The manor held a peculiar kind of silence.
Not the silence of emptiness — but the kind that settles into old stone walls and high ceilings and simply stays there. As if it belonged to the place.
Afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, drawing long golden lines across the dining hall floor.
The table was set.
White cloth. Polished silverware. Plates arranged with the quiet precision of a well-kept household — no excess, no noise.
And at the head of the table —
No one.
---
A few moments later, the merchant arrived.
His hair was still slightly damp. His clothes were plain — perhaps too plain for a man of his standing. But the way he walked, the way he settled into his seat — there was an ease about it that made even plain clothes carry weight.
He came without hurry. Sat without ceremony.
He looked at the table.
Then at the empty chairs around him.
Said nothing. Just lifted a cup of tea and waited.
---
The door opened.
Jorald walked in.
He had been awake for hours — that much didn't need saying. It was visible in everything about him. The straight back. The unhurried step. That steadiness that doesn't come from rest — but from decades of discipline.
He took the chair across from the merchant without being asked.
The merchant glanced up.
"Sit." — he said, as if Jorald wasn't already sitting.
No expression crossed Jorald's face. But somewhere in his eyes, something quietly amused itself.
The merchant looked toward the door.
"Bring the food."
The servants — already waiting just outside — came in immediately. Dishes arrived. Plates were filled. Steam drifted into the air.
---
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The merchant took something from the nearest dish. Jorald did the same without comment.
Then —
"Hans still hasn't returned?"
Jorald lifted his cup. "No, My Lord."
"I see." The merchant gave a small nod. No concern in his voice — just acknowledgment.
A brief silence.
Then — "Any news?"
Jorald paused for a moment.
"There is one piece of good news."
Before he could continue — the servants began moving again, filling dishes, arranging the table. The room stirred with quiet activity.
The merchant didn't stop him. He simply ate.
Jorald did the same.
---
"Has Drake woken up yet?"
The merchant asked without lifting his head.
"Young Master is awake, My Lord. He's getting ready."
"Good."
He looked up at Jorald.
"Now tell me — what's the news?"
Jorald set his plate aside. Wiped his hands.
"Our military unit has reached the top ten this time." He said. "We'll need to participate ourselves."
A quiet smile crossed the merchant's face.
"That is good news."
"Yes." Jorald said.
---
"Good afternoon, Father."
The voice came from the doorway.
Both of them looked up.
Drake stood at the threshold.
Washed. Dressed properly. Hair neatly combed.
But his eyes —
His eyes still held that exhaustion. That heaviness that sleep alone couldn't lift.
"Good afternoon, Uncle Jorald."
"Good afternoon, Drake." Jorald said.
"Good afternoon, my boy." The merchant said.
He came inside and took his seat. Tied the napkin around his neck. And began eating quietly.
---
After a few bites, he looked up.
"Father."
"Yes."
"The servants were saying — you brought a child back with you."
The merchant looked at him with a quiet smile.
"Yes, my boy. He's our new member. Will you look after him?"
His eyes lit up.
"Of course!" Then, after a pause — "But why didn't he come to eat?"
"He's not well."
The light dimmed slightly. "Then I'll go check on him—"
"Wait." The merchant's voice was calm — but it carried weight. "Finish eating first. You have training after this as well — the awaken ceremony isn't far off."
"Yes, Father."
He went back to eating — quietly, without argument.
The merchant said nothing.
---
A short silence.
Then Drake glanced around.
"Where is Uncle Hans?"
"He took our unit to the tournament." Jorald said.
"Tournament? Which tournament?"
By this point, both the merchant and Jorald had finished eating. Jorald moved his plate aside and wiped his hands.
"Do you know about the Mad King and the Rebellion War?" the merchant asked.
"Yes! And about the Hero too—"
He said it with food still in his mouth. A different kind of brightness had come into his eyes.
Jorald looked at him for a moment.
"Let him eat first, My Lord."
"Oh — right. Eat first."
"Mm."
He quietly finished everything on his plate.
He hadn't eaten since the night before — that much was obvious to both of them.
He asked for a second plate.
Finished that too.
Jorald and the merchant watched in silence.
---
He looked up, plate empty.
"Now tell me, Father."
"Alright — listen." The merchant said. "Before that war — whenever corrupted beasts or monsters attacked, the nobles simply sat back. Most of the fighting was done by commoners and mercenaries. The nobles contributed almost nothing — and yet the credit went to them. The losses were carried by ordinary people."
Drake listened. Quietly.
"After the war, everything changed. Now — whether you're a merchant, a mage, or a swordsman — if you hold a noble title, you must send your unit. You must participate in the tournament. The one who fights gets the credit. The one who sits gets nothing."
"Ohhhh."
Jorald quietly swallowed a smile.
---
"Go and rest now." The merchant said. "And if you can — start preparing. The awaken ceremony won't wait forever."
"Yes, Father."
He bowed his head — and walked slowly out of the room.
---
Silence returned to the hall.
Jorald watched him go.
"Drake's been lonely."
"Yes." The merchant said quietly. "There's no one his age here. And he rarely goes out to be with the children outside either."
"Mm."
A moment of quiet.
Then Jorald said — "Let's hope the child recovers. Maybe Drake will finally have a brother."
"Yes."
---
Jorald paused.
Looked at the merchant.
"My Lord."
"Mm?"
"Your aura is slipping. Get it under control."
A quiet smile crossed the merchant's face.
"Oh — I forgot."
"It's a good thing no one from the Capital was here."
"Indeed." The merchant said. "Leave that for now."
A moment passed.
Jorald's eyes stayed on the table. But his mind was somewhere else.
"That child." He said quietly. "His hair."
The merchant looked up.
"Mm? What about it?"
Jorald's eyes sharpened — just slightly.
"He doesn't look like a commoner."
The room stilled for just a moment.
The merchant said nothing.
But in his eyes —
A deep, familiar gleam.
---
**[Chapter 7 End]**
*Something about the child doesn't add up. Add the story to your library — you won't want to miss what comes next. See you in Chapter 8.*
---