The morning light stretched across the courtyard, casting long shadows as the group of students gathered, their voices a hum of excitement and anticipation.
They were ready to hit the streets of Brixton, ready to experience the pulse of the city firsthand.
Pete stood at the front, hands in his pockets, his gaze scanning the students.
"Alright, listen up," Pete began, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Today, we see what this city is in comparison of other cities. We—"
But his words were interrupted as a guard strode through the gates, his boots clattering against the stone.
The students fell silent, looking toward the man in his weathered armor. His face was stern, a thin scar running across his cheek. He walked up to the students.
"Apologies for the interruption," the guard said, his voice low, respectful, but with an edge of urgency. "The City Lord requests all of your presence in the courtroom. Immediately."
Pete's eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing. "The courtroom?" he repeated, his tone laced with confusion. "Why?"
The guard's eyes flicked to Catherine, then back to Pete. "It's for the political expedition you are here for," he said, his words blunt, leaving no room for further questioning. "The Lord believes it will benefit you."
A murmur spread through the gathered students, some exchanging curious looks, others already guessing that this must be another banquet.
But they still followed the guard.
The grand doors of Brixton's courtroom creaked open, and the students stepped inside one by one. Instead of lively music or banquet tables lined with food and wine, the air was heavy with formality.
At the far end, the city lord sat upright on a tall-backed chair carved of dark oak, his expression calm but commanding.
To his right sat Ace and Lucy, composed and watchful, as though they belonged there as naturally as the lord himself.
Flanking the sides of the chamber were rows of the city's subordinates—battle-hardened warriors in practical armor, scholars with ink-stained fingers.
But what caught the students' attention most were the neatly arranged, empty chairs placed opposite the council.
The students hesitated in the doorway, exchanging puzzled glances. This wasn't the welcome feast they had imagined.
"Welcome," the city lord's deep voice rolled across the hall. "You arrive at an opportune time. We are not gathered here for celebration, but for counsel. Brixton is facing a serious problem. And since the future leaders of many noble houses stand among you, I would have your thoughts in this discussion."
For a moment, silence hung in the air—then excitement burst like a spark among the students.
"This is… like a real council meeting?" one whispered.
"We get to sit with the city's ruling court!" another muttered, wide-eyed.
The tension melted into eagerness as they hurried toward their chairs.
Pete, Catherine, and Emilia quickly claimed the seats closest to the front, positioning themselves as if proximity equaled influence.
Sarina and Elric slipped into their chairs nearby, their expressions thoughtful yet calm.
At the far end, Eldrin's face lit up with barely contained enthusiasm, his hands rubbing together as though he could already feel the weight of importance pressing on his shoulders.
The students straightened in their seats, their backs stiff, their eyes alert. It was a rare chance—to step into the shoes of power, if only for a morning.
Catherine folded her hands in her lap, her noble composure flawless.
Emilia bit her lip, glancing now and then at Ace, unable to ignore how natural he looked among the council.
Pete, however, sat rigid with pride, determined that today would be his chance to shine, to prove his wisdom over Ace Thornevale.
The city lord nodded once, acknowledging the readiness in their faces. "Good. Then let us begin."
The room fell silent, the weight of real governance settling upon young shoulders unused to bearing it.
The discussion began—and immediately, the atmosphere grew heavier than the students had imagined.
What they expected to be a polite exchange of opinions over trade or security had instead plunged into a matter that could fracture even seasoned nobles.
"The Holy Church," the city lord began, his voice steady but cool, "has pushed its influence further into Brixton. They came years ago, promising healing, blessings, and guidance. And, sure, they've delivered. But now, their numbers are growing and even their donations are flooding in. They're demanding a piece of our budget—just like they do in every other city across the empire."
Murmurs rose from the subordinates flanking him.
"They grow fat on the faith of the people," one warrior spat. ""Let them live off their donations. Brixton doesn't owe them a damn copper."
"But we can't just ignore them," another voice cut in—this one belonging to a scholar who had remained quiet up until now. "The Church has the hearts of the people. If we shut them out, there's a real chance their followers will turn against us. Do we really want to risk riots in the streets? A small concession now might save us from much worse later."
The two sides pressed against one another with words sharp enough to cut, and soon the council chamber throbbed with heated voices. Some students shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, wishing they had never been invited to such a dangerous matter. But none dared speak of leaving—not here, not under Thornevale territory.
After the arguments ran their course, the city lord lifted a hand, silencing the room.
His gaze swept across the students. "Now," he said, "I would hear the voices of the young. Tell me—what would you decide?"
A ripple of unease passed among them. This wasn't a mock exercise. The city lord's eyes held weight, and Ace's presence at his side made the question feel even heavier.
One by one, opinions emerged.
For most, the answer seemed obvious. The church always receives a cut. That is the way of things. In their territories, they give a cut of city budget to church from generations. To suggest otherwise felt unthinkable.
Catherine's mind, however, whirled. She recalled the difficulty the emperor himself faced whenever dealing with the church. Even the throne hesitated before its power—because if the faith of the people turned, even the crown could topple.
She sat silent, thoughtful, watching intently how Thornevale would tread this dangerous ground.
Emilia spoke up, her voice softer than she intended. "If they already receive donations… is that not enough? Why should the city's coffers be burdened further? In my kingdom, we never had their presence, so perhaps I do not grasp their reach. But to me, it seems… unnecessary."
A few heads turned at her words—some surprised, others dismissive.
Then Pete cleared his throat loudly, drawing every gaze. He leaned back with practiced confidence, as though the seat itself belonged to him.
"The Holy Church," he began, "are generous, selfless people. When I was chosen as Hero, they were among the first to support me. If they ask a portion, it is not for themselves but for the good of the city. Refusing them would only invite misfortune. Better to give them what they ask and avoid conflict."
And then, with a smug grin, he added, "They'd do a better job managing Brixton than the Thornevales would."
The chamber fell still.
A few of the subordinates bristled instantly, their anger plain. The air tightened like a bowstring drawn too far.
But before a word could be spoken, Ace lifted a hand lazily. The gesture alone froze the room. The glares that had been gathering toward Pete faded back into silence, though their heat lingered like embers.
Pete smirked faintly to himself, mistaking the silence for respect, not restraint.
The city lord's brows furrowed, but he forced his tone level as he turned his gaze back to Pete."I heard," he said slowly, "that your expedition began because you questioned the tax rate?"
Pete puffed his chest out, voice ringing with false righteousness. "Yes! How unfair it is for people to surrender forty percent of their income as tax. Such cruelty weighs upon the common man, and I, as the Hero, cannot stand idly by!"
His words, spoken with such conviction, might have inspired admiration in another court. But here, in Brixton, they rang hollow.
The city lord's expression darkened. "You speak of things you do not understand. In Thornevale territory, the tax rate is ten percent. And even then, nearly half of that goes to Empire's treasury."
The silence that followed struck harder than any shout.
Students shifted in their seats, eyes wide, jaws slack. Whispers rippled—how was it possible to run a territory, defend its borders, and maintain order with taxes so low? Their fathers' domains bled their people dry at triple or quadruple that rate.
Pete, however, only scowled. "Even so, ten percent is too much. You shouldn't take a single coin from the people. That is the true just way."
The city lord's patience cracked; his fingers tightened on the armrest of his chair. But before his voice could rise,
Catherine leaned forward, her eyes narrowed with sharp curiosity.
She asked, calm but intent, "how do you keep the taxes so low? Every territory I know possess their own resources. Yet still, they demand much from their people. What makes Thornevale different?"
The irritation in the city lord's face eased, replaced with the faintest ghost of a smile. He inclined his head slightly toward her. "Because they are not Thornevales. To do what we do requires more than wealth—it demands resolve, foresight, and the courage to bear consequences. Not every lord can afford that. Not every house has the strength to endure what follows."
"It is simple. The Thornevales command many resources. Selling them supplies enough for the territory to flourish, so we do not bleed our own people dry."
A hush filled the chamber again. It was an answer both straightforward and cutting.
Pete opened his mouth, but Catherine's next question cut across him. "Other territories also have resources—mana stone mines, fertile fields, rare minerals.," she pressed. "And still they fail. What allows you to succeed where they cannot?"
The city lord's eyes glinted, and for the first time, there was iron in his voice."It is simple. The Thornevales also command many resources. Selling them supplies enough for the territory to flourish, so we do not bleed our own people dry."
The weight of his words hung like a blade over the room. Even the students who had been eager to treat this as a debate lesson now sat straight-backed, realizing they were staring into the reality of rule—where ideals shattered against power and will.
Pete's lips pressed tight, a flush of frustration on his face. Catherine, however, lowered her gaze thoughtfully, her mind already racing with the implications.
"Lady Catherine," city lord said, his voice carrying a deliberate weight. "You have asked sharp questions. Now, tell me—what do you think about the matter of the Church?"
The chamber grew still. Several students turned toward her, curious. Even Pete, still bristling beside her, leaned closer as though expecting her to side with him.
Catherine took a measured breath, her expression calm and thoughtful.
She began slowly, "The Holy Church has long held the hearts of the people across the Empire. It is a power that cannot be ignored, no matter how one feels about its demands."
Her gaze drifted across the subordinates, then back to the city lord.
"At the same time, a city must secure its future and protect its autonomy. Yield too much, and one risks dependency. Resist too much, and one risks unrest. To balance the scales between faith and governance…" she allowed her voice to trail just slightly, "…is no easy task. I believe it requires careful judgment, unique to every territory."
The words were polished, poised—and vague enough to reveal nothing.