The days following the Groc hunt settled into a new, purposeful rhythm. The change in the training yard was palpable. The wary apprehension that had followed me since my duel with Elias was gone, replaced by a sense of easy, earned camaraderie. I was no longer an anomaly to be watched, but a comrade to be trusted.
My mornings were a blur of sweat and steel. I'd fall in with Rolan and the younger guards, running drills until our muscles burned. They were still hesitant to spar with me all-out, a fact I found endlessly amusing. The memory of Pike's splintered sword had turned my [Mana Strike] into a minor legend.
"Go on, Rolan," I'd say, circling him in the dueling ring. "I promise not to use the exploding-hand trick."
He'd give a nervous laugh, but his footwork would be sharper for it. "Just don't break my sword, my lord. It's the only one I've got."
I'd laugh with them, trade stories, and, more importantly, I'd listen. My old life had been built on listening to clients, to bosses, to focus groups—finding the unspoken need and leveraging it. It was a skill I hadn't realized I missed until now. Here, it wasn't about selling a product; it was about building a pack. I learned Pike had a daughter in the village with a cough that wouldn't quit. I learned Lyra was saving her pay to buy a master-forged shield. These small things, these human details, were the mortar that held the fortress walls together, and I was finally becoming a part of them.
But while my days were filled with this newfound purpose, a quieter, more urgent mission hummed beneath the surface. I had proven myself to the soldiers. Now it was time to save the first person on my list.
I found Seraphina that afternoon where I knew she would be: in the small, walled herb garden tucked away behind the main keep. It was her sanctuary, a place of quiet, orderly life amidst the harsh stone of the fortress. The air here was fragrant with the scents of lavender, mint, and a dozen other herbs. She was on her knees, carefully tending to a patch of Kingsfoil, her brow furrowed in concentration.
I stopped at the entrance, leaning against the stone archway. "I have a confession to make, Sera," I began, my voice deliberately light. "I have a problem that not even Captain Garrick's harshest drills can solve, and I'm told you're the only one in this entire fortress who holds the cure."
She jumped, a small, startled gasp escaping her as she turned. A faint blush rose on her cheeks when she saw me, a mixture of surprise and shy pleasure. "My lord. I didn't hear you approach."
"My apologies for the theatrics," I said with a smile, walking toward her. "But the problem is a serious one. It's a terminal case of ignorance."
I carefully unwrapped the bundle of oilcloth I was carrying. Nestled within was the prize from the canyon, a small, unassuming sapling no taller than my hand. Its bark was smooth and pale, shimmering with a faint, silvery sheen like polished moonlight, and its three tiny leaves were the color of spun silver. "I found this growing in a shadowed part of the canyon, not far from where we fought. I've never seen anything like it."
Seraphina's professional curiosity immediately took over. She rose gracefully and wiped the dirt from her hands on her apron, her eyes fixed on the sapling. She leaned in, her gaze sharp and analytical, her earlier shyness forgotten.
"The bark is like a Silver Birch, but the leaves…" she murmured, her voice filled with wonder. "They don't match any known species in the West. It feels… alive. More alive than it should."
"My thoughts exactly," I said. "Garrick was telling me that a true warrior knows the land as well as his sword. Frankly, I'm a lost child out there. I can't tell Kingsfoil from Wolfsbane." I offered her the sapling, framing it not as a gift, but as a request. "You're the expert here. I was hoping you would tend to it. Study it. I need your professional opinion."
The effect of my words was immediate and profound. I watched as she processed them—the admission of my own ignorance, the elevation of her skill, the trust I was placing in her. She wasn't just my maid being given a chore; I was a lord of the house, formally requesting the aid of a skilled specialist. It was a sign of respect she had likely never been given before.
Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out and took the sapling from me, her calloused fingers brushing against mine. The touch was brief, but I felt a small, almost imperceptible spark of warmth, a faint resonance between the latent Aether in her and the magical nature of the plant.
"I… I would be honored, my lord," she said, her voice soft but her eyes shining with a new, determined light.
"Excellent," I said, my smile genuine. "Consider it a formal commission. I want a full report on its properties. Anything you discover, no matter how small." I gestured to the herbs around us. "Now, your first task as my tutor is to save me from myself. What is this one? It smells… sharp."
The question was a simple one, but it shifted our dynamic completely. For the next hour, she was the teacher, and I was the student. Her initial shyness melted away as she spoke about her passion, her hands moving with confident grace as she pointed out the Duskbloom for sleep, the Iron-leaf for mending bone. Her knowledge was vast, practical, and deeply ingrained.
"We could have used some of this Kingsfoil in the canyon," I remarked, touching one of the soft leaves. "Rolan's arm was cut deep."
"It would have stopped the bleeding and cleaned the wound," she confirmed, her expression turning serious. "The Ashworth guards are the best fighters in the West, but they know so little of what the earth can offer them."
"Then maybe you should teach them," I suggested casually, as if the thought had just occurred to me.
She stopped, staring at me as if I'd just suggested she sprout wings. "Me? Teach the guards? My lord, I'm a maid."
"You're an expert," I corrected her gently. "And your expertise could save lives. That's a more valuable skill than a fancy sword arm, wouldn't you agree?"
She was speechless, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions in her eyes. The idea was so foreign, so far beyond the rigid boundaries of her station, that she couldn't even process it. I didn't push. I had planted the seed. It would need time to grow.
As the sun began to dip below the fortress walls, I made my excuses to leave.
"Thank you for the lesson, Sera," I said. "I have a feeling I'll be your most troublesome student."
"It was… it was my pleasure, my lord," she replied, still looking a bit dazed. She clutched the Silverwood Sapling to her chest like a precious treasure.
I walked away, leaving her in the quiet peace of her garden. The first step was complete. I hadn't just given her a magical plant. I had given her a mission. I had given her a sense of purpose beyond her station. And, most importantly, I was setting her on a path to power that was born not from trauma and tragedy, as the novel had dictated, but from her own skill, her own curiosity, and her own quiet strength. I was saving her not just from her fate, but from the person the book was going to force her to become. That, I thought, was a victory far more important than any duel.