The morning mist had not yet lifted when Aleron stepped beyond the estate gates once more.
No escort.
No announcement.
No title.
Just a plain cloak, and a name no one would recognize.
This time… he walked further.
Past the village he had already seen.
Past the farmlands that stretched thin and tired.
And deeper—toward the outer settlements that barely held onto Ravencourt's name.
The road grew worse the further he went.
Cracked earth.
Broken carts abandoned by the roadside.
A silence that did not belong to peaceful lands—but to struggling ones.
Aleron slowed his steps.
"…This is still my territory."
Yet it felt like a place forgotten.
By midday, he reached a small roadside trading post.
Or what remained of one.
A wooden sign hung loose, barely readable.
A few stalls stood open—but most were empty.
Only two merchants remained.
Arguing.
"This is the third time this month!" one of them snapped.
"And what do you expect me to do?!" the other shot back. "The roads aren't safe anymore!"
Aleron stopped just within earshot, pretending to browse the empty shelves.
"The central roads are fine," the first merchant said bitterly. "But out here? Bandits take whatever they want!"
"And the guards?!"
"Guards?" the second merchant laughed dryly. "We haven't seen Ravencourt guards here in weeks."
Aleron's eyes narrowed slightly.
Bandits? Inside our territory?
"The tax collectors still come though," the first merchant muttered.
"Always on time."
That line hit harder than the rest.
Aleron turned slightly, finally stepping closer.
"Excuse me," he said calmly. "What exactly is happening here?"
The two merchants looked at him, sizing him up.
"A traveler?" one asked.
"You could say that."
The older of the two sighed.
"Caravans heading toward the capital have been getting attacked. Not all—but enough."
"Enough that people stopped coming," the other added.
"Less trade means less goods. Less goods means higher prices. And higher prices…" he gestured around, "…means empty stalls."
Aleron scanned the area again.
It wasn't just empty.
It was dying.
"Where do these attacks happen?" Aleron asked.
"Forest road. East side," the older merchant replied. "There's a narrow pass there. Easy place to ambush."
"And no one reported it?"
"We did."
"And?"
The merchant laughed again—but this time, there was no humor in it.
"No one came."
Silence.
Aleron nodded slowly.
"Thank you."
He didn't stay long after that.
Instead, he followed the direction they mentioned—toward the eastern road.
The forest there was thick.
Too thick.
Branches stretched over the path like claws, blocking sunlight.
The ground was uneven, filled with old wagon tracks and dried mud.
A perfect place for an ambush.
Aleron crouched slightly, examining the ground.
There.
Faint marks.
Boots. Multiple.
Not old.
"…So it's true."
A sudden sound.
A twig snapping.
Aleron didn't turn immediately.
"Come out," he said calmly.
Three men stepped out from the trees.
Rough clothing. Covered faces. Weapons drawn.
Bandits.
"Well, look at that," one of them smirked. "A lost noble brat playing adventurer?"
Aleron stood up slowly.
"You've been attacking trade routes."
"Smart one."
There was no fear in Aleron's eyes.
Only quiet understanding.
"You're not starving," Aleron said. "You're organized."
The bandits paused.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
"You chose this," Aleron continued.
"…Which means someone allowed this."
"Enough talking," one of them growled, stepping forward.
The fight was short.
Painfully short.
Before the first blade could even swing properly—
Aleron moved.
Fast. Precise.
Efficient.
One strike to the wrist.
A shift of balance.
A clean disarm.
Another step—
A controlled blow to the neck.
The last man froze.
"…What the hell are you—"
Aleron stopped just inches away from him.
Cold eyes meeting his.
"Leave."
The man didn't argue.
He ran.
Aleron stood there for a moment, letting the silence return.
"…Security failure. Trade disruption. Civil instability."
He exhaled slowly.
"And no one noticed."
For the first time—
Aleron felt it clearly.
Not just weakness.
But neglect.
That evening, he returned to the estate quietly.
Just as he had left.
Unseen.
But not unnoticed.
From the shadows of the estate gates—
A pair of eyes watched him.
Albert.
The Head Butler.
"…So the young master has begun moving."
His expression remained calm.
But his gaze… was sharp.
"I see."
Later that night—
Inside a dimly lit study far deeper within the estate—
Albert stood before a towering figure seated behind a grand desk.
The Lord of House Ravencourt.
Aleron's father.
"I have a report," Albert said.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy. Commanding.
"Speak."
Albert lowered his head slightly.
"The young master has left the estate twice without escort."
A pause.
"He has visited outer villages… and today, the eastern trade road."
The man behind the desk did not move.
"…And?"
Albert's voice remained steady.
"He identified the trade disruption issue."
"He engaged with bandits."
"And resolved the immediate threat."
A long silence followed.
"…At his age?"
Albert lifted his head slightly.
"Yes, my lord."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Then—
A faint shift in the air.
"…Continue observing him."
Albert bowed.
"As you command."
As he turned to leave—
The Lord of Ravencourt finally spoke once more.
"…Do not interfere."
Albert stopped.
"…Understood."
Outside, the night stretched across the vast Ravencourt territory.
Quiet.
Fragile.
And for the first time—
Something within it had begun to move.