In the golden hue of the evening sun, a few dozen horse carriages marched steadily down the road. Inside one of them sat a young boy with silvery hair, alone and lost in thought.
Knock knock.
A loud rap on the carriage window snapped him out of his reverie. Jack turned his head to see a red knight riding alongside on a powerful warhorse, peering inside. The knight pulled down the scarf that shielded his face from the dust stirred up by hooves and wind.
Beneath the scarf was a gray-haired man. He pointed ahead and said,"We've arrived at Greenriver Manor."
The procession came to a halt shortly after. Jack stepped outside and was greeted by a vast stretch of grasslands. At its heart lay a serene lake, and in that lake, on a tiny island, stood an ancient manor. Vines and moss had claimed most of its walls, and a narrow land bridge connected the shore to the manor.
"That's Greenriver Manor?" Jack asked, suspicion threading his words.
"That's right. A beautiful manor for our beautiful lord," replied Garren, the knight captain, with a grin.
Jack's lips twitched at the reply.
Moments later, they crossed the land bridge—Garren leading a small detachment of knights, while Jack and a few others stayed behind with the carriages and supplies.
Two guards stood at the rusty gates. One was an old man, his face marked with scars. The other was a boy so tall—easily over seven feet—he dwarfed everyone around him. Even bowing, the giant's head was higher than Jack's.
Jack, standing at five foot ten, couldn't help but feel small. Even Garren, a tall man at six-foot-two, seemed short next to the towering youth.
'I'm still growing,' Jack consoled himself.
The older guard stepped forward, bowed, and said,"Welcome, my lord. I've awaited this day since my youth."
As the gates creaked open and the group began to enter, Jack asked a few questions.
"What's your name, sir?"
"Godric, my lord."
"And how long have you worked here?"
"Since the days of His Grace, the late Duke Alaric—your grandfather—when he held the title of Count of Greenriver and ruled this land."
"You're quite old then, Godric. Is he your son?" Jack asked, gesturing to the giant.
Godric chuckled."No, my lord. He's a troublemaker from the neighboring town. Worked as a laborer before I brought him here. Figured the young lord might find a use for someone like him. He's obedient, at least."
Jack looked up."Is that so? What's your name?"
"It's Otto, my lord," came the deep, rumbling reply.
Jack's smirk widened."Then Otto, fetch me some brooms and cleaning cloths."
Something about his tone made Garren's eye twitch.
Otto turned and, without hesitation, lumbered off.
In the meantime, Jack toured the manor's surroundings. Godric served as an animated guide, telling tales of Jack's grandfather's wild exploits. Despite Godric's insistence that the interior had been cleaned over the past few days, Jack refused to enter the manor.
Few knew this, but Jack couldn't tolerate filth. He avoided dirty places like the plague.
So when Otto returned with an armful of brooms and rags...
Jack turned with the flourish of a smug tyrant and addressed Garren in his most regal voice.
"My proud and noble knight-captain—my friend, my comrade! Today, I bestow upon you your first command in this forsaken manor."
He tapped Garren's shoulder dramatically."Lead your men into glorious battle... against every single speck of dust, every cobwebbed corner, every moldy windowpane! Tear the place down if you must. Leave not a single rat unchallenged!"
Then, with theatrical flair, he pivoted toward his carriage."As for me—I shall bear the heavy burden of overseeing this sacred mission... from the relative safety of my carriage."
Silence. A beat. Then everyone slowly turned to look at Garren.
His face was a study in restraint. His lip twitched. His eye twitched. His soul twitched.
"My lord," he said evenly, "asking the knight-captain to... clean... is a bit—"
"Oh, no, no, no, no," Jack interrupted smoothly, already climbing into the carriage, voice muffled by the velvet curtains."I would never ask my bestest knight to lift a broom. I simply meant you'd supervise the war effort, dear Garren. Supervise. Surely you didn't think I meant for you to sweep floors?"
Garren's smile was now a vague threat.His men tried not to laugh. Otto didn't try at all.
From inside the carriage came the sound of muffled laughter, followed by:
"I expect victory, Garren. Glorious, shining, dust-free victory!"
Garren sighed."I'll get you for this... my bestest lord."
The manor was big. Enormous, actually. So big, in fact, that it took two full days and nights just to clean it to Jack's insane standards.And during that time?
Jack lived in his carriage.
He ate there, slept there, issued orders from there, and glared at the manor suspiciously like it was a feral beast that might pounce on him with cobwebs if he turned his back.
Only when he personally inspected every room, ran white gloves over banisters, and even made Otto sniff-test the cellar walls did he finally allow himself to set foot in the Greenriver Manor.
Not a single speck of dust dared remain.
His knight-captain, Garren, had indeed led the glorious conquest of grime and emerged victorious. A lesser man might have gifted him a medal. Jack considered rewarding his bravery... but the thought died the moment he saw the expression on Garren's face.
It was smiling.
But not a happy smile.Not a tired smile.A smile that hovered dangerously on the border of murder and madness.The kind of smile that said "I slept with a mop in my hand, and I'm never going to forget this."
Jack gave him a sincere thank-you, then swiftly retreated before Garren could ask for "a second campaign."
It had now been a month since Jack had inherited his title and lands.At the age of eighteen, he had become the Count of Greenriver, ruling a modest but fertile territory with a handful of scattered villages and the ancient manor at its heart.
While his predecessors had governed these lands with seasoned ease, they'd also been much older when they took power. Jack wasn't the youngest count in history, but he was close. And unlike the portraits of stone-faced, serious ancestors glaring down from the manor walls, Jack smiled too often, cleaned too much, and still occasionally tripped over his own scabbard.
The Duke—his father—wasn't taking chances.
So he'd sent a small army of officials to help Jack settle into his new responsibilities. Dozens of administrators, scribes, land surveyors, and tax experts had all arrived to assist the "Green Lord" of Greenriver.
Their mission?To help the quirky, silver-haired count ripen into a proper noble.
And despite their doubts, it was starting to work.
Jack had already restored the manor's finances, implemented reduced taxes for the local farmers, and even drafted a code of conduct for his staff that included mandatory bathing schedules and dust inspections.
Small victories.
But victories nonetheless.