The town of Giant-wood

As for Freyr...

One dark and windy night, he quietly left the capital in a carriage. His destination was the Russell family's estate in the southern province of Kote. Officially, it was said that "Master Freyr, approaching adulthood, would be overseeing the family's southern holdings." In reality, Freyr knew he had been banished.

Supervising the family's estates? Everyone knew it was an excuse. The important family assets were in the capital, the political heart of the empire. The southern holdings? Farms, peasants, and taxes that a few stewards could manage. In truth, Freyr understood he was to live in a remote ancestral home, with little hope of returning to the capital unless summoned by the earl.

It was clear to everyone: Freyr had been exiled.

The sky was ablaze with the hues of twilight as a magnificent carriage made its leisurely way along the lanes of the Cot Province in the southern part of the Empire. The intricate carvings and gilded embellishments adorning the carriage spoke volumes about the status of its owner.

Especially notable was the family crest emblazoned on the carriage—a fleur-de-lis intertwined with two crossed longswords, topped with a crown that shimmered in the fading light. The presence of crossed swords on the crest hinted at a familial history that likely included at least one member of the household attaining the rank of an Imperial Marshal, and the crown symbolized a bloodline connection to the royal family.

Flanked by ten knights both before and behind, their armor gleaming and weapons shining, though their downcast demeanor seemed incongruous with their formidable appearance. Focker sat beside the coachman, a stalk of grass dangling from his lips, glancing at the sky with a sigh. "Master Freyr, it's getting late. Shall we find a place to rest for a while?"

Freyr poked his head out from the carriage, casting a brief glance at the setting sun. "Alright, let's stop up ahead."

At that moment, a knight rode up from the front, his horse galloping at a brisk pace. "My lord steward, there's a small town not far ahead. We'll have to stay there for the night."

Indeed, the former stable boy had now become Freyr's steward. Focker, still adjusting to his new role, habitually removed his hat and nodded to the young knight. "As Master Freyr commands, we shall lodge there tonight."

Observing the knights, Focker couldn't help but feel conflicted. Accompanying Master Freyr on this journey home were twenty knights and himself, the steward and coachman. For the son of Earl Edward, the second-ranking figure in the Imperial military, this retinue seemed rather meager. In the circles of aristocracy in the capital, even a simple outing would warrant a sizable entourage of servants and guards.

As for these twenty knights, they had been "carefully selected." It was common knowledge that Master Freyr had fallen out of favor, and the future of the family now rested on his younger brother's shoulders. Following a dispossessed master like him spelled a bleak future. Who wouldn't prefer to remain in the bustling capital with a promising career? Thus, the twenty knights chosen were either of mediocre martial skill, socially ostracized for their aloofness, or simply young and impressionable, easily misled. Indeed, the young knight riding ahead appeared to fit the latter category, Focker thought to himself.

Master Freyr, however, never complained. He spent his days inside the carriage, engrossed in books, seldom speaking, and always maintaining a gentle demeanor. Focker, an honest man, despite his exile, found his spirits lifted; after all, he was now the steward and his pay had increased by a few sliver coins—a fact beyond dispute. He even harbored thoughts of finding a wife in the Cot Province. He had heard that the girls there had fair, delicate skin and were quite beautiful.

---

The town of Giantwood, the only one within a hundred miles, was home to just a few hundred families. In this town, there was only one tavern, and its name was simple enough: Giantwood Tavern.

Being the only tavern, business was decent enough. Cheap alcoholic beverages, cheap roasted meat, cheap prostitutes... Even those living at the bottom of society needed some form of entertainment, didn't they?

As Freyr's convoy arrived at the tavern, he lifted his head, closing the book in his hand. Then, he extinguished the lantern inside the carriage.

Stepping out of the carriage, Freyr glanced up at the rusty iron sign swaying in the wind above the tavern door. Inside, the sounds of revelry and the warm glow of lights through the windows greeted them.

As Freyr and his entourage entered the tavern, they immediately attracted the attention of the patrons inside. After all, the sudden influx of knights clad in new armor into such a small and inexpensive establishment was quite conspicuous.

Freyr was the last to enter. As he did, all eyes turned to him, scrutinizing the young lord dressed in fine attire.

Tall and slender, Freyr bore the unmistakable signs of noble lineage in his exquisite attire, adorned with lace at the collar and cuffs. His aristocratic status was further accentuated by the family crest and the striking red hue of his hair, typical of the bloodline of the Roland family. Despite his eye-catching appearance, he gave off an impression of delicacy rather than strength.

Pale-faced, with a slender figure and a quiet demeanor, he held a book in his hands.

The other knights had already begun to unload their luggage. Focker tossed a few coins, and the tavern owner promptly cleared out a few clean rooms, as well as arranged for the feeding of horses and other necessities.

Meanwhile, Freyr endured the various curious glances directed at him.

"Oh! Look! It's a nobleman."

"Ah, how could a nobleman end up in our neck of the woods?"

"Boss, I think you should keep the chair this guy sat on as a souvenir. You might fetch a good price for it!"

After a brief silence, the tavern resumed its clamor, with everyone discussing Freyr and his entourage. Clearly, in such a small place and a cheap tavern, the unexpected arrival of a nobleman dressed in splendid attire was quite a spectacle.