The heavy oak door of the study slammed shut behind him, sealing out the drafts of the corridor. Liszt stood in the center of the room, the silence of the castle pressing down on him. The tour had been exhausting, not physically—he had ridden most of the way—but mentally. The sheer scale of the neglect in Flower Town was a weight that settled on his shoulders like a leaden yoke.
He crossed to his desk and began rummaging through the drawers. The wood groaned in protest, swollen by the damp air. He pushed aside stacks of unpaid bills, dried ink pots, and broken quills, searching for the memory that had surfaced during the tour.
*The wooden box. The one Father gave me.*
It had been a parting gift, tossed at him with a sneer by the Earl of Coral Island when Liszt was exiled to this backwater. The original Liszt had shoved it into a drawer and forgotten it, deeming it worthless trash.
His fingers brushed against cold metal. He pulled out a small, unassuming case made of dark ironwood, carved with the simple relief of a tulip.
Liszt carried it to the window, where the dying light of the afternoon filtered through the grimy glass. He unlatched the clasp. It clicked softly.
Inside, resting on a bed of faded velvet, were four seeds.
They didn't look like much. One was brown and shriveled, resembling a dried pea. Another was black and jagged, like a piece of coal. The third was a pale, sickly yellow. The fourth was grey and smooth, indistinguishable from a pebble one might find on a riverbank.
*These are the Elf Seeds?*
He concentrated, calling upon the mysterious vision that had plagued—and blessed—him all day.
The mist responded instantly. It curled up from the box, spiraling around the seeds, forming the familiar serpentine characters.
**[Item: Dormant Elf Seeds (Set of 4)]**
**[Status: Dormant. Vitality near zero.]**
**[Description: Common Elf Seeds. Due to improper storage and lack of magic nourishment, they have entered a state of hibernation. If not revitalized within six months, they will perish completely.]**
**[Revitalization Method:]**
**1. Plant in soil enriched by an active Earth Elf.**
**2. Water with nutrient-rich solution.**
**3. Expose to the Battle Aura of a Knight (Earth Rank or higher recommended).**
Liszt stared at the text. *Revitalization.*
So, they weren't dead. But they weren't alive either. They were in stasis, waiting for a catalyst.
*The Earth Elf.*
He thought back to the malnourished worm he had seen in Cornell's garden.
*The soil in that garden is the only place in town with active Elf magic. But the worm is weak. If I plant these seeds there, will the worm have enough energy to wake them? Or will the effort kill the worm?*
It was a gamble. He needed the worm healthy first. That meant better food, better care. It also meant he needed to provide the nutrient solution and—most importantly—the Battle Aura.
*I am not an Earth Knight,* he thought grimly. *I am barely an Apprentice. But the system says 'recommended', not 'required'. Perhaps my aura, combined with the Earth Elf, could work.*
He closed the box with a snap. This was a project for the future. For now, he had to secure the immediate survival of the town.
"Sir?"
A knock at the door. Carter's muffled voice.
"Enter," Liszt called, slipping the box into his coat pocket.
The butler entered, carrying a tray with a letter sealed in black wax. His face was grave.
"Sir, a courier just arrived from the main road. This letter was delivered by a passing merchant caravan. It bears the seal of Coral City."
Liszt's heart skipped a beat. Coral City was the seat of the Earl, his father's territory.
He took the letter. The black wax was stamped with the Tulip crest—a golden tulip. He broke the seal.
The letter was brief, written in a sharp, jagged hand that Liszt recognized as his father's.
*To the Baron of Flower Town,*
*The annual tax report is due. I trust you have collected the requisite funds. Do not disappoint me further with pleas for assistance. The family's resources are stretched thin with matters of actual importance. Send the tax collector by the end of the month, or I will be forced to send a representative to assess your... competence.*
*Signed,*
*Earl of Coral Island.*
Liszt read it twice. There was no warmth, no inquiry about his health, not even a greeting. Just a demand for money.
He crumpled the paper in his fist.
*Money. The one thing I don't have.*
"Does the merchant caravan still linger?" Liszt asked, his voice tight.
"No, Sir. They dropped the letter and moved on. They seemed in a hurry to reach Iron Hill before nightfall. They mentioned... bandits on the road."
Liszt tossed the letter onto the desk. "Carter, have Gort come to my study immediately. And bring the ledgers. All of them."
"At once, Sir."
---
An hour later, the study was a mess of parchment. Gort sat across from Liszt, his brow furrowed as he sifted through the disorganized stack.
"Finances are... complicated, Sir," Gort said, choosing his words carefully. He picked up a sheet filled with numbers. "As you can see, the projected income for this quarter is forty gold coins. However, the actual collection last quarter was a mere twelve gold coins."
"Twelve?" Liszt rubbed his temples. "Why the discrepancy?"
"The peasants cannot pay," Gort admitted, dropping the pretense of administrative competence. "They have no coin. They pay in kind—grain, chickens, labor. But the grain stores are low, and the livestock is diseased. We cannot sell what we don't have."
"And the expenses?"
"The castle staff wages. Maintenance. Supplies. We currently have a deficit of fifteen gold coins. We are sinking, Sir."
Liszt leaned back in his chair. The reality was stark. He was a Baron with a title and a castle, but he was functionally bankrupt. His father was demanding taxes, and his people were starving.
*I need a breakthrough. A quick injection of resources.*
He thought of the Iron-Hide Boars.
*The system offered a reward. But I can't wait for the mission to finish to start making plans. I need to plan the hunt now, but I also need to think bigger.*
"Gort," Liszt said suddenly. "If we were to clear the forest and build a proper dock, what would that do for our trade?"
Gort blinked, surprised by the shift in topic. "A dock? Well, theoretically, it would allow us to bypass the toll roads and the bandits on the main highways. We could ship goods directly downriver to Coral City or even the port cities. But building a dock requires lumber and labor. We have labor, but the lumber..."
"Is in the forest," Liszt finished. "Where the boars are."
He stood up and walked to the window. The sun had set, and the familiar mist of the evening was rising from the ground outside.
"We need to reorganize this town," Liszt said, his voice taking on a hard edge. "We are operating without a plan. That ends tonight. I want you to draw up a proposal. I want Flower Town divided into zones."
"Zones, Sir?" Gort looked confused.
"Yes. A Farming Zone, to concentrate our agricultural efforts. An Industrial Zone, for the blacksmith and any future workshops. A Housing Zone, to get these people out of mud huts. And a Commercial Zone, for trade."
Gort's eyes widened. It was a radical concept. In most rural baronies, things just grew haphazardly where they could. Planning a town like a city was... ambitious.
"That is... a grand vision, Sir," Gort said slowly. "But it will take years. And gold."
"Then we start small," Liszt turned back to face him. "We start with the resources we have. The forest is a resource. The river is a resource. Even the boars are a resource. I intend to claim them."
He walked to the desk and picked up a quill. He scrawled a quick note on a piece of scrap parchment.
*"Authorization: Sir Liszt, Baron of Flower Town, hereby requisition one steel-tipped spear and one crossbow from the armory for personal training use."*
He handed the paper to Gort.
"Take this to the armory. Have Marcus inspect the weapons. Tomorrow, we begin preparations for a hunt."
Gort took the paper, his expression shifting from confusion to intrigue. "A hunt, Sir? For the boars?"
"Precisely. We kill the boars, we secure the forest, we get lumber, we build a dock, we get trade. It all starts with the hunt."
Gort looked at the paper, then at Liszt. For the first time, there was a flicker of genuine interest in the fallen knight's eyes.
"A sound strategy, Sir. If you can pull it off."
"I will," Liszt said. "Dismissed."
When Gort left, Liszt sagged against the desk. The exhaustion hit him again. He had been projecting confidence all day, but inside, he was just a man with a few downloaded memories and a magical to-do list.
He pulled the ironwood box out of his pocket again. He opened it, staring at the four lifeless seeds.
"Six months," he whispered. "I have six months to wake you up. And I have no idea how I'm going to generate enough Battle Aura for you."
He needed power. Not just political power, but the raw, magical strength of a knight.
He looked out the window at the distant, dark shape of the forest.
*The mission reward. Aura Ascension. If I can get that, maybe... just maybe, I can spark life into these seeds.*
He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his own body. He tried to sense the Battle Aura that Marcus had spoken of. He felt nothing but the beat of his heart and the fatigue in his muscles.
*I am weak,* he admitted to himself. *But weakness is just a lack of effort.*
He pushed off the desk and walked to the center of the room. He stood straight, feet shoulder-width apart, and closed his eyes. He tried to mimic the breathing patterns he vaguely remembered from his childhood lessons—lessons he had slept through.
Inhale. Exhale. Focus on the core.
He didn't feel a rush of energy. He didn't feel a spark. But he did feel a strange, rhythmic pulsing in the back of his mind, syncing with his breath.
It wasn't the system. It was something else. Something ancient that seemed to hum in the blood of this world.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to the empty room. "Tomorrow, I become a knight. Or I die trying."
---
The next morning dawned bright and cold. The frost on the ground crunched underfoot as Liszt walked toward the training yard behind the castle.
He was dressed in simple training gear—loose linen trousers and a padded leather vest. He felt ridiculous. His body was soft, unused to hardship. But his mind was sharp.
Marcus was already there. He stood in the center of the dirt yard, his massive arms crossed over his chest. Beside him stood three younger men—the soldier apprentices. They looked nervous, shifting their weight from foot to foot.
When Liszt entered, they all bowed.
"My Lord," they chorused.
"At ease," Liszt said. He walked to the weapon rack and picked up a wooden practice sword. It felt heavy, clumsy in his hand.
Marcus stepped forward. "Sir, before we begin... are you certain? Your body is still recovering. The training for an Earth Knight is brutal. We usually start at age six."
"I am aware of my late start, Instructor," Liszt said, gripping the sword with both hands. He assumed the basic stance—feet planted, sword raised. "But I do not have the luxury of time. The town is dying. My father is demanding taxes. And there are boars in the forest with iron hides."
He looked Marcus dead in the eye.
"I need to be strong enough to fight. I need you to make me strong. I don't care about pain. I don't care about fatigue. I care about results."
Marcus studied him for a long moment. Then, a ghost of a smile touched his lips. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the smile of a man who had just been handed a hammer and told to break a rock.
"Very well, Sir. If you wish for results, we will begin with the foundation."
Marcus drew his own wooden sword. It looked like a toy in his hands, though Liszt knew it was dense ironwood, heavy enough to shatter bone.
"Stance check," Marcus barked.
He moved with blinding speed. His foot lashed out, kicking the inside of Liszt's ankle.
Liszt yelped as his legs were swept out from under him. He hit the dirt hard, the breath knocked out of his lungs.
"Stance is too wide," Marcus said, standing over him. "You are stable, but immobile. A knight must be a reed in the wind, not a stump in the mud. Get up."
Liszt gritted his teeth and scrambled to his feet. He adjusted his stance.
"Again," Marcus commanded.
The wooden sword flashed. Liszt tried to block, but his arms were too slow. The practice sword thudded against his ribs.
"Too slow. Your eyes are fast, but your body is sluggish. The mind must send the signal before the thought forms. Again."
Liszt attacked. He swung the sword with all his might. Marcus stepped aside effortlessly and tapped Liszt on the back of the knee. Liszt stumbled but didn't fall.
"Better. But you overextend. You fight like a man chopping wood. A knight fights like a surgeon. Precision. Again."
For two hours, they drilled. Liszt fell into the dirt a dozen times. His muscles burned, his skin was bruised, and sweat poured from his brow. The apprentices watched in stunned silence. They had heard stories of the Baron's laziness, but the man before them was fighting like a man possessed.
Finally, Marcus called a halt.
"Rest," the knight said.
Liszt leaned on his sword, panting heavily. His hands were shaking.
*This is pathetic,* he thought. *I've barely scratched the surface of what a knight can do.*
He looked at the mist that was beginning to form in the corners of his vision.
**[Training Log Updated]**
**[Physical Fitness: Slight Improvement]**
**[Battle Aura: Dormant]**
**[Condition: Fatigued]**
*Dormant. Still dormant.*
Liszt wiped the sweat from his eyes.
*It's not enough. I need the mission reward. I need that boost.*
He straightened up, ignoring the screaming protest of his muscles.
"Instructor Marcus," he said, his voice ragged but firm. "When can we hunt the boar?"
Marcus wiped his own brow. "The boar? Sir, you cannot even stand properly after a warm-up drill. An Iron-Hide Boar will kill you in seconds."
"Then teach me to kill it before it gets close," Liszt countered. "Or teach me to use a crossbow. Or a spear from horseback. I don't care how we do it. But I have a deadline."
Marcus stared at him. "Why the urgency? The boars have been a nuisance for months."
"Because," Liszt said, looking toward the forest line visible over the castle walls. "I have seeds to plant. And I need the forest cleared to do it."
He didn't explain further. He didn't need to.
Marcus looked at the apprentices, then back at Liszt. He nodded slowly.
"Three days," Marcus said. "I will scout their trails. I will find the dominant male. We will set an ambush. If you can hold a spear steady by then... we will hunt."
Liszt smiled, despite the pain.
"Three days. I'll be ready."