The morning found Richard already on his feet.
The weakness that had plagued him the day before had almost completely receded, leaving behind only a faint heaviness throughout his body.
He still used his cane, habitually shifting some of his weight onto it, but now he did so more out of caution than genuine necessity.
His head was clear, his breathing remained calm, and his body, though it had not yet fully recovered, was already much more willing to obey him.
He was just about to leave the room when there was a soft knock at the door.
“Come in.” The door opened, and Sebastian appeared in the doorway.
The steward was holding a small tray with a glass of dark-colored decoction on it.
At the mere sight of it, Richard already felt a faint sense of distrust, though he had yet to imagine what it might taste like.
“Good morning, my lord.” “Good morning.” Sebastian entered the room and carefully placed the tray on a small table by the window.
“Your medicine.
You need to take it after waking.” Richard shifted his gaze to the glass.
The dark liquid looked completely unremarkable, but the smell coming from it spoke for itself.
“Must I?” “If you wish to continue your recovery without complications—yes.” There was not a trace of doubt in Sebastian’s voice, as though Richard’s question had been expected and did not warrant further discussion.
Richard sighed quietly and picked up the glass.
He already disliked the smell of the decoction.
The first sip only confirmed his worst expectations.
Richard grimaced almost imperceptibly, barely managing to maintain an impassive expression.
“Terrible.” “Then it must be good medicine.” Richard shot him a displeased look but did not argue.
All that remained was to accept that Sebastian apparently considered the unpleasant taste a perfectly reasonable price for recovery.
He silently finished the decoction, set the glass back on the tray, and stared at it for several seconds, as though hoping the unpleasant aftertaste might somehow disappear on its own.
“Breakfast will be served in a few minutes,” Sebastian informed him.
“No need.” The steward frowned slightly.
“My lord?” “I’m not hungry.” “You should eat at least a little.” “Later.” Sebastian watched him carefully for a while but did not argue.
Apparently, he understood perfectly well that continuing the conversation would be pointless.
“As you wish.” Richard picked up his cane and leaned on it with a familiar motion.
“Better show me the estate.” Genuine surprise appeared on the steward’s face for the first time that morning.
“Now, my lord?” “Now.” For several moments, Sebastian silently looked at him, as though trying to understand where this sudden interest had come from.
Richard himself could not entirely explain the desire.
Until now, he had seen the estate only in fragments, as though he were assembling a picture without ever having the chance to see it in its entirety.
Now he wanted to finally understand where exactly he had ended up.
Sebastian, however, did not ask any questions.
He merely gave a short bow.
“As you wish.” They left the room.
Until now, Richard had seen the estate only in fragments.
He already knew the way from his room to the dining hall, had memorized several corridors, a staircase, and a couple of rooms he had visited over the past few days.
But all of it remained merely a collection of disconnected impressions that failed to form a complete picture.
Now he wanted to see the house as a whole.
Not as it had been described to him.
But as it truly was.
The ancestral gallery was the first place they came to.
Richard had passed through here before, but previously he had barely lingered over the portraits.
Today, however, he moved noticeably slower, allowing himself to study each person depicted.
The old paintings stretched along the walls, and generation after generation gazed down at him from canvases darkened by time.
Some of the men were depicted in armor, others in formal attire adorned with family crests and symbols of their rank.
The women carried themselves with no less confidence.
In their posture, their gazes, and the faint severity of their expressions, Richard could sense the dignity that had once, presumably, been considered a natural part of this family.
Sebastian did not hurry.
Sometimes he gave a name, then added a few words explaining who the person had been.
“Arthur Ravenhart.” Richard stopped before one of the portraits.
The man on the canvas possessed a heavy, attentive gaze.
His posture was so straight and assured that even through the old paint, he gave the impression of someone accustomed to power, responsibility, and the necessity of making decisions upon which the fate of others depended.
There was no ostentatious luxury in his appearance.
No excessively expensive jewelry, no attempt to emphasize his position.
Only the quiet confidence of a man who had no need to prove to those around him that he had the right to stand at the head of his family.
“The first head of the family,” Sebastian said.
“And perhaps the most famous.” Richard studied the portrait for several more moments.
“Why?” “He was one of those who reached the pinnacle of mastery.
One of the Sword Saints.” Richard frowned.
“A Sword Saint?” “The final stage of a knight’s path,” Sebastian explained.
“Apprentice.
Knight.
Elite.
Master.
Grandmaster.
Sword Master.
And then—a Sword Saint.” He fell silent for a moment, as though giving Richard time to process what he had heard.
“They say Arthur went even further.” Richard looked at the portrait again.
“They say?” “No proof remains.” The answer was delivered calmly, but for some reason, it made Richard keep his eyes on Arthur for several moments longer.
Too many rumors for an ordinary family legend.
For now, however, he saw no reason to ask further, so he simply memorized the name and followed Sebastian.
The steward stopped before the next portrait.
“Eleanor Ravenhart.” The woman on the canvas possessed the same inner dignity that Richard had sensed in Arthur’s portrait.
There was no softness in her gaze, but neither did Richard see any cold cruelty.
Rather, it was the gaze of someone accustomed to relying primarily on herself.
“She reached great heights as well?” “Yes.
Though she was far from Arthur’s level.” Sebastian allowed himself a faint smile.
“She founded an academy not far from the estate.” Richard turned his head slightly.
“It still exists?” “It does.” The steward paused briefly.
“But little remains of its former glory.” They moved on.
The old lords followed one another.
Among them were warriors, rulers, and people whose names meant nothing to Richard yet.
Each portrait preserved a fragment of the family’s history, but gradually Richard’s attention began to shift away from the people depicted in them.
He started noticing the condition of the house itself.
The portraits were magnificent.
Even despite their age, they retained the impression of works created by masters who had once been paid handsomely for their craft.
The frames remained massive and expensive, some adorned with intricate carvings.
But the house itself no longer looked capable of supporting the people depicted on those canvases.
The signs of time became more apparent with every step.
Here, the wood had lost its former luster; there, traces of old repairs showed through on the walls.
In some places, the paint had faded, while once-pristine details of the interior had long since lost their former freshness.
Its dignity remained.
But its former wealth was gone.
Once, this house had been great.
Now, only a shadow of its former glory remained.
From the gallery, they headed to the library.
Here Richard was greeted by the familiar smell of old paper, wood, and dust.
It seemed to have soaked into the walls over the course of decades.
The shelves stretched along the walls, rising almost to the ceiling, and at first glance the room still gave the impression of an enormous collection of knowledge.
But a closer look made it obvious that the library had long since passed its prime.
Empty spaces gaped between the books.
In some places, entire rows of volumes remained, packed so tightly that barely any space was left between their spines, while nearby shelves held only a handful of books.
Richard stopped beside one of them and slowly ran his fingers along the wooden edge.
“There used to be more books here?” Sebastian made no attempt to pretend he had misunderstood the question.
“Significantly more.” He said it calmly, making no attempt to hide the obvious.
“Some had to be sold.” Richard looked at the empty spaces.
This time, he asked nothing.
There was no need.
The empty shelves spoke for themselves.
They left the library and entered the inner courtyard, and the atmosphere changed almost immediately.
There was no longer any sense of the quiet decay of the old halls.
The sharp crack of wooden swords rang through the air, accompanied by heavy breaths and the instructor’s short commands.
Several young men were training in the courtyard, trying to maintain their rhythm while keeping track of their opponent’s movements.
Richard stopped involuntarily.
A sparring match was taking place in the center of the courtyard.
One of the youths made a sharp lunge.
The second stepped aside just in time and immediately struck back.
Their wooden swords collided with a dry crack, after which both opponents separated and returned to their starting positions.
A little farther away stood a man Richard watched with particular attention.
A bandage covered one eye.
The right sleeve of his uniform was empty.
Lloyd.
The captain of the knights.
He barely interfered with what was happening, only occasionally giving a short command that made the students adjust their stance or repeat a particular movement.
Yet whenever someone made a mistake, Lloyd was beside them at once.
“Again.” The young man exhaled heavily, trying to catch his breath.
“Captain, I already—” “Again.” There was no irritation or desire to humiliate the student in Lloyd’s voice.
Only the calm sternness of a man who knew exactly what he wanted to achieve.
The boy gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on the wooden sword, and raised it in front of himself again.
This time, Richard noticed two other youths.
They were training nearby.
Their movements could not yet be called perfect, but there was something in them that Richard saw in almost none of the others: a desire to learn and the ability to endure defeat without allowing it to break them.
One of them took a blow to the shoulder and stepped back, grimacing in pain.
The other immediately tried to take advantage of the opening, but Lloyd stopped his movement.
“Don’t rush.
You’re looking at the weapon again, not the person.” The young man nodded, acknowledging his mistake, and returned to his starting position.
Richard watched the training in silence for a while.
His gaze kept returning to the two youths whose movements noticeably differed from the others.
“Have they been here long?” he finally asked.
Sebastian followed his gaze.
“Roy and Sean?
Yes.
For some time.” “They’re knights?” “Not yet.” The steward fell silent for a moment before continuing.
“Their father died several years ago.
They have only their mother left.” Richard shifted his gaze to the two youths.
“And they decided to serve here?” “Exactly.” Sebastian spoke quietly so as not to disturb the training.
“At their age, many would have left the city.
They might have sought service in another household, joined the city guard, or simply set out in search of a better life.” “But they didn’t leave.” “They didn’t want to leave their mother alone.” Richard looked at them again.
Their presence here seemed somewhat different now.
They were no longer simply two young men trying to learn how to wield a sword.
“That’s why they work at the estate?” “Yes.
This way, they can support themselves while remaining close to her.” Sebastian gave a barely perceptible nod toward the training ground.
“Both show promise.
That is why Captain Lloyd trains them personally.” Richard looked at the captain again.
Lloyd had just stopped another attack from one of the youths and was briefly explaining the mistake he had made.
He did not raise his voice or try to impress anyone.
He was simply doing his job.
And, judging by what Richard had seen, he did it well.
Richard watched the training for a little longer, then continued on with Sebastian.
He did not ask anything more about Roy and Sean.
For now, it was enough to know that the two of them were not in this house by accident.
The stables greeted them with tranquility.
The noise of the training yard gradually faded behind them, replaced by the smell of hay, wood, and horses.
Everything here seemed slower and more measured.
The people went about their familiar work, paying little attention to what was happening around them, while the horses occasionally shifted their feet in their stalls or snorted at the arrival of strangers.
Beside one of the stalls, Richard noticed an old man.
He was calmly tending to a horse, adjusting its loosened harness.
His movements were unhurried but confident, as though he had been doing this for many years and had long since stopped thinking about each individual motion.
Hearing their footsteps, the old man raised his head and gave a brief nod.
“Good morning,” Richard said.
“Good morning, my lord.” The old man’s voice was calm and unexpectedly confident.
Richard gave him another attentive look.
“Is the horse healthy?” “Quite.
Just a little restless today.” The old man stroked the animal’s neck, and the horse gradually calmed, no longer shifting its feet nervously.
“Looks like she listens to you.” A barely perceptible smile appeared on the old man’s face.
“Horses are easier to convince than people.” Richard smiled involuntarily in response.
Sebastian had already continued walking, and Richard followed him.
After a few steps, the steward quietly explained: “The old man is responsible for the garden and helps with the estate’s upkeep.
Many of the smaller matters around the estate also pass through him.” Richard glanced back once more.
The old man had already returned to his work and seemed to have completely forgotten about them.
He looked like the most ordinary elderly man: simple clothes, gray hair, unhurried movements.
There was nothing about him that would immediately attract attention.
And yet Richard caught something in his gaze that he could not quite identify.
When the old man looked at those around him, it seemed as though he noticed a little more than a man occupied with ordinary household work ought to notice.
It was not wariness, nor did it resemble suspicion.
Rather, it was the calm attentiveness of someone accustomed to observing the world and in no hurry to do anything about it.
Richard did not attach any significance to it.
Not yet.
From the stables, the path led them into the garden.
Here, the estate looked entirely different.
The garden was large, but not meticulously maintained.
Some plants had grown too freely, the bushes had long been in need of pruning, and in places the grass nearly concealed the old paths that had once presumably been carefully laid with stone.
And yet there was something alive about the disorder.
It did not feel completely abandoned.
Rather, it gave the impression of a place that had simply been allowed to age naturally, without anyone constantly trying to restore it to its former state.
Richard walked slowly, occasionally glancing around.
After the cool corridors of the house, the open space of the garden felt particularly pleasant.
The sun had already risen high enough, and soft golden light filtered through the branches, falling across the paths and grass in scattered patches.
Deep in the garden, Richard noticed the same old man again.
He was working alone, quietly going about his usual tasks.
Richard did not call out to him.
For some reason, he simply wanted to watch without interfering with his work.
They continued walking for several minutes until a tree appeared ahead.
Richard slowed his step involuntarily.
It was enormous.
Its silvery-gray trunk looked impossibly old.
Deep cracks covered the bark, while massive branches stretched high overhead, as though the tree were trying to reach the very sky.
Only a few leaves remained upon them—thin, silver, almost transparent in the morning light.
It was strangely quiet near the tree.
Even the surrounding sounds seemed to recede somewhere into the distance, leaving behind a peculiar sense of peace.
“This tree,” Sebastian said quietly, “was planted by the first lord.” Richard looked at him.
“Arthur?” “So they say.” Richard turned his gaze back to the tree.
“And you don’t believe it?” Sebastian gave a slight smile.
“I am the steward, my lord.
History is for others to concern themselves with.” The answer amused Richard, and the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
He stepped closer.
For some reason, he wanted to touch the trunk.
The desire came unexpectedly, without any apparent reason, and Richard did not resist it.
His palm came to rest against the cold, rough bark.
And in that instant, he froze.
Something had changed.
Richard felt life.
But not the kind found in a human or an animal.
It was something slow and deep, so ancient that the human mind could barely find a suitable way to define it.
It felt almost like a distant presence—something that could not be seen, yet could not be entirely denied.
And along with that ancientness came weariness.
As though the tree had lived for too long and now simply continued to exist out of habit, carrying within itself the memory of a time that had long since passed.
Richard did not move.
He did not know how much time had passed while his palm rested against the bark.
There was no wind.
Yet one of the branches trembled ever so slightly.
Just one.
Richard slowly raised his eyes.
Nothing.
The garden remained still.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the muffled voices of people, while the leaves of the other trees rustled softly in the faint breeze.
But that movement could not explain what had happened here.
Richard withdrew his hand.
“We should go,” Sebastian said.
Richard nodded.
They headed back, leaving the tree behind.
A few steps later, Richard nevertheless turned around.
The tree stood motionless.
Just as old.
Just as silent.
Its silver leaves glimmered faintly in the morning light, and from a distance it once again looked like nothing more than an ancient tree that had survived countless generations.
And yet, for a moment, Richard had the distinct impression that someone was watching him from among the branches.
He held his gaze.
Not a person.
Not a beast.
Something far more ancient.
Something that had been waiting for a very long time.
Richard turned away and continued walking.
After a while, Sebastian broke the silence.
“If my lord wishes, I can show you the city after we finish inspecting the estate.”