Jack woke before dawn.
The bed creaked beneath him as he sat up in the cold, unfamiliar room that smelled faintly of mildew and ash. Damon was already up, sharpening a blade by the low flicker of a lamp.
"Early day," Damon muttered without looking up.
Jack nodded, rubbing his temples. Sleep had come late and left early. He hadn't stopped thinking about Laina's letter since receiving it. Her words echoed in his mind like a heartbeat. A sliver of warmth in the cold landscape of his reality.
He dressed in silence and tied the letter beneath his tunic like a charm.
---
Orlis awaited them at the town hall with two other officials and a town elder. All three looked equally nervous and equally unimpressed. Their eyes followed Jack like he was a shadow they couldn't quite shake.
"We've arranged a town inspection tour," Orlis said. "If you still wish to proceed..."
"Of course," Jack replied. "I need to understand the rot before I can cut it out."
They started with the farmlands. Jack saw cracked soil, dying crops, and the tell-tale signs of over-farming and soil fatigue. Farmers stared at him with guarded suspicion. One old woman spat at the ground as he passed.
"It's the same bastard who taxed us into ruin and then disappeared!" someone whispered loudly.
"I heard he sold our harvest to the capital traders and pocketed the coin."
"He ain't him anymore," a younger boy muttered. "He looks... different."
Jack paused, glancing over his shoulder. The boy stared at him, then quickly turned away.
"You recognize me?" Jack asked, stepping closer.
The boy hesitated. "You used to yell at my pa... said he was lazy. But he died in the flood trying to save your records."
Jack froze.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
The boy said nothing. Just walked away.
---
Next came the merchant quarter—what was left of it.
Where once bustling shops lined the streets, only a few shacks remained. Most were controlled by a few self-proclaimed traders who had taken advantage of the town's isolation. Jack noted inflated prices, food hoarding, and rigged measurements.
"These are not real merchants," Damon said under his breath. "They're vultures."
Jack's jaw tightened. He approached one of the makeshift stalls.
"This wheat costs more than it does in the capital. Why?"
The greasy man behind the stall smiled. "Transport costs, noble sir. And risk. Bandits you see... they don't let just anyone through."
"They seem to let you through."
The man faltered. "We have... understandings."
Jack turned to Orlis. "Get me a full list of who's buying and selling food in this town. Now."
Orlis paled. "You can't just..."
"Now. Or I bring the capital guard here and investigate every copper piece you've taken."
The stallholders scattered.
---
By afternoon, they visited the guard post. Empty.
"They fled after the last bandit attack," Orlis said with a sigh. "We have no men left."
"Who's protecting the people?"
"No one."
Jack looked around. Broken weapons, rusted armor, and a shattered town bell lay in pieces.
"Damon."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Send a message to the capital. Request a dozen capable guards. Not nobles. Veterans. People like you."
Damon blinked. "That might take weeks."
"Then I'll hold the sword myself until they arrive."
---
By sunset, Jack stood at the edge of the village looking toward the forest. Smoke curled in the distance.
"Bandits?" he asked.
"They always camp there," Damon said. "Come out when they please."
"How many?"
"Too many. And armed."
Jack exhaled slowly.
"Do they kill?"
"Not often. They come for food. Take it. Leave. Repeat."
"Parasites," Jack muttered. "But smarter than expected."
He turned away.
---
That night, Jack sat alone in the council chamber. A single lantern burned beside a stack of papers. Budget reports. Crop assessments. Falsified trade records. So much damage.
He stared at the numbers, then at the blank parchment before him. Then picked up the quill.
> Solutions. Temporary guard rotation. Investigate land use. Restart agriculture with new crop.
He paused.
> Maybe... potatoes?
The thought made him laugh bitterly.
"You okay?" Damon asked from the doorway.
Jack looked up. "Do you think this is worth it?"
"Do you?"
Jack thought of Laina's letter again. Of the broken homes. Of the little boy who lost his father.
"Yes," he said. "Not for me. For them."
Damon entered and dropped a bottle of wine on the table. "To digging graves and planting gardens."
Jack smiled faintly. "To redemption."
They clinked glasses.
---
Later that night, a town elder sat with Orlis in the shadows.
"He's not the same," the elder said.
Orlis grunted. "Still a jackal. He'll ruin us again."
"Maybe. But maybe not. This time... he brought a sword. And a conscience."
Orlis looked out the window at the dim light in the council chamber. It burned through the night.