Chapter 81: Baroness Elara
Rosehall Inn, York Street, Ythendale Town, Territory of Shadowfen.
September 25th, Year 1428, Rune Era.
11 A.M.
A young man with black hair and sharp blue eyes reined in a warhorse before a three-story inn. He landed lightly on the cobblestone, adjusted his hat, and strode toward the carriage house.
He tied the reins to a wooden post and handed the ostler a silver.
Then he stepped into the inn.
"Welcome to Rosehall Inn. I'm Edward, the receptionist on duty. May I take your name for the register?" the young man at the counter asked with a respectful bow.
"Thomas Holmes," Raven replied.
Edward's expression flickered—recognition, surprise—then smoothed out.
"How long will you be staying, sir? And will you be expecting any companions?"
"No. A single room. Two days."
Edward quickly retrieved an iron key. "Six silvers, sir."
Raven paid, accepted the key, and made his way to the second floor. The room was plain but clean. He washed his face, removed dust from his coat, and stretched his shoulders.
The trip from Azmar to Ythendale had taken only three hours thanks to a powerful warhorse, but the path was so rough his bones still ached. A regular horse would've taken five hours—maybe more.
'I should get an appointment with the Baroness—'
Tap. Tap.
A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Who is it?" Raven asked.
"It's me, the receptionist, Sir Thomas. Someone is looking for you."
Raven opened the door.
A middle-aged man in a bowler hat and a handlebar mustache bowed deeply.
"Good day, Sir Thomas Holmes. I come on behalf of Her Ladyship, the Baroness of Shadowfen. She graciously requests the honor of your company at Grass Villa this evening. If your schedule permits, Her Ladyship will be pleased to receive you at seven."
Raven paused for a moment.
That was fast. Either she monitors everyone who enters Ythendale… or she was expecting me.
"I will be there," he replied.
The butler smiled faintly.
"A carriage shall arrive at half-past six to escort you."
Raven nodded. The butler left with fluid steps, vanishing down the corridor.
Raven closed the door and leaned against it for a moment before noticing a folded newspaper on the table. He picked it up and scanned the front page.
Legacy News – 29th September, 1428
Envoy of the Viser Kingdom to visit the Zenith Empire in February for peace-treaty discussions.
• Drake's Origin of Elements challenges foundational wizardry theories.
• A member of the Starkey Household of the Vera Empire to attend the Royal Crown Challenging Ceremony next month.
• Will Robert Sillalus Jorvot be chosen as the next Crown Prince? Or Lord Bartholomew? Or Lady Jasmine's son Crispine? Or… the Rebel Prince?
Raven smirked slightly.
Choosing the Crown Prince won't be easy. Two Dukes, four Margraves, and seven Counts must agree. Robert has Archduke Maddis, but he still needs one more Duke—and the top nobles are annoyingly neutral.
He flipped to the next page.
Breakthrough discoveries, magical inventions, foreign spies found, border tensions, calls for protection from the Central Republic… Ythendale's world felt peaceful, but the Empire's frontier was simmering.
Raven lowered the newspaper.
The calm before the storm.
He rested until evening.
At half-past six, the promised carriage stood waiting outside Rosehall Inn. Black lacquered wood, brass trim polished to a gleam, and the crowned crow insignia of Shadowfen gleamed on the door. Two black-plumed horses stood perfectly still.
Raven stepped out of the inn precisely on time.
The driver bowed and opened the door. "Sir Thomas Holmes?"
Raven nodded and entered the carriage.
The interior was furnished in deep maroon velvet, with darkwood panels and a single rune-lit lantern casting warm amber light. He settled in and watched Ythendale pass by—gaslamps flickering to life, shops closing, guards patrolling the streets.
Fifteen quiet minutes later, the carriage slowed onto a lantern-lined gravel path, flanked by tall hedges trimmed into perfect symmetry.
Grass Villa rose ahead—grand but restrained, an elegant manor with ivy crawling over Palladian columns. Lanterns glowed softly across its stone façade. Two guards in deep blue livery stood at the base of the steps, halberds crossed, their gazes locked on the arriving carriage.
Before either man could speak, Raven stepped down from the carriage, adjusted his gloves, and walked forward without hesitation.
The guards stiffened—just for a heartbeat—then uncrossed their halberds and bowed.
Elite Walkers as guards, huh? Not bad.
In Darkcross Town, Walkers of this rank were treated like elite officers, often granted a Knight title.
Here, they stood outside like decorative sentries.
There's a gap even among nobles of the same rank. Raven nodded inwardly and continued up the stairs.
At the top, a tall, silver-haired butler in a dusky black coat waited, a silver chain gleaming across his chest.
"Welcome to Grass Villa, Sir Thomas Holmes," he said with a graceful bow. "Her Ladyship awaits you in the Southern Drawing Room."
Raven gave a slight nod.
"This way, if you please."
The butler led him through an arched doorway. The interior was elegant without being gaudy—polished darkwood floors, tall ceilings, and the faint scent of lilac mingled with old parchment. Oil paintings lined the walls, each bearing the Shadowfen crest in small, subtle motifs.
She's definitely an artist. Raven observed quietly.
After a short walk, they reached tall double doors carved with a raven in mid-flight. The butler opened one side and stepped aside.
Raven entered.
Near a window draped in silver curtains stood a woman in her mid-thirties. Midnight-blue gown, auburn hair coiled neatly, a sapphire brooch catching the soft evening light—Baroness Elara looked calm, refined, and dangerously perceptive.
Her gaze landed on him immediately.
"Sir Thomas Holmes," she greeted with a small smile.
Raven closed the door and bowed slightly. "Greetings, My Lady."
"This is our third meeting," Elara said as she turned from the window, "but we never had a chance to speak properly. You were… quite occupied at the Holmes House banquet. I had hoped for at least a few minutes of conversation."
Raven approached with controlled steps.
"The banquet was unexpectedly busy because of certain important guests. My apologies, My Lady."
She chuckled softly.
"Understandable."
She motioned toward the adjoining hallway.
"Shall we?"
Raven nodded, and they walked side by side. Their footsteps echoed through the corridor, the chandelier's warm light flickering across polished wood and framed canvases.
"So," Elara said lightly, though her eyes sharpened, "what brings you to Ythendale, Sir Holmes? Reclaiming a ruined territory is… time-consuming. It's unusual to see you here already."
"I came to discuss a few matters," Raven replied, deliberately vague.
"I see." Her smile deepened, but she asked nothing further.
She pushed open another set of doors.
Inside was a warmly lit guest salon—two high-backed chairs around a marble table, bookshelves packed with old tomes, and a painting of a dusky forest dominating the wall.
A servant followed them in, placed a crystal decanter, two wineglasses, and a platter of fruits on the table, bowed, and left silently.
Raven touched his space ring and placed a wooden box on the table.
"I brought a gift."
Elara raised a brow. "Oh?"
With a flick of his fingers, Raven unlocked the sealing runes. The lid lifted silently, revealing a gleaming set of silver-gray armor. Etchings shimmered faintly—clean, disciplined, unmistakably handcrafted.
"A self-repairing combat armor," Raven said.
Elara stepped closer and examined it. Her expression remained composed—politely interested, nothing more.
"Uncommon tier," she murmured. "Impressive craftsmanship, but I expected—"
Before she could finish, Raven reached for a fruit knife from the tray, calmly dragged it across his forearm, and let blood well up.
Elara's eyes widened. "Sir Holmes—!"
Before the blood reached his wrist, Raven whispered a single activation phrase:
"Burktā d'Ḥayē."
Light pulsed from the armor. A greenish-blue glow enveloped his arm, and the wound sealed shut within seconds—skin smooth, unscarred.
Elara inhaled sharply.
"That is… not a spell I recognize," she breathed. She stepped closer, gaze locked on his wrist. "Not in the Empire. Not even Rune Masters from the Ivory Continent can craft healing artifacts. Only alchemists can heal with potions. You… you say this is magic?"
"You're the first noble to witness it," Raven replied calmly.
Elara straightened, the practiced elegance in her posture giving way to genuine astonishment.
"This level of healing magic shouldn't exist. Not here."
Raven said nothing.
She met his gaze again. Her expression now carried weight—respect mixed with calculation.
"You came here with a purpose, didn't you, Sir Holmes?"
"I did." Raven nodded. "I want to build a road from Ythendale to Azmar Town. I'll pay for the land and the full construction cost on your side. For that, I need your approval—"
"Deal."
Raven paused. Elara smiled, graceful and sharp.
"Who would reject such a profitable offer?" she said with a quiet laugh.
Then she added, "Don't delay construction. I heard you're rebuilding the town."
"Yes, My Lady. Lucas Company will begin once they receive your approval. They will bring materials by goods train and start within a week."
"Good. But Lucas Company is small. Even if they start immediately, it will take at least six months."
She reached into her spatial ring and handed him a golden card.
"Visit the Parish Trade Guild. With this card, they will help you hire skilled workers from nearby regions—stonemasons, engineers, carpenters, blacksmiths, road pavers, laborers. It will cost a bit extra, but the road will be built faster. And more importantly…"
Her gaze hardened slightly.
"You won't be forced to halt construction if you're suddenly dispatched to the border."
Raven narrowed his eyes.
"Viscountess Rowina also spoke of unrest. Are you saying war is inevitable?"
Elara shook her head.
"No, Sir Holmes. I'm saying war is certain."
Raven's expression darkened.
"Elaborate."
"The Emperor loved his firstborn more than anyone. The only thing that delayed the war was the Rebel Prince's appearance during the trial. And the Prime Minister's death pushed things back slightly."
She met his gaze squarely.
"But the Zenith Empire will march. If not this month, then the next. A year at most."
Raven frowned.
"Will I have to participate?"
"All members of the Spade Council must. The Northeastern region rarely sees major conflict, but you will still be deployed. I will try to get you assigned to a safer location."
Raven's jaw tightened.
"And your advice?"
"Recruit youths. Train them. Strengthen your force. Do everything before the war begins. Even if you are not on the frontlines, the Empire will pull manpower from every region."
Raven bowed slightly, sincere.
"Thank you for the warning, My Lady."
If she hadn't said it plainly, he might have delayed construction—and lost everything to conscription.
He stayed a little longer, speaking with her about the state of the Northeastern border and its expectations.
Then, quietly, Raven took his leave of Grass Villa.