The castle loomed ahead — tall, grim, and entirely unimpressive compared to Kaelen's former life.
As they approached the main gate, two armored guards stepped forward, spears lowered.
— "State your business!"
Kaelen raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, the knight escorting him waved frantically.
A sharp hand gesture. Almost a warning.
The guards froze.
They looked at Kaelen. Then at the knight.
The message was clear: If you touch this man, death would be a mercy compared to what awaits you.
The guards stepped aside, pale.
Kaelen, unfazed, walked between them, casually pushing open the heavy wooden doors with both hands.
The knight flinched.
"We're dead. All of us. This is it. My career's over."
Inside, Kaelen turned toward him and asked calmly:
— "Where's the lord of this castle?"
The knight blinked. Then remembered his role — a loyal servant of debate café culture, obviously — and scampered off to fetch his superior.
Moments later, Kaelen strolled into the great hall without knocking.
The lord, a round man in silks that didn't suit his sweaty frame, looked up in confusion.
Kaelen didn't give him time to speak.
— "How dare you not greet me properly?"
I am the son of House Leonheart!"
The lord froze. Then stammered:
— "M-my deepest apologies, noble sir! We... we received no letter, no notice of your arrival—"
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. He activated his most powerful weapon: Tone of Authority™.
— "Excuses? Are you truly giving me excuses?"
Perhaps I should mention this to my father."
The lord paled.
— "No, no! There's no need for that!"
He gestured wildly at a servant.
Within moments, Kaelen had two gold coins and five iron ones in his palm.
He raised an eyebrow. That worked.
Behind him, the knight gawked in silence.
That amount could fund a noble's lifestyle for six months.
He envied "Sir Leonheart"… and lowered his gaze with humility.
Kaelen turned to him.
— "Take me to the nearest debate house. Or café. Anywhere where thinkers gather."
The knight hesitated, clearly confused.
— "Debate… house?"
Kaelen stared.
Of course. The man had no idea what a debate was.
He sighed.
— "Just take me to the nearest tavern. That will do."
The knight obeyed.
The tavern was loud, smoky, and smelled of cheap ale and desperation.
As Kaelen entered, the knight bowed and took his leave — something about patrols or fear of further social suicide.
Kaelen found a corner seat, watching.
Then he heard it.
A drunk man, slurring his misery at a nearby table.
— "The harvest's gone. Monsters ruined it. My daughter's sick. Won't survive the winter.
The lord keeps taxing us like we're pigs in gold. Please… help me... someone..."
Silence.
The others avoided his gaze.
Not because they didn't care.
But because they all had the same story.
Kaelen watched, thoughtful.
Then he stood up and walked toward the man.
— "Tell me more," he said, voice calm but commanding.
"Tell me everything."
Because Kaelen wasn't just a lost philosopher anymore.
This... was an opportunity.
And every revolution starts with one desperate voice in a tavern.