It takes me whole night to fully read the memory of the original owner of the body. His name is Adrian son of the former baron William Ashenvale.He was in the enemy kingdom of Burkun as a ward of Count Ludwin. The story is that 13 years ago during the war between Vaghania my home and Burken the Vaghania was overwhelming defeated.
And a large part of the kingdom territory were conquered by the Burkens. And one of the territory was my father's trusted ally and friend. who was a border viscount but his territory was swallowed by the Burkens and that territory was given to Count Ludwin and he want me as his ward for making peace with my father and restrict him from making any move.
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The next morning, I summoned Rowan the knight Commander of the Army and the Minister of the barony Roderic into the Lord's Hall.
"Roderic what is the situation of the barony". I asked to him.
Roderic tapped the map with his gauntleted finger. "Ashenvale once held seven villages. Now only three remain under the keep's rule. The rest…" His jaw tightened. "…have fallen to bandits."
I studied the map. Each village was marked by ink, the writing half-faded with age. Around the keep clustered three — Hollow Brook, Greyfield, and Miller's Rest. But farther out, closer to the forest roads, four names were circled in red.
"Taken?" I asked.
Roderic nodded grimly. "A year past, when famine struck, the old baron had no soldiers to spare. Bandits came, offering food in exchange for fealty. Some villages resisted and were slaughtered. Others bent the knee. Now they pay tribute in grain and coin — more than they would ever owe us."
My teeth clenched. "So the bandits rule my land as lords and what did father do regarding this."
Roderic said in a sad tone "the former baron lead an army of 200 men and was defeated most of the soldiers were anhilated."
I asked in a surprised tone" How can this be they are just bandits".
Rowan gave me a hard look. "Aye. They are no longer rabble. The chief, a Silver Rank warrior, calls himself 'Captain Veynar.' He has three hundred hardened men under his command. More than that, he has peasants who now fear him more than they trust Ashenvale."
The weight of his words settled heavily on my chest. Three hundred bandits, led by a Silver Rank — enough to crush what little we had left.
"And the villages still loyal?" I asked.
Roderic's expression softened slightly. "They endure… but only because they believe the keep still stands. If we falter, they will bend as well."
I leaned over the table, staring at the red circles. This wasn't a bandit nuisance. This was occupation. Every sack of grain they took starved my people further. Every day they ruled, my name grew weaker.
"Then reclaiming those villages is not optional," I said at last. "It is survival."
Rowan's lips pressed into a thin line. "With what soldiers, milord? We have fifty men, half of them old or wounded. To march against Veynar now is suicide."
I didn't argue. He was right. We were too weak to fight openly. But history had taught me something: power was not only in the sword. It was in knowledge, in patience, in striking when the enemy least expected
"We start small," I said. "Scouts, not armies. I want to know everything about Veynar's men — where they patrol, how they eat, how they keep control. Bandits thrive in shadows. Drag them into the open, and they will bleed."
Rowan regarded me quietly, then nodded. "I'll send two men tonight." But be warned, "milord — spies risk their necks. If they are caught, there will be blood."
I didn't flinch. "Blood is coming no matter what. Better it be theirs than ours."
I traced my finger over the map, circling one of the bandit-held villages. Four red marks stared back at me like open wounds.
Ashenvale was broken. To heal it, I would need to cut out the rot.
And that meant war — sooner or later.