My father wasn't the smartest man in the world, but he was wise enough to keep his warriors loyal and his house strong. His fiefdom was divided into tiers, and the warriors who served him lived within these divisions, rewarded according to their strength and contribution. Children with an aptitude for war were trained from an early age. And the most experienced - men forged in real battles - were given land, soldiers and even small castles to rule.
"How many men do we have for that?" he asked, keeping his tone calm but full of expectation.
"We've lost seventy of our heavy warriors. We've recovered eight-tenths of the armor, but it'll still take half a year before it's ready for full use" muttered Benta, her voice low, almost apologetic.
"In terms of infantry, each warrior in this room commands two hundred veteran men" added Rammal. "We have two thousand light infantrymen, two hundred knights and two hundred archers. All ready for immediate movement"
"One thousand six hundred infantry. Two hundred cavalry. Two hundred archers" my father repeated thoughtfully.
He looked at the men in front of him, veterans who had followed him since before I was born. They were tough, loyal, and demanded leadership without hesitation. But now, with my name involved in disagreements - especially with House Violet - he couldn't simply ignore the weight of blood.
This wasn't just the legacy of my grandfather and great-grandfather. It was the legacy he hoped I would inherit one day. And even though I still acted with too much passion and too little discipline, my father knew there was something of him in me: I wouldn't accept being bent.
House Udrik was never known for its talent for trade or sophisticated political alliances. Their reputation came from the battlefield - they were warriors. That's why the Rolsvince chose to ambush them rather than attack their territories directly: facing House Udrik head-on would have been suicide.
They were by far the greatest military power in Full Moon City. To prevent the family's strength from being diluted over time, the baron always respected the traditions established by the second head of the line.
Among these traditions, there was a clear rule: family members who lost status or fell into disgrace were married off to loyal warriors. This not only strengthened internal ties, but also made trusted servants part of the lineage. Those who achieved great merits were rewarded - and the greatest prize was the right to join the family by blood.
Two rules supported the pillars of House Udrik:
No member of the family would go hungry.No member's dignity would be harmed.
That's why distant relatives always found shelter under its wings. This ability to welcome new blood and promote unity is what has kept House Udrik, whose roots come from the fields and the people, firm for so many generations.
And when a threat arose - especially from outside - they became an unbreakable wall. However, joining the family leadership, or even marrying one of its members, required more than bravery. It was necessary to win the approval of both the servants and the warriors. Without this, no one could rise.
'A leader is not a boss. He needs the support of his colleagues'
This was the only sentence written by the founder of the family - a simple peasant - and to this day it is taken literally by Casa Udrak.
"Then it's settled" said my father, feeling at peace with his choice.
Win or lose, he was confident that he would carry no regrets.
House Udrak was born from the mud - like insects sprouting from the bowels of the earth. They had already been through many trials, and they didn't fear oblivion.
They weren't looking for glory, but permanence.
"Now, about the girl..." My father's voice cut through the air again.
At the same moment, the ten veteran warriors around her turned their eyes to her, like silent beasts assessing a flame burning in the darkness.
There was respect, but also uncertainty. It was unusual for a girl to be at the center of a discussion between leaders.
"That girl has more courage than my son" His tone was direct, but not cruel. "However, that alone is not enough to occupy the position that Zaatar wants to give her. Courage is what gets us up. But wisdom... wisdom is what keeps us from falling" He paused briefly before continuing.
"My vote is for her to be educated, comforted and introduced to our history. Let's get to know her before making any final decisions"
The other warriors nodded. They were so used to thinking together that a consensus was already forming even before they went any further into the discussion.
"Send a small entourage to the girl's residence. Nothing to cause panic, but with enough authority to show that this is a summons, not a request. Bring her family to the castle" my father ordered, then turned to Benta, the gray-haired housekeeper with her ever-watchful eyes. "And you, Benta, get this family's records"
"I already have" replied the housekeeper, with a firm look on her face.
"They are descendants of the former housekeeper of Casa Givena. As a reward, they received a farm and a sheep pasture, where they live in isolation to this day. They pay their taxes regularly. There is no great talent for war in their blood. The eldest brother trained in the military from 13 to 23, but failed to become a ready-made warrior. Since then, he's been working with wood"
My father nodded slowly.
"Bring him to the castle. Find him a master blacksmith and make him an apprentice. If he can't fight, then he should learn to forge. War needs swords as much as it needs arms to wield them"
He paused, looking around the table.
"And as for the girl's mother... If she's descended from a governess, she must have an instinct for order. Bring her in. Give her minor administrative tasks. If the servants accept her, and she shows competence, she'll be able to manage the peasants under our banner. If we're fair, they'll serve with pride"
"Got it" replied Benta, already making notes in her precise handwriting.
"Alfred was responsible for that part. And he betrayed us" my father continued, his voice tinged with a restrained bitterness. "We can't repeat that mistake. We must ensure that the peasants are protected, cared for and, above all, respected. We are a warrior caste. Our dignity lies not only in the steel of our blades, but in the honor with which we treat those who live under our name"