Lysandro Rogare sat behind his massive desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl and pearls, face glowing with open, radiant delight.
The way he looked at Tiberius now was warmer than ever—almost paternal, laced with the quiet appreciation a powerful man shows a promising young talent. Both of them knew the "appreciation" was really cold, calculated political profit.
Clearly, Tiberius's "cultural offensive" had worked, and the stories had reached Lysandro's ears.
These past few days, even the slowest servant in the Rogare household could recite at least three different versions of "Lord Lysandro's Brilliant Plan Cracks the Case, Rescues His Daughter, and Delivers Justice."
"My dear Tiberius," Lysandro said, voice rich with pleasure, fingers tapping lightly on the desk, "those stories spreading through the city lately… they're spreading very well. Deeply touching. I never imagined that after a little… artistic polishing, this whole affair would bring House Rogare such unprecedented prestige and public goodwill. I must thank you—and those talented 'friends' of yours who are so skilled at telling stories."
His words carried layers of meaning. He knew exactly who was behind the ballads and tales praising his "wisdom and courage," "devotion to his daughter," and "merciful generosity."
"So." Lysandro pulled a beautifully prepared parchment sealed with official red wax from a drawer and slid it across the desk.
"Since you're part of the story too, I want to give you a small token of thanks—and a personal reward for your bravery and wisdom. Have this registered."
Tiberius's eyes fell on the document. Elegant, flowing script filled the page. The recipient's name line was left blank.
"My lord…" Tiberius said, a little embarrassed. "I can't read…"
Lysandro blinked, then gave a small, amused chuckle.
He explained kindly, "Once registered, you'll receive the Silver Feather Badge. Wearing it means you and your men will be recognized in Lys as having 'honored soldier' status. Specifically…" He listed the benefits.
"Badge holders are exempt from the weapon tax when entering the city. You may decorate your shields with silver feather patterns—a symbol of Lysene warrior honor, normally only given to citizens or distinguished foreign friends. Occasionally you'll even be invited to stand with the Lysene citizen militia during formal reviews by the Triarchs' Council…"
Tiberius listened with a calm face, but his mind was racing. Still, he took the parchment with both hands, bowing respectfully. "Thank you for your generosity, my lord. This is a tremendous honor for me."
In truth, Tiberius found it funny.
If Vito were here, he'd keep a straight face but be cursing Lysandro's name behind it, he thought. Honored soldier? Sounds nice, but it's just another way to tie us down. And these are all empty honors. He could've just reimbursed me for hiring the storytellers and bards—that would've been far more practical!
He understood perfectly: the badge looked like a reward, but it was Lysandro's way of binding him and the White Company tighter to Lysene interests. Giving them quasi-regular-army status meant the triarchs could more "legitimately" call on them for "duty" when needed.
I have no intention of staying in this golden cage forever, Tiberius reminded himself. Lys is just a stop on my journey. Still, accepting it did no harm. With this status, the White Company would enjoy more invisible privileges inside the city. Tax collectors would think twice, and other factions would show more respect. For now, the benefits outweighed the risks.
"I'll speak with my uncle right away and make sure the right people receive this honor," Tiberius said, lifting his head with a boyish smile that perfectly matched his age—as if he were genuinely thrilled.
Lysandro nodded, satisfied. In his eyes, this clever young man had accepted his overture.
And in the future, there was no doubt: this boy would become a legend for both the White Company and all of Lys.
Perhaps one day he could turn this capable mercenary company into the Rogare family's private army. That would make House Rogare unstoppable.
Thinking that far, Lysandro's gaze toward Tiberius grew even warmer.
"Look at you, my young hero—'Lightning Kid'!" Lysandro's tone was now warmly familiar. "You're something of a celebrity now. We can't have you walking around in dusty old sellsword armor. People might think Lys is mistreating its heroes! So I've prepared a few suitable outfits for you."
The door opened. Servants entered carrying trays. A more senior, elegantly dressed slave lifted a velvet cover, revealing the garments:
The first was a deep-blue velvet doublet embroidered with fine silver patterns, paired with matte-finished leather pauldrons and vambraces—smart, martial, and refined.
"This one was tailored to your exact measurements. Perfect for Triarch Council sessions or formal noble banquets."
The second was a soft moss-green hunting outfit made of breathable, durable linen-silk blend, complete with a special quiver and hunting-knife belt—clearly meant for noble youths on woodland hunts. The third set was simpler but still high-quality everyday clothes, every stitch and button impeccable.
There was also a small open box containing understated but expensive jewelry: a rose-gold cloak pin set with a blue sapphire, a pair of small gold cufflinks shaped like lightning bolts, and a matching silver-band sapphire ring.
"…And these little accessories to go with them. We can't let our 'Lightning Kid' lose face in front of outsiders," Lysandro said with generous finality. "They might accuse me of dressing my friends too shabbily."
"Take them all. Consider it a personal token of my regard. Next time I see you at a formal event, I hope you'll appear in a manner befitting your new status. After all, you won't be just a common mercenary forever, will you? In the future you'll attend Council sessions, noble banquets, or go hunting in the countryside with the sons of great houses—places where you'll need to show your true talent!"
"Oh, right!" Lysandro suddenly looked as if he'd just remembered. "When hunting, you should have a proper knife!"
He ordered a servant to fetch a gilded hunting dagger from above the fireplace.
"Ah, Tiberius, this is a bit impromptu, so the gift is rather modest—please don't mind," Lysandro said with grand generosity.
Impromptu? You just "happened" to have this ultra-luxury dagger ready? Tiberius thought sarcastically. The hilt ended in a pigeon-egg-sized blue sapphire, and the crossguard and pommel were studded with diamonds and pearls.
Tiberius looked at the gleaming clothes, jewels, and the magnificent dagger in his hands. He knew exactly what this was: another layer of Lysandro's recruitment.
But he also knew exactly who he was. He wasn't going to weep with gratitude over these "small favors."
Still, he had to play the part.
He bowed again, voice filled with perfectly measured gratitude. "I only did what any grateful person would do. Your lordship's thoughtfulness leaves me overwhelmed."
In his heart he added silently:
Actually, it's what anyone who doesn't want to die on the front lines would do.