Chapter 33.2: Personal System Trials - The Trials of Wisdom (Part 2)
Year 0008, Month XI-XIII: The Imperium
---
DAY 48-53: Battle at the Border Clearing Between the Millhaven Territory and the Lonely Shadowfen Forest
Lord Hugo Millwright led five hundred of Millhaven's finest cavalry in desperate pursuit of the beasts that had stolen his family. The mounted warriors pushed their six-legged war horses to the limits of endurance, eating distance with ruthless urgency. Every second of delay meant his wife and son were carried further from safety, deeper into danger he might not be able to extract them from.
Fortune, for once, favored them. The beasts had not yet reached Shadowfen's actual borders. They were caught in the grey zone, that wide clearing of neutral ground separating civilized territory from the dark forest's edge. Open terrain where cavalry could operate effectively rather than being mired in undergrowth and ambush positions.
Lord Hugo spotted his targets immediately. Approximately thirty creatures clustered in defensive formation, their grotesque forms unmistakable even at distance. And there, in the center of that protective circle, he saw two still forms: Countess Dianne and young Hector, unconscious but apparently alive.
Red fury flooded Hugo's vision. These things had invaded his home, slaughtered his people, terrorized his territory, and dared to lay hands on his family. The warrior within him, honed through decades of border defense and beast combat, roared for vengeance.
"CHARGE!" His voice carried across the cavalry formation, magnified by magic and raw emotion. "SAVE THE LADY AND YOUNG LORD HECTOR!"
The heavy cavalry needed no further encouragement. These were Millhaven's elite: warriors who had chosen to remain on this isolated frontier, who had dedicated their lives to holding the line against Shadowfen's endless aggression. They had lost friends and family to beast attacks. They understood intimately what failure would mean.
Five hundred lances lowered in perfect synchronization. Five hundred six-legged war horses surged forward, their enhanced musculature propelling them to speeds that would shame normal mounts. The riders channeled magic through their weapons and armor, creating a tide of steel and determination that should have been unstoppable.
The sound was tremendous: pounding hooves, battle cries in multiple voices, the distinctive whine of enchanted lances cutting air. The cavalry charge was warfare's most devastating tactical maneuver, designed to break defensive formations through sheer kinetic force.
The beasts attempted to meet the charge. They were creatures designated as Ratprowlers by the formal bestiary index classification systems, though soldiers had adopted the more viscerally accurate name: Carrion-Scuttlers.
---
The Carrion-Scuttler
The Carrion-Scuttler represented nightmare made flesh. Scholars theorized they originated from dark experimentation, an unholy fusion of dire rat and something called a Gloom-Spider through alchemical or magical means. The creatures that resulted from those experiments had escaped their creators and found their way to Shadowfen Forest, where they thrived in the darkness.
Each Carrion-Scuttler stood roughly horse-sized at its smallest, approximately seven feet at the shoulder. But their posture was perpetually low and hunched, giving them an unsettling, scuttling locomotion that seemed to defy normal mammalian movement patterns. The largest specimens, those at Boss-rank, could grow to five times that size.
Their heads retained the fundamental structure of massive rats: elongated snouts, twitching whiskers, and eyes that reflected light with dull orange luminescence. But their jaws were the true horror. Two distinct rows of teeth lined those terrible mouths. The front row consisted of long, gnawing incisors adapted for cutting through bone and armor. The inner row featured needle-sharp, curved fangs designed to pierce flesh and hold struggling prey.
Their bodies were covered in coarse, greasy fur mixed with patches of chitinous plating along the spine and haunches. The smell they exuded was distinctively foul: damp earth, stale rot, and something worse that defied easy categorization. Anyone who had encountered them once never forgot that stench.
But the most horrifying feature was their tail appendage. Instead of the whip-like tail expected on a rat-like creature, Carrion-Scuttlers possessed a thick, muscular stump ending in three powerful, chitin-covered grippers. These pincers were specifically evolved for grasping and securing human-sized prey, capable of locking onto limbs or torsos with crushing force.
The creatures' primary hunting strategy involved stealth and abduction. They rarely fought openly, preferring to infiltrate settlements at night, lure isolated victims away from safety through mimicked cries of distress, then snatch their targets with blinding speed. The tail-pincers would lock onto the victim while the creature's powerful body dragged them into darkness, often while still alive and conscious.
Why they kidnapped rather than simply killing remained unclear. Theories ranged from feeding larger horrors hidden in underground lairs to serving cult purposes. Some claimed the Scuttlers hoarded their victims in dark nests beneath the earth, though few who had ventured into those lairs returned to confirm such stories.
The specimens gathered here ranged from Soldier-rank (Category III) to a single Commander-rank leader (Category V). The weakest stood seven feet at the shoulder. The Commander towered nearly three times that height, its grotesque bulk dominating the defensive formation.
Millhaven's cavalry had heard stories of Carrion-Scuttlers but never encountered them directly. The creatures typically avoided open combat, preferring ambush tactics in darkness. Seeing them arrayed in defensive formation, prepared for battle rather than fleeing, triggered visceral unease even among experienced warriors.
But training and discipline overrode fear. The cavalry charge crashed into the Scuttler formation with devastating force. Lances punched through chitin armor, magical enhancements allowing penetration that would be impossible for mundane weapons. War horses trampled smaller specimens beneath enhanced hooves. Warriors shouted battle cries that were half rage, half attempt to suppress their own horror at the creatures they fought.
The initial impact killed perhaps a third of the Scuttlers outright. But the survivors responded with terrifying efficiency. Their low-slung bodies made them difficult targets for mounted warriors. Their prehensile claws allowed them to climb horses and drag riders from saddles. Their tail-pincers could crush armor and bone with equal ease.
And then, just as victory seemed within reach, the Carrion-Scuttlers began to scream.
The sound was nothing like normal animal cries. It was mimicry, horrible and precise: children crying, women screaming, men calling for help. The psychologically devastating noise served dual purpose. It disoriented attackers while simultaneously calling for reinforcement.
From the forest edge, thousands answered.
The ground began to shake, a low quake produced by thousands of scuttling forms emerging from Shadowfen's darkness. They poured from the tree line in a tide of fur, chitin, and teeth, a swarm that turned the landscape black with movement.
Five hundred cavalry suddenly faced ten times their number.
Captain Thorne Ironwood, riding beside Lord Hugo, recognized the tactical reality immediately. His voice cut through the battle din with command authority: "WE RETREAT BEFORE THEY CAN FULLY ENCIRCLE US!"
But it was already too late. A Boss-rank Carrion-Scuttler emerged from the swarm, its massive form dwarfing even the Commander-rank specimen they had been fighting. When it rose to full height, standing on its hind legs in a posture that defied its rat-like anatomy, it towered over the battlefield like a monument to a nightmare.
The Boss-rank positioned itself directly in their escape route, cutting off the path back to Millhaven. Smaller Scuttlers began flowing around the cavalry formation's flanks, creating an encirclement that tightened with every passing second.
Lord Hugo had managed to reach his wife and son, throwing their unconscious forms across his saddle with desperate strength. But now they were trapped, surrounded on all sides by creatures that wanted nothing more than to drag every last human into darkness.
---
The Aerial Intervention
August Finn saw the unfolding disaster from above. Kirpy and his family had pushed their flight speed to the absolute limit, racing generally north to north-east at velocities that left passengers breathless and windburned. The urgency was palpable: every second of delay might mean the difference between rescue and catastrophe.
When they crested the final rise and the battlefield came into view, August's enhanced perception took in the situation at a glance. Five hundred cavalry surrounded by thousands of Carrion-Scuttlers. A Boss-rank specimen blocking their escape route. Bodies already littering the ground, both human and beast. The defensive formation contracted under relentless pressure.
Minutes, perhaps. That was all the time Millhaven's forces had before the encirclement became complete and the slaughter began in earnest.
"DIVE!" August's command cut through the wind. Kirpy responded instantly, folding his wings and dropping like a stone. The other Great Peregrine Eagles followed, six massive forms plummeting toward the battlefield in coordinated assault.
The descent was controlled chaos. Wind screamed past, tears forcing themselves from August's eyes despite his enhanced durability. His stomach lurched as gravity took hold. The ground rushed up with terrifying speed.
At the last possible moment, the eagles spread their wings, converting vertical velocity into forward momentum. They struck the Scuttler swarm like meteors, talons extended and magic flaring. The impact sent dozens of creatures flying, creating momentary gaps in the encirclement.
August dismounted before Kirpy had fully landed, hitting the ground at a run. His weapons were already in hand, his enhanced perception cataloging threats and opportunities. Team One deployed around him with practiced efficiency, each member moving to their assigned position without need for verbal commands.
The Boss-rank Scuttler, which had been preparing to lead the final assault on the trapped cavalry, turned its attention to this new threat. Its orange eyes were fixed towards August with predatory intelligence that suggested more than animal cunning.
August met that gaze without flinching. He had killed creatures larger and more dangerous than this. He had erased a mountain. This oversized rat, however horrifying, was just another obstacle between him and mission success.
"Erik, Betty, Isabel!" August's commands came rapid-fire. "Disrupt the swarm! Create openings in their encirclement! Milo, Adam, Angeline, with me! We're engaging the Boss-rank!"
He didn't give the creature time to mount a proper defense. August launched forward with explosive speed, closing the distance in heartbeats. His broad sword, enhanced with fire element magic, struck the Scuttler's chitin armor with a sound like ringing bells.
The creature screeched and recoiled, surprised by the ferocity of the assault. August didn't relent, pressing the attack with combinations that flowed seamlessly between sword, spear, and dagger. His three elemental affinities provided tactical flexibility: fire to burn through armor, lightning to stun and disorient, wind to enhance speed and create defensive barriers.
Behind him, Team One executed their roles with precision honed through years of training. Betty's fire magic scorched paths through the Scuttler swarm, her flames precisely controlled to avoid friendly casualties while maximizing enemy destruction. Erik coordinated with Rexy, the massive Grimfang alpha tearing through Scuttlers with savage efficiency. Isabel's wood magic manipulated the terrain itself, creating barriers and obstacles that disrupted enemy movement.
The Great Peregrine Eagles dominated the airspace, diving repeatedly to rake claws through enemy formations. Their wind magic generated localized tornadoes that scattered Scuttlers like leaves, creating constant chaos that prevented the creatures from organizing effective counterattacks.
Lord Hugo, recognizing salvation when he saw it, rallied his cavalry. His voice carried across the battlefield with noble authority: "V-FORMATION! BREAKTHROUGH THE ENEMY ENCIRCLEMENT! WE RETURN HOME!"
The heavy cavalry reformed despite their losses, creating a wedge-shaped formation designed to punch through defensive lines. With Team One providing distraction and the eagles generating aerial chaos, they had a window of opportunity. Narrow, closing fast, but present.
The breakout began.
---
The Retreat
What followed was hours of continuous combat, a retreating battle that stretched from the grey zone back toward Millhaven territory. The cavalry formed a moving fortress, protecting Countess Dianne and young Hector in the center while fighting off constant attacks from all directions.
August remained at the rear, serving as a living barrier between pursuing Scuttlers and retreating humans. His combat style had evolved beyond mere technique into something approaching art. Every movement had purpose. Every strike carried killing intent. Every defensive positioning created opportunities for counterattack.
He fought with all his weapons in rotating patterns: broad sword and shield for heavy engagement, spear for reach advantage, bow for ranged elimination of priority targets, daggers for close-quarters precision. His buffs remained active continuously, enhancing his physical capabilities to superhuman levels.
The nickname "Blurred Devil" had been earned through displays exactly like this. To the Scuttlers pursuing him, August appeared as an avatar of death. He moved faster than their eyes could track, struck from impossible angles, killed with efficiency that seemed mechanical in its precision. Bodies piled around him in grotesque mounds, each corpse testament to his lethal capabilities.
The soldiers who witnessed his performance would speak of it for years afterward. How he had held the rear position alone for stretches, buying time for the cavalry to create distance. How his weapons never seemed to dull despite constant use. How he fought for hours without apparent fatigue, his movements as crisp at the end as the beginning.
Angeline had claimed one of the eagles, converting its back into a mobile medical facility. Countess Dianne and young Hector received her immediate attention, her light-based healing magic working to stabilize their conditions and purge whatever substances the Scuttlers had used to keep them unconscious.
The countess regained consciousness first, her eyes snapping open with panic that only gradually subsided when she recognized her surroundings. "Hugo? My son?"
"Safe, my lady," Angeline assured her gently. "Young Hector is beside you, also recovering. We're retreating to Millhaven now."
Lord Hugo, who had been coordinating the cavalry's defensive formation, rode close enough to see his wife awake. The expression that crossed his face was beyond simple relief: it was the look of a man who had prepared himself for the worst and found instead the best possible outcome.
The Boss-rank Scuttler, which August had wounded severely in their initial engagement, attempted several times to halt the retreat. But each assault was met with a devastating counterattack. August's mastery of combat had reached levels where he could fight multiple opponents simultaneously while maintaining awareness of the broader tactical situation.
By the time they crossed into Millhaven's actual territorial boundaries, the pursuing Scuttlers had thinned to manageable numbers. The creatures seemed reluctant to venture too far from Shadowfen's borders, perhaps recognizing that the tactical advantage shifted heavily against them in open terrain.
August finally called for the complete elimination of remaining enemies. His voice carried command authority that inspired even exhausted soldiers: "WIPE THEM OUT! LEAVE NONE ALIVE!"
Lord Hugo took up the cry, rallying his cavalry for one final charge. They had been driven from the battlefield, harried and wounded. Now, on their own territory with the immediate threat to the lord's family neutralized, rage overtook caution.
"CHARGE!"
The cavalry turned and attacked with renewed fury. The remaining Scuttlers, caught between August's relentless assault and five hundred vengeful warriors, died quickly and messily. August personally beheaded the Boss-rank specimen, his broad sword carving through chitin that had resisted most attacks with contemptuous ease.
When silence finally descended, the cost became apparent. Of the five hundred elite cavalry who had pursued the kidnappers, only two hundred survived. Millhaven's finest had paid a terrible price for the rescue operation.
Team One had fared better. No deaths, though injuries were evident across the board. Betty nursed burns from magical backlash. Erik limped from where a Scuttler's pincer had crushed his armor. Milo's berserker rage had left him with dozens of minor wounds that would heal but currently painted him in blood.
Only August appeared largely unharmed. His regeneration had already begun closing the few wounds he had sustained, his body returning to baseline condition with unsettling speed.
Lord Hugo rode to meet them as they approached Millhaven's walls. His face was haggard, aged years in a single day, but his eyes burned with gratitude and respect.
"August," he said simply. "We will talk later. Forgive me that I cannot treat you with better hospitality at this time. And thank you for coming to save us. Without you, this would have been our last."
August shook his head. "No apology necessary, your grace. This is our way of living: helping those who mean something to us. And Millhaven territory is a friend of our village."
Hugo tried to smile but managed only a weary nod. He had too much weighing on his mind: the dead to honor, the wounded to treat, the territory's defenses to restore. Personal gratitude, however deeply felt, would have to wait for more stable circumstances.
---
Return to Civilization
Team One made their way back to the Finn Household's usual lodging in Millhaven: the Louvère de Mont Private Inn. The establishment had, remarkably, survived the beast attack largely intact. Its location on one of the mountain hold's higher levels had placed it above the worst fighting, though signs of the invasion were evident everywhere.
The inn's owner, Jeanne de Mont, greeted them with surprise and genuine warmth. She was perhaps fifty years old, her face lined with care and recent stress. The tenth-generation proprietor of her family's business, she had maintained operations through countless hardships. But the recent attack had shaken even her considerable resolve. She was spacing out even after August called on her many times. August had greeted her beforehand and asked if there were available rooms for twenty-two people.
"Sir August!" Her voice carried relief at seeing familiar faces, her attention snapping back to reality. "I did not expect customers so soon after... after what happened. Yes, of course we have rooms. Twenty-two people, you said?" She fell deaf to August's words the first time.
"If possible," August confirmed. "I understand the circumstances aren't ideal. Many of your workers must be dealing with their own situations."
Jeanne nodded, her expression somber. "Most went home to check on family or help with recovery efforts. My son is currently on the lower levels, assisting our employees where he can. But I can manage. Did you... were you caught in the fighting? Your clothes..."
August glanced down at himself and realized he was still covered in dried blood and other substances he preferred not to identify. "We assisted with rescue operations. We'll need to clean up before anything else. Do you have facilities available?"
"Of course, of course. The baths are functional. I'll prepare your rooms while you wash."
Theresa Peerce stepped forward, her maternal instincts recognizing an opportunity to help. "Miss Jeanne, if you'll allow it, I and some of our group would be happy to help prepare meals. We can use what's available in your kitchen. We'll pay for ingredients, of course. Consider it our way of contributing to recovery efforts."
Jeanne's eyes misted slightly at the offer. "That's very kind. Yes, please. I would be grateful for the help."
The Finn Household settled into the inn's routines, finding small ways to ease the burden on staff who were themselves dealing with trauma and loss. It was characteristic of them: even while traveling, even while recovering from their own combat operations, they looked for ways to contribute to community welfare.
The baths were a welcome luxury after hours of fighting. August soaked in hot water, letting it dissolve the accumulated grime and tension. His body's accelerated healing had already closed most injuries, but the psychological weight of combat took longer to process.
He thought about the Scuttlers, about the thousands of them that had poured from Shadowfen's borders. The implications were troubling. Such numbers suggested organized breeding programs, deliberate cultivation of forces for specific purposes. This hadn't been random aggression or territorial expansion. This had been a targeted raid with clear objectives: abduct high-value individuals, terrorize the population, demonstrate Shadowfen's capacity to strike deep into civilized territory.
*It's escalating,* August thought grimly. *First the northern borders of the Lonelywoods. Now raids this far into human territory. Shadowfen is testing everyone's defenses, probing for weaknesses.*
The question was why. What was Shadowfen's ultimate objective? Territorial expansion was the obvious answer, but the tactics suggested something more sophisticated. The Carrion-Scuttlers were kidnapping specialists, not battlefield combatants. Their presence implied specific tactical goals beyond simple conquest.
August filed these thoughts away for later analysis. For now, rest and recovery took priority.
---
The Lord's Invitation
Dawn arrived grey and cold. August woke early, as was his custom, and found a messenger waiting in the inn's common room. The young soldier wore Millhaven livery and carried himself with military bearing despite obvious exhaustion.
"Sir August Finn? Lord Hugo requests your presence at the castle, at your earliest convenience."
August nodded. "I'll come immediately. Please inform the lord I'm on my way."
He left instructions for the others to enjoy their day, to use the inn's hot springs and find what relaxation they could. They had earned rest, and there was little they could contribute to Millhaven's reconstruction efforts that wasn't already being handled by local expertise.
The walk to the castle allowed August to observe the territory's recovery efforts. Cleanup crews worked through rubble, salvaging what could be saved and marking what needed demolition. Healers moved among the wounded, prioritizing critical cases. Officials coordinated distribution of emergency supplies. The organized chaos of disaster response.
Captain Thorne Ironwood met him at the castle entrance. The soldier's face was drawn, years seeming to have accumulated overnight. The losses among his cavalry had hit him hard; these were warriors he had trained and commanded, people he had known for decades.
"It's been a while, August." Ironwood's voice was rough with suppressed emotion.
"It's been a while, Captain," August replied gently. "And I'm sorry for your loss."
Ironwood's jaw tightened, but he maintained professional composure. "Thank you. The lord is waiting in the great hall. This way."
The great hall, where guests were traditionally received, showed signs of hasty cleanup. Bloodstains had been scrubbed from floors and walls, but the smell of death lingered beneath layers of incense. Furniture had been rearranged to hide damaged sections. The room felt haunted despite best efforts to restore normalcy.
Lord Hugo stood with Buford, the two engaged in quiet conversation that ceased when August's arrival was announced. Hugo's face carried the same haggard exhaustion as everyone else, but something else as well: determination, perhaps. Or the hardness that comes when impossible choices must be made.
August offered a formal bow. "Good day, your grace. I hope Countess Dianne and young Lord Hector are recovering well."
Hugo nodded, relief evident despite his controlled demeanor. "Yes, young August. Thankfully, your aid yesterday prevented their deaths. My wife is weak but responsive. My son woke up this morning with no apparent lasting damage. We owe you a debt beyond measuring."
"I'm glad they're safe," August said sincerely.
Hugo gestured for August to approach. "August, from the bottom of my heart as Lord of Millhaven, I cannot thank you enough. I know you typically reject material rewards, so I offer something different." He produced a sealed parchment, its wax bearing Millhaven's official crest. "Millhaven Territory officially recognizes the Village of Maya and its citizens as our perpetual ally. Whenever your village faces dire need, Millhaven will send its best to answer, whatever the cost. Just as you helped us without expectation of reward, so too shall we help you."
He pressed the parchment into August's hands. "Receive this document as official proof of our alliance. It carries my seal and oath, binding in law and honor."
August accepted the document with appropriate gravity. An official alliance with an Earl's territory represented a significant diplomatic achievement. More importantly, it provided potential external support if Maya Village faced catastrophic threats.
Hugo continued before August could respond. "I must also thank you for educating my son Buford. You didn't have to take him into your village or dedicate resources to his growth. But you did, and the results speak for themselves. Yesterday, in my absence, Buford led our people through the immediate crisis. He organized defenses, coordinated rescue efforts, and maintained morale when everything seemed lost. That leadership came directly from lessons you taught him."
The lord's voice grew softer, more personal. "I admit that I left the territory yesterday in haste, abandoning my administrative duties to pursue kidnappers. As a lord, that was irresponsible. But as a father and husband, I couldn't do otherwise. The thought of losing my family..." He trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete that sentence.
August waited until he was certain Lord Hugo had finished. "Thank you for this, Lord Hugo. I swear Maya Village will always be a friend to Millhaven and shall provide aid when we can. As for our village's location, I unfortunately cannot reveal it yet. But one day, you will be the first outsider I invite to visit. If Lord Buford wishes to share that information, he may do so when he believes the time is right."
He glanced at Buford, whose expression suggested he took that responsibility seriously. "I also believe Lord Buford will become a splendid lord in his own time. He has grown beyond what anyone could have expected. You need not explain or apologize for yesterday's choices, your grace. Family comes before duty in moments like that. Anyone who cannot understand that doesn't deserve to judge."
They talked for some time afterward, discussing the attack's broader implications and Millhaven's defensive posture going forward. But eventually, Hugo returned to the question that clearly weighed most heavily on his mind.
"August," the lord said, his voice carrying unusual hesitation, "I need your counsel. Tell me honestly what I should do about my current situation."
He detailed the problem with stark clarity: Millhaven existed as a frontier territory of the Kingdom of Ogind, providing crucial defense against Shadowfen incursions. Yet despite decades of loyal service, the royal family had essentially abandoned them. No support, no reinforcements, no diplomatic attention for over thirty years. They paid taxes religiously but received nothing in return except empty promises.
The official excuse was distance: Millhaven was too far from the capital, too isolated, too difficult to reach. But Hugo believed the truth was simpler and darker: the royal family had written off the territory as expendable. When Shadowfen finally overwhelmed Millhaven's defenses, the kingdom would shrug and adjust its maps.
"Yesterday's attack demonstrated how vulnerable we are," Hugo said grimly. "If not for your intervention, my family would be gone and my territory soon to follow. I don't know how long we can continue defending this place alone. If nothing changes, we may have to abandon Millhaven within a few years, retreat to safer territory and leave this land to the beasts."
It was a question that carried enormous weight. Hugo was essentially asking whether he should maintain loyalty to a kingdom that had abandoned him, or seek alternatives that might better serve his people's survival.
August took his time formulating a response. This was precisely the kind of difficult question the Trial of Wisdom was meant to test: situations where no perfect answer existed, where competing values and loyalties created impossible choices.
"Then perhaps, Lord Hugo," August said carefully, "you should consider who your true friends are. If the royal family of Ogind continues to ignore your legitimate needs despite repeated appeals, perhaps it's time to consider alternative arrangements."
He chose his next words with deliberate precision. "The recently promoted Marquess Gremory strikes me as a good ally. He has demonstrated reliability and mutual benefit in our interactions. Whatever decision you ultimately make, it should prioritize the welfare of your people above abstract loyalty to distant nobility who have shown you nothing but neglect."
Hugo absorbed this thoughtfully, turning the implications over in his mind. Then his expression shifted, a new idea forming. "A marriage alliance, perhaps? Between our houses, Gremory and Millhaven?"
He looked at Buford speculatively. "What do you think, son? You're of marriageable age now. Is there anyone in the Gremory household who interests you?"
Buford appeared genuinely startled by the question. He thought carefully before responding. "Father, I haven't met any of my noble peers yet. I've only seen names and perhaps portraits. I couldn't fairly say I fancy anyone without a proper introduction. But if such an alliance would benefit our house and secure our people's future, I would accept the match regardless of personal preference. As long as my potential spouse shares similar ideals and values, I will fulfill my duty."
Hugo sighed internally, struck by the realization that his son had spent four formative years in an isolated village rather than attending social functions where young nobility typically met their peers. Buford's first real social outing had been to Maya Village, and he'd never left afterward until now.
*I'll need to correct that,* Hugo thought. *Once things stabilize, Buford needs proper introduction to noble society. Can't have him going into marriage negotiations completely ignorant of court protocol.*
August felt a familiar chime in his consciousness:
[SYSTEM: TRIAL OF WISDOM - COMPLETION CONFIRMED]
[FINAL TALLY:]
- Task 1 Completed: Provided life-direction guidance to Buford regarding his readiness for lordship
- Task 2 Completed: Crisis leadership guidance during Millhaven's catastrophic situation
- Task 3 Completed: Strategic counsel regarding territorial loyalty and diplomatic realignment
[TRIAL OF WISDOM STATUS: COMPLETE]
[REWARDS PENDING FULL TRIAL SERIES COMPLETION]
August barely registered the notification. The philosophical achievement felt distant compared to the practical reality of helping people navigate genuine crises.
They remained in Millhaven for several more days, allowing the territory to stabilize and ensuring Countess Dianne and young Hector's full recovery. The Finn Household contributed where they could: Theresa and Donna assisted medical efforts, Red helped organize reconstruction logistics, and the Team One members provided security during vulnerable periods.
On the morning of their departure, Lord Hugo personally saw them off. His expression carried genuine warmth beneath the exhaustion and stress.
"Safe travels, August. And remember: Millhaven stands with Maya Village. Always."
"We won't forget," August promised. "And if you need us, you know where to send a word (Buford knows)."
The Great Peregrine Eagles took flight, carrying the Finn Household back toward their isolated valley home. As Millhaven shrank behind them, August reflected on the trials he had completed.
The Trial of Strength had tested his combat capabilities, pushing him to touch divine power through desperate necessity. The Trial of Wisdom had tested his judgment, his ability to provide counsel that might shape lives and territories.
Only one trial remained: the Trial of Character. And something told him it would be the most difficult yet.