The walls of Vallenwood still stood. Cracked, blackened by fire, patched up in several places—but standing. Albert observed them from a distance, from atop the small hill where his company had halted. Below lay the city whose gates he had burned three months ago, which he had flooded with terror, now awaiting him as its new lord.
The world did have a sense of humor.
"Looks smaller than I remember," Luise murmured beside him.
"Because back then you saw it from below, running for your life from the enemy."
Luise didn't answer, but the corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
They descended the hill. Borin's wagons creaked behind them, the horses exhausted, the soldiers trudging with heavy steps. Twelve days of travel had left their marks on their faces—sweat, dust, dark circles beneath their eyes.
At the eastern gate—the very gate Albert had personally sabotaged—Hilda was waiting.
The woman stood in the middle of the road, hands on her hips, her short brown hair blowing in the wind. Behind her stood about twenty soldiers in uniform—not official regalia, just green cloth tied around their arms. New recruits she had gathered from the villages.
Hilda didn't greet him with a formal bow. She just nodded. "My Lord. You've finally arrived."
"Any problems?" Albert asked.
"Plenty. But they can be discussed inside."
Albert dismounted. His legs were stiff after hours in the saddle. He walked through the gate, through the gap in the wall he had once created. The gap had now been patched with stone and timber—a rough repair, but functional.
Inside, the city still showed signs of life.
Not the bustle of a prosperous city, but the activity of a place that had just survived death. Houses still stood, but many were empty, their windows shuttered tight. Along the main street, a few merchants had set up half-hearted stalls with meager wares. A thin boy sat at the edge of a gutter, staring at Albert with hollow eyes.
Residents began to emerge. Slowly, like snails after rain. They stood in doorways, behind windows, between stacks of firewood. Their eyes followed Albert, Luise, and the company.
No welcome. No flowers. Just stares.
Stares Albert recognized. He had seen them in the eyes of villagers whose towns his troops had occupied. Not hatred—but fear. Fear hidden behind flat expressions, behind hands gripping the edges of their clothes, behind held breaths.
Their fear was understandable. They had just lost a war. Now an enemy commander was arriving as their new ruler. No one knew what would happen next.
An old woman spat on the ground as the company passed. A middle-aged man gripped the handle of an axe at his belt but didn't draw it. A little girl—perhaps six years old—hid behind her mother's skirt, her eyes wide.
Albert kept walking. His expression didn't change. Inside, something pulsed—not pain, but weight.
"They don't like us," Luise whispered.
"They don't have to like us. They just have to be afraid."
Luise looked at him. "That's not how you usually talk."
"Because this situation isn't usual."
They reached the city's keep—a two-story stone building at the end of the main street. Formerly the residence of Marquess Karl. Now Albert's. At the door, two of Hilda's guards stood with spears, their faces tense and rigid.
Albert entered.
The main hall was spacious but empty. Bare stone walls, only a few wooden benches and a long table. Dust everywhere. In the corner, piles of parchment were scattered atop wooden crates.
Rolf, the thin scribe, was writing at the table. His hand moved quickly, his quill dancing across the paper. The moment he saw Albert, he stood, nearly knocking over an inkpot.
"My Lord! We... we didn't expect you so soon."
"I don't like waiting." Albert sat in the chair Rolf indicated—a backless wooden seat, uncomfortable. "Report. Now."
Rolf swallowed. He took a stack of parchment from the table and read in a rushed voice.
"Vallenwood's current population is about six thousand two hundred. Down from twelve thousand before the war. Most died; others moved to different cities."
"The six surrounding villages? Their populations?"
"Roughly three thousand. But many fled to Leandrian territory, so the number might be lower."
Albert frowned. "Lower than the initial estimate."
"Yes, My Lord. Also... there's another problem."
"What problem?"
Rolf set down one parchment and picked up another. His hands trembled slightly. "Bandits, My Lord. Since the Leandrian forces withdrew, this border region has been left empty. No one is guarding the roads, so bandits have begun appearing. They raid villages, sometimes reaching the city outskirts."
"How many?"
"Not sure exactly. Several small groups, perhaps two to three hundred total. They move fast, disappearing into the southern forests. Hard to track."
Albert looked at the map on the wall—an old, crooked map. The southern forest. Unmapped territory. A perfect hiding place.
"Anything besides bandits?" he asked.
Rolf sighed. "Ruined roads. The eastern bridge is broken—destroyed during the war, not yet repaired. Many fields have been abandoned. Merchants are reluctant to come because they fear being robbed. So the market is quiet, and the prices of basic goods are rising."
"Food supplies?"
"Maybe enough for two months, three with strict rationing."
Albert closed his eyes. Numbers spun in his head. Six thousand two hundred people. Three months of food. Ruined roads. A broken bridge. Bandits.
"So everything is in chaos," he said.
Rolf didn't dare answer.
Hilda, who had been standing to the side, spoke up. "That's why I've been speeding up recruitment. But eighty-two men aren't enough to secure an entire territory."
"We still have about a hundred and eighty active members of the Special Regiment from before, counting those in Götthain. The ones here might number a hundred."
"Still not enough."
"We don't need to secure the whole territory at once." Albert opened his eyes. "Priority one: the trade routes. Without safe roads, no merchant will come. Without merchants, no money. Without money, we die."
Hilda nodded. "So we clear the roads?"
"Clear them, guard them, and set up posts at vulnerable points. I'll split the Regiment into three shifts. One shift guards the city, one patrols the roads, one rests."
"And the bandits?"
"We find them, we finish them, and we take their valuables."
Rolf raised an eyebrow. "Take their valuables?"
"Bandits don't have banks. Their wealth is in their hideouts. Money, weapons, food—anything usable. We seize it for road repairs."
The room fell silent. Hilda smiled thinly—a predator's smile. Luise said nothing, but her eyes gleamed.
Rolf scribbled on his parchment. "Understood, My Lord. I'll make a note."
Albert stood and walked to the map. His index finger traced the roads leading from Vallenwood south, north, and east.
"Here," he said, pointing to a junction where the north–south roads met. "This point is strategic. If we can secure it, merchants from both Leandria and Helvetia can meet. Taxes on passing goods could become a steady income."
"But Leandria is still the enemy," Hilda said.
"The war is over. Merchants don't care about politics. They only care about profit and delivering their goods safely."
Albert turned from the map. His eyes shifted to Rolf. "Do you know about feltwort?"
Rolf blinked. "A medicinal plant, My Lord?"
"A plant that can be smoked. I'm going to grow it here. I'll process it into cigars—something you can smoke that has a calming effect and doesn't intoxicate."
Rolf wrote quickly. "Cigars..."
"You'll see them later. What matters is I need land. Fertile soil, near water, sheltered from the wind."
Hilda raised her hand. "There's empty land south of the city, near the river. Used to be a vegetable garden, but the owner died during the siege."
"Good. I'll take a look tomorrow."
Albert sat back down. Fatigue was beginning to creep into his bones—twelve days of travel, plus this long meeting. But there was still more to do.
"One more thing," he said. "I'm changing this city's name."
Rolf looked up. "Changing the name, My Lord?"
"Vallenwood is dead. Let the name die with it. From now on, this city is called Eichfurt."
Hilda repeated the name. "Eichfurt... Sounds strange."
"A new city needs a new name. A fresh start."
No one objected. Vallenwood had been a Leandrian city; Eichfurt would be a Helvetian one. Or at least, Albert's city.
Rolf noted it on his parchment. "Eichfurt, My Lord. I'll inform the residents."
"Don't force them to use the new name. Let it come naturally."
"Yes, My Lord."
Albert stood. "Enough for today. Tomorrow morning, we begin. Hilda, assemble the troops. Rolf, prepare a list of priority needs. Luise—" he turned, "—get some rest. I need you fresh tomorrow."
Luise opened her mouth to protest, but Albert was already walking toward the door.
Outside, the sun was beginning to set. Orange light flooded the broken city, casting long shadows between the houses. Albert stood at the keep's threshold, looking down the main street.
The residents were still staring. But now, amid the fear, something else flickered. Curiosity. They watched Albert standing at the door of their former enemy's keep, wearing the green Götthain cloak, and they wondered: what would this man do to their city?
Albert stared back. Didn't smile. Didn't threaten. Just stood there, letting them look.
In his head, plans were beginning to take shape. Bandits. Roads. Trade. Feltwort. Cigars. Plenty of work, no time for brooding.
He turned and went back inside the keep. In the dark corridor, he passed an old woman—a servant, perhaps—who was cleaning the floor. She saw him, then quickly looked down, her hands trembling.
Albert walked past without a word.
In his room—the former bedchamber of Marquess Karl—he sat on the bed. The sheets were clean, probably freshly changed. On the bedside table stood a small vase with wildflowers—perhaps from Hilda, perhaps from Rolf, perhaps from some unknown servant.
He took out a cigar and lit it. Smoke rose, filling the unfamiliar room.
Outside, night fell over Eichfurt. Inside his head, the list was still long. But tonight, he would sleep. Tomorrow, the work would begin.