue that conversation. Arthur, meanwhile, pushed a sheet of paper across the desk—the livestock census. Leon quickly skimmed the numbers and his eyebrows rose. "I didn't expect there to be this many."
"Neither did I." Arthur stood. "Which is precisely why we're testing this." His gaze shifted toward both sons. "We assumed your ability was related to horses. That may have been a mistake." Leon frowned slightly. "So far, every observation points toward the unborn foal rather than the mare itself," Arthur continued. "But observations are not proof." His eyes settled on Leon. "Today we're going to determine whether your power truly reacts to unborn life—or whether we've simply been drawing the wrong conclusions."
Leon nodded. That was the real purpose of today's tests. Not to discover new creatures, not yet. First they needed to understand what his ability was actually capable of affecting.
The castle stables had become considerably busier over the past few days. Additional livestock had been brought inside the walls—some belonging to wealthy merchants, others relocated from farms too close to the city's outskirts. The coming siege had forced everyone to think ahead.
Arthur led the way through the stable grounds while Leon and Raymond followed. Several animals had already been separated into individual pens for testing. The first enclosure housed several pregnant cows, and compared to the horses nobody seemed particularly excited. Even Raymond looked unconvinced.
"We're really starting with cows?"
Arthur glanced at him. "They feed the city."
Raymond immediately surrendered. "Right. Important. Very important."
Leon stepped toward the nearest cow and rested a hand against its side. The familiar warmth spread through his forehead and the stable disappeared as possibilities unfolded before him—countless futures, countless paths. Leon ignored the distant visions. After his experience with the mare he had little interest in wasting energy examining possibilities he couldn't hope to reach. Instead he focused on the clearer paths.
The first possibility appeared surprisingly ordinary. A cow grazed peacefully within a fenced pasture, and for several moments Leon struggled to understand what made it special. Then the scene shifted. A farmer approached carrying several buckets. The cow was milked—once, twice, then again—yet the buckets continued filling. The vision jumped forward. Children drank the milk. Workers drank it. Soldiers drank it. And wherever the milk appeared, Leon noticed the same thing—people recovered faster, looked healthier, stronger. Not dramatically, not enough to turn farmers into warriors overnight, but the difference was noticeable. The milk carried vitality, the sort of improvement that accumulated over years.
The vision faded. Leon opened his eyes. "What did you see?" Arthur asked.
Leon described the vision. Raymond looked disappointed. "So it's a dairy cow."
Leon frowned. "That's not all." He searched for the right words. "The milk seemed... beneficial."
"Nutritious?" Arthur asked.
"More than that." Leon nodded. "It felt like it strengthened the body."
That immediately gained Arthur's attention, his expression growing thoughtful. "How much stronger?"
Leon shook his head. "I don't know. The vision didn't show numbers."
Raymond snorted. "Would've been convenient."
Ignoring him, Arthur folded his arms. "If the effect is significant enough..." He glanced toward the cow. "Healthier citizens. Healthier workers. Healthier soldiers." His gaze lingered there for several moments. "A stronger horse wins battles." Then he looked back at Leon. "A better cow feeds armies."
Leon focused on the second possibility. The vision returned, and this time the difference was obvious immediately. The bull standing before him was enormous, its shoulders towering over ordinary cattle, muscles shifting beneath dark skin like coiled cables. Every movement carried tremendous weight. The animal lowered its head, then charged—the ground shook beneath its hooves and a wooden fence shattered instantly. Moments later the vision shifted. Several men attempted to restrain the creature. None succeeded. The bull simply kept moving, slow, relentless, unstoppable. The scene changed once more—a wagon heavily loaded with stone and timber rolled along a muddy road. Ordinary oxen struggled. The massive bull did not, pulling the weight effortlessly.
The vision ended. Raymond was already grinning. "That one looked interesting."
"It was." Leon described the creature—the enormous size, the strength, the endurance. When he finished, Raymond immediately reached the obvious conclusion. "A living battering ram."
Arthur shook his head. "Or a draft animal."
Raymond groaned. "There it is again."
Arthur ignored him. "How much cargo could a creature like that move?" He looked toward Leon. "Did the vision show anything?"
Leon thought for a moment. "It pulled a wagon loaded with stone. Without difficulty."
Arthur nodded slowly. "Construction. Transport. Supply movement." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Sieges are won through logistics."
Raymond looked genuinely offended. "Can you stop turning every impressive creature into infrastructure?"
"No." Arthur replied without hesitation. The answer was so immediate that Leon laughed. Even Raymond couldn't help smiling.
Arthur remained silent for a moment, studying the cattle pens. Unlike horses these animals would never charge across a battlefield or carry knights into war. Yet armies marched on full stomachs before they marched on roads, and food had always been the foundation of military strength. If Leon's visions were accurate, these creatures might prove every bit as valuable as a regiment of soldiers.
With the cattle examined, the group moved deeper into the stable complex. Several sheep had already been separated for testing, and compared to horses or hounds none of them appeared particularly impressive. Leon was quickly learning that appearances meant very little where his ability was concerned.
The crystal reacted the moment Leon touched the pregnant ewe. The familiar warmth spread through his forehead and a moment later the stable vanished. He found himself standing amidst a sea of white wool as countless possibilities surrounded the unborn lamb. Leon ignored most of them—the farther possibilities appeared dim and distant, requiring concentration merely to examine, and after his experience with the mare he had no intention of wasting energy studying paths he couldn't possibly reach. Instead he focused on the clearest visions.
A sheep appeared before him. At first glance it looked completely ordinary. Then he noticed the wool—not a single speck of dirt clung to it. The animal wandered through mud and brush yet its fleece remained spotless. More importantly Leon sensed something else. Disease, parasites, insects—all seemed strangely unable to affect it. The vision faded.
Leon opened his eyes. "What did you see?" Raymond asked.
"A sheep." Raymond looked unimpressed. "A very helpful description."
Leon rolled his eyes. "The wool." That immediately got Arthur's attention. "What about it?"
Leon thought for a moment before explaining. "It stays clean." Raymond blinked. "That's it?"
"It doesn't sound impressive," Leon admitted. "But I don't think it's just cleanliness." He frowned while organizing his thoughts. "The wool looked resistant to insects and disease as well—almost like it naturally repels them."
Arthur's expression became thoughtful. "Meaning fewer losses."
Leon nodded. "And better quality wool."
Arthur clasped his hands behind his back. "A flock like that would produce more usable material while requiring less care." His eyes drifted toward the sheep. "Not a dramatic improvement. But valuable."
Leon smiled slightly. That seemed to be Arthur's favorite word whenever these visions appeared. Not powerful. Not extraordinary. Valuable.
The second vision arrived moments later. This sheep was larger, its fleece appearing denser, thicker. Leon watched a shepherd test the wool with a knife—the blade failed to cut through. Another strike followed, then another, the fleece compressing slightly before springing back into shape.
When Leon emerged from the vision, Raymond immediately noticed his expression. "That one looked more interesting."
Leon nodded. "I think soldiers would like this one." That got both Arthur and Raymond's attention."The wool is incredibly tough," Leon explained. "Not hard like steel. More like layers of dense padding." He hesitated. "I think armor could be made from it."
Raymond immediately grinned. "Now that's useful."
Arthur glanced at him. "Everything is useful."
Raymond shrugged. "Some things are more useful than others."
Arthur ignored the comment and turned toward Leon. "If enough of that wool could be produced, soldiers could be equipped for a fraction of the cost of metal armor." His eyes narrowed slightly. "And unlike steel, wool doesn't require a forge."
The stable fell silent. Once again Arthur had somehow found the economic implications before anyone else.