The manor held a particular 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.
Morning light came in at an angle 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-run household — no excess, no showmanship.
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 sat — there was an ease to 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 picked up a cup of tea and waited.
---
The door opened.
Jorald walked in.
He had been up for hours — that much didn't need to be said. It was evident in everything about him. The straight back. The unhurried stride. That steadiness that doesn't come from comfort — 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 smiled.
The merchant looked toward the door.
"Bring the food."
The servants — who had been standing ready just outside — moved in immediately. Plates arrived. Dishes were arranged. Steam rose and dissolved into the morning air.
---
For a moment, both men ate in silence.
Then —
"Hans still hasn't returned?"
Jorald lifted his cup. "No, My Lord."
"I see." The merchant nodded. No concern in his voice — just confirmation.
A beat of silence.
"Any news?"
Jorald set his cup down.
"One good piece of news."
Before he could continue — the servants resumed their quiet movement around the table. Plates were filled. The room shifted.
The merchant didn't rush him. He simply ate.
Jorald did the same.
---
"Has Drake woken up yet?"
The merchant asked without looking up.
"Young Master is awake, My Lord. He's getting ready."
"Good."
He looked at Jorald.
"Now — 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 as well."
A quiet smile touched the merchant's lips.
"That's good news."
"Yes." Jorald said.
---
"Good morning, Father."
A voice came from the doorway.
Both men looked up.
Drake stood at the threshold.
Washed. Dressed properly. Hair combed.
But his eyes —
His eyes still held that exhaustion. That heaviness that sleep alone couldn't lift.
"Good morning, Uncle Jorald."
"Good morning, Drake." Jorald said.
"Good morning, my boy." The merchant said.
Drake came in and took his seat. He tied his napkin around his collar — and began to eat quietly.
---
After a few moments 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. He's our newest member. Will you look after him?"
Drake's eyes lit up.
"Of course!" Then — after a pause — "But why didn't he come to eat?"
"He isn't well."
The light dimmed slightly. "Then I'll go check on him—"
"Wait." The merchant's voice was calm — but it carried weight. "Finish your food first. You have training after this as well — the awaken ceremony isn't far off."
"Yes, Father."
He picked up his fork again — quietly, without argument.
The merchant said nothing.
---
A short silence.
Then Drake glanced around the table.
"Where is Uncle Hans?"
"He took our unit to participate in the tournament." Jorald said.
"Tournament?" Drake's eyes sharpened. "Which tournament?"
By this point, both the merchant and Jorald had finished eating. Jorald moved his plate aside. Wiped his hands.
"Do you know about the Mad King and the Rebellion War?" Jorald asked.
"Yes! And about the Hero too—"
He said it with food still in his mouth. His eyes had taken on a completely different kind of light.
Jorald looked at him for a moment.
"Let him finish eating first, My Lord."
"Oh — right. Sorry. Eat first."
"Mm."
He quietly cleaned his plate.
He hadn't eaten anything since the night before — that much was obvious to both of them.
He asked for a second plate.
Cleaned that one too.
Jorald and the merchant watched without a word.
---
Drake set his fork down and looked up.
"Now tell me, Father."
"Alright." The merchant said. "Before that war — whenever corrupted creatures or monsters attacked, the nobility would simply sit back. Most of the fighting was left to commoners and mercenaries. Their own contribution was nothing — but the credit went to them regardless. And ordinary people bore the cost."
Drake listened. Quietly.
"After the war, everything changed. Now every noble — whether merchant, mage, or swordsman — must send a unit. Must participate in the tournament. Whoever fights gets the credit. Whoever sits back — doesn't."
"Ohhh."
Jorald pressed down a quiet laugh somewhere behind his expression.
---
"Alright, son — go rest. And start preparing when you can. The awaken ceremony isn't far."
"Yes, Father."
He bowed his head — and walked slowly out of the room.
---
Silence returned.
Jorald watched him go.
"Drake's lonely."
"Yes." The merchant said quietly. "There's no one his age here. And he rarely goes out to mix with the children in town either."
"Hmm."
A moment passed.
Then Jorald said — "Let's hope that child recovers. Maybe Drake will finally have someone to call a brother."
"Yes."
---
Jorald looked at the merchant.
"And My Lord—"
"Mm?"
"Your aura is leaking. Keep it in check."
A faint smile crossed the merchant's face.
"Oh — I forgot."
"A good thing no one from the Capital was here."
"Never mind that." The merchant said.
A pause.
Jorald's eyes were on the table — but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
"That child." He said quietly. "His hair."
The merchant looked up.
"Hmm? What about it?"
Jorald's eyes sharpened slightly.
"He doesn't look like a commoner."
The room went still for just a moment.
The merchant said nothing.
But in his eyes —
A quiet, familiar light.
---
**[Chapter 7 End]**
*Something about that child isn't adding up. Don't miss what comes next — add the story to your library. See you in Chapter 8.* 🔥
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