Chapter 26 – Baron's Problem
Baron Tyreth slammed his goblet down so hard that wine splattered across the oaken table. His steward flinched but wisely held his tongue. The Baron's manor, perched on the hills overlooking Drenwick, echoed with the man's frustration.
"First the merchants complain that their caravans are harassed," Tyreth snarled, "then word reaches me that Goldbear's company is producing enchanted goods—goods that no apprentice house should have the means to craft! And now… a dungeon? Beneath my own territory?"
The last word rang with fury. His ruddy face flushed redder, the veins at his temple twitching.
Drenwick had always been the jewel of Tyreth's barony, a thriving market town where tolls and trade brought steady revenue. But in just a handful of months, the balance shifted.
The Goldbear Fusion Company—an upstart enterprise tied to Viscount Goldbear—flooded the region with strange magical trinkets and cheap enchanted armor. Merchants once loyal to Tyreth's coffers now turned to Goldbear, praising his "mysterious artificer ally."
And then came the rumor: a dungeon discovered in Drenwick's outskirts. Not by Tyreth's men, but by Goldbear's.
"This is theft," Tyreth muttered, pacing the length of his solar. "My lands. My rights. And yet he acts as if I were the tenant and he the master."
The steward finally spoke. "My lord… perhaps the Viscount might be compelled to share? After all, dungeons are perilous. He may yet see wisdom in partnership."
"Partnership?" Tyreth spat. "No. This is power. Whoever controls that dungeon controls wealth, resources, and prestige. If the Tower learns, they will claim it directly. But if I… if I move quickly, I can assert my rights."
He clenched his fist. "Goldbear has overreached. It is time the nobles of Fae Wood are reminded of hierarchy."
The Baron sent word to his peers—minor lords and knights whose lands neighbored his own. Among them was one name of particular importance: Ser Alaric of the Valebridge family.
Though only a knight, Alaric was scion of a cadet branch with old wizarding ties. His father's brother had studied at the Tower, and whispers said Alaric himself possessed traces of awakened blood. More importantly, the Valebridges commanded a small but disciplined force, and their trade ties stretched far.
If Tyreth could bind them to his cause, Goldbear's little company would be crushed under the weight of true authority.
By the week's end, Tyreth's hall hosted a private council. Half a dozen nobles gathered around a long table—men and women of modest estates, their banners little more than symbols on parchment. Still, united they could apply pressure.
Tyreth opened with a show of wounded pride. "My lords, my ladies, I have been patient. Too patient. The Viscount of Goldbear has insulted the order of our realm. His merchants undercut ours. His soldiers parade through Drenwick as if it were their own holding. And now, he seeks to claim a dungeon hidden in my barony without even a word to me, his rightful superior."
The nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Dungeons meant danger, but they also meant riches.
"What proof have you of this dungeon?" asked Lady Miren, a sharp-eyed widow with interests in the local wine trade.
Tyreth leaned forward, lowering his voice. "My spies. They saw his guards emerging from a fissure in the ground near the old oak grove, carrying glowing fungi and strange crystals. Do you think a man like Goldbear would allow his people to handle such goods openly if there were no secret to it? No, my friends. He hides it because he knows what the Tower will do if word spreads too soon."
A murmur rippled through the room. Several nodded grimly.
Ser Alaric, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was calm, but carried a weight that made others quiet.
"If this is true, then the matter is grave. Dungeons are not the playthings of merchants or minor viscounts. They are strategic assets. The Tower views them as natural resources to be catalogued, taxed, and defended. Should they discover Goldbear's secret, he will be stripped bare, and perhaps those of us who knew but did nothing will also face judgment."
"Exactly!" Tyreth exclaimed. "Therefore, it falls to us—to me, as Baron of Drenwick—to step forward. To place this dungeon under proper protection before chaos reigns."
The discussion turned to strategy. Direct confrontation risked war. None of them wished to bleed openly with the Viscount's forces—not when Goldbear had shown uncanny strength against bandits.
No, this would be a campaign of pressure.
Lady Miren suggested that merchants loyal to their families boycott Goldbear goods, choking his company's growth. Lord Brenn of the southern farmlands offered to cut grain supplies, citing "bandit fears."
But it was Ser Alaric who proposed the sharpest blade.
"Strike at his legitimacy," the knight said. "Goldbear presents himself as a noble of standing. But his sudden wealth raises questions. Spread whispers: that his so-called artificer is a fraud, that his goods come from illicit pacts with black wizards or fae bargains. The Church of Everlight is ever eager to hunt corruption. If they turn their gaze on him, his reputation crumbles before he can defend it."
Tyreth's lips curved into a satisfied grin. "Yes. Yes, that is the path. We will not storm his walls. We will choke his reputation, his trade, his allies—until he has no choice but to crawl before us, begging for pardon."
Later, as the council dispersed, Tyreth drew Ser Alaric aside.
"You spoke well," the Baron said, lowering his voice. "The others will nibble and chatter, but you… you understand. Goldbear is dangerous. I need more than whispers. I need strength."
Alaric's eyes were cold steel. "You want soldiers."
"And advisors," Tyreth admitted. "You have connections to the Tower. If they hear of this dungeon from you rather than from him, you will be seen as dutiful, and I as loyal. Together, we present ourselves as guardians of order. The Tower may even reward us with stewardship of the dungeon."
The knight's expression did not change, but he inclined his head slightly. "Perhaps. But know this, Baron: dungeons are not easily claimed. If Goldbear truly has forces within already, he will not surrender quietly."
Tyreth's jaw tightened. "Then we will make him."
That night, as Tyreth gazed out from his balcony over the flickering torches of Drenwick, he allowed himself a moment of triumph. He had allies now. He had a plan. Soon, Goldbear would be forced into submission—or ruin.
But deep within the Mushroom Grove, spores stirred. Monsters grew stronger, feeding on ambient mana. And in the Goldbear estate, Glic's System pulsed with new alerts, warning of hostile political intent gathering in the region.
The stage was set. The dungeon was no longer just a secret. It was a spark—and around it, the fire of noble intrigue began to burn.