The horns sounded at midday.
Ethan was in the training grounds when he heard them—low, mournful blasts that echoed across the mountain like a death knell. He looked up from the wooden sword he had been practicing with, his grip tightening.
The children stopped playing. The servants froze. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
"What’s happening?" Lily asked, her face pale.
Ethan didn’t answer. He already knew.
The Ashford Family had come to collect.
They arrived in force.
Twelve riders on black horses, their armor polished to a mirror shine, their banners bearing the gold serpent of the Ashford Family. At their head rode a thin, sharp-faced man with cold eyes and a smile that never reached his lips.
Silas Crane.
Ethan had heard the name before. He was Victor Ashford’s right hand—a man who handled the dirty work, the threats, the negotiations that were really just ultimatums dressed in fine clothes.
The riders stopped before the main hall. The family had gathered to meet them. Not because they wanted to, but because they had no choice.
Eleanor stood at the front, her back straight, her expression carved from stone. Behind her stood the elders, what few remained. Behind them, the warriors—Thomas among them, his hand resting on his sword.
Ethan stood at the edge of the crowd, watching.
Silas Crane dismounted and approached. He did not bow. He did not offer greeting. He simply stopped before Eleanor and smiled.
"Matriarch Blackwood. You look well."
Eleanor’s expression did not change. "What do you want, Crane?"
"Straight to business. I always appreciated that about you."
He reached into his robes and withdrew a scroll, sealed with the gold serpent.
"The Ashford Family has been patient. We have waited for the Blackwood Family to fulfill their obligations. But our patience has limits."
He extended the scroll.
"These are our terms. The spiritual vein beneath your mountain will be transferred to the Ashford Family within seven days. In exchange, we will permit your family to remain on the mountain as tenants. You will pay tribute. You will obey our laws."
He paused.
"You will survive."
Silence.
Then Thomas stepped forward.
"You can’t be serious."
Silas Crane’s smile widened.
"I assure you, I am entirely serious."
"The spiritual vein is ours. It has been ours for a thousand years. You have no right..."
"No right?" Silas Crane tilted his head. "The Ashford Family has protected these lands for decades. We have bled for them. We have died for them. While your family sat behind its walls, we fought the demons, the bandits, the rebels."
His voice hardened.
"The spiritual vein is payment for services rendered. You will hand it over, or we will take it by force."
Thomas’s hand tightened on his sword.
"You’ll have to kill us first."
Silas Crane’s smile did not waver.
"That can be arranged."
Ethan watched his cousin tremble with rage.
Thomas had always been the golden child—the one who succeeded where Ethan failed. But standing there, facing Silas Crane, he looked small. Weak. A boy playing at being a warrior.
Silas Crane saw it too.
"You were always the brave one, weren’t you, Thomas?" he said softly. "The one who stood up for the family’s honor. The one who refused to back down."
He stepped closer.
"But bravery without strength is just foolishness. And foolishness gets people killed."
Thomas’s face flushed red.
"You..."
"Enough."
Eleanor’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Thomas fell silent. Silas Crane turned to face her.
"The seven days," Eleanor said. "What happens if we refuse?"
Silas Crane’s smile finally faded.
"Then the Ashford Family will march on your mountain. We will burn your fields. We will slaughter your people. And when the smoke clears, we will take what we want from the ashes."
He paused.
"You have seven days, Matriarch. Use them wisely."
He turned and walked back to his horse.
"Wait."
The word left Ethan’s mouth before he realized he had spoken.
Silas Crane stopped. He turned.
"And who are you?"
Ethan stepped forward, his heart pounding.
"Ethan Blackwood."
"Ah. The exile." Silas Crane’s smile returned. "I heard you returned. How... unfortunate."
Ethan met his gaze.
"You said the Ashford Family has protected these lands for decades. You said you fought the demons, the bandits, the rebels."
"I did."
"Then tell me—where was the Ashford Family when the demons attacked the eastern border seven years ago? Where were your riders when our villages burned?"
Silas Crane’s expression flickered.
"The Blackwood Family refused to send aid. Your Patriarch..."
"Our Patriarch was a fool. I know. But the Ashford Family swore an oath to protect the Blackwood Family. An oath that was broken long before my father refused to send aid."
Ethan stepped closer.
"You talk of honor. You talk of service. But you betrayed your oath the moment you saw weakness. You are not protectors. You are vultures."
Silence.
Silas Crane stared at him for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
"You have a sharp tongue, boy. But words won’t save your family."
He mounted his horse.
"Seven days."
The riders turned and rode away, their banners disappearing into the distance.
That night, the elders gathered in the main hall.
They argued for hours. Some wanted to fight. Others wanted to negotiate. A few wanted to flee.
Eleanor sat in silence, listening.
Finally, she turned to Ethan.
"You spoke well today."
"I spoke honestly."
"That’s what I said."
She paused.
"But honesty won’t save us. We need power, Ethan. Real power."
Ethan nodded.
"I know."
He reached into his robe and withdrew the book.
"I found something. In the hidden chamber beneath the ancestral hall."
He told them about Arthur Blackwood. About the Iron Ghost. About the possibility of bringing him back.
When he finished, the hall was silent.
Then Elder Marcus spoke.
"Fairy tales."
His voice was sharp, dismissive.
"We don’t have time for stories. The Ashford Family could attack at any moment. We need real solutions, not legends."
Elder Helena nodded. "If this ancestor was so powerful, why did he die? Why didn’t he save the family then?"
"He did save the family," Ethan said. "He saved us so that we could survive. So that we could be here today."
"And what proof do you have?" Elder Thomas demanded. "A book? Any old tome could be called a relic."
Ethan paused.
"Then let me find more proof."
After the council, Ethan returned to the hidden chamber.
He searched for hours, his fingers tracing the walls, the pedestal, the floor. He was about to give up when his hand brushed against a loose stone near the base of the pedestal.
He pulled it free.
Beneath it, buried in a hollow, was a sword.
An old blade, rusted and worn, its hilt wrapped in crumbling leather. It looked like nothing special, just another ancient weapon.
But the moment Ethan touched it, he felt it.
Warmth.
Presence.
Power.
He lifted the sword and read the inscription carved into the blade.
Arthur Blackwood. The Iron Ghost. He who never fell.
『 A relic has been discovered. 』
『 Arthur Blackwood’s Sword. 』
『 Story Credibility: 15% 』
『 Relic Creation Unlocked. 』
Ethan smiled.
He had his first piece of evidence.
That night, he showed the sword to Eleanor.
She stared at it for a long moment, her fingers tracing the rusted blade.
"It’s warm."
"It’s alive."
She looked up at him.
"What do we do now?"
Ethan met her gaze.
"We make them believe."
『 Story Credibility: 15% 』
『 Family Faith: 10 』
『 World Rebuttal: 3% 』
『 Ancestral Debt: None active 』
『 Milestone Reached: Relic Creation Unlocked 』
『 Next Milestone: 25% Credibility — Strengthen the Legend 』