[Leif’s POV — Thorenvald Estate, Late Morning]

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Zephyy—currently in the form of a majestic dragon—was doing aerial acrobatics over the estate like he owned the sky. His wings cut across the light like molten gold, earning cheers (and a few terrified screams) from the Villagers and guards below.

Meanwhile, I was walking down the hallway, trying to look like a responsible ruler and not someone who had absolutely no idea how to negotiate with wine-brewing villagers who hated change.

Today’s mission: convince the Raventon villagers to share their traditional method of brewing wine and beer.

Easy, right?

Except for one problem.

They didn’t want to share it.

And unlike the Imperial capital, where being a ruler meant people actually listened to you, here in Forjnholm? My "royal privilege" had about the same weight as a soggy biscuit.

So, yes—today was going to be fun .

"Move faster! The Imperials and our lord’s family will arrive any minute!" someone yelled.

The hallway turned into a battlefield. Maids were sprinting with armfuls of linens, butlers carried trays that looked ready to collapse, and one poor stable boy was dragging a giant basket of flowers while yelling, "WHY DO WE EVEN NEED THIS MANY ROSES?!"

And then—

Thud.

One of the maids skidded, lost her balance, and crashed right into me.

Wine bottles clinked dangerously, trays wobbled, and for one horrifying second I thought this is how my legacy ends—crushed under housekeeping enthusiasm.

By some miracle, I stayed upright. Barely.

In short: chaos. But... productive chaos.

"This is fine," I muttered under my breath. "Completely fine. A little monster migration, a royal invasion, and mild existential dread. Just another Thursday."

"My lord," Nick, my eternally calm aide, appeared beside me like an ominous spirit of paperwork. "They’ve arrived."

"Of course they have," I sighed. "Let’s go—before someone accidentally burns the estate again."

But before I could even take a step toward the courtyard, a familiar booming voice cut through the commotion.

"LEIF!"

I turned just in time to see Bromir , the most excitable dwarf in existence, barreling toward me. His beard was dripping with foam, his arms outstretched, and in his hand—oh no—he carried a mug that was actually fizzing.

He stopped right in front of me, proudly raising the mug like a war trophy. "We perfected the honey brew! For you! "

I blinked. "Oh?"

He shoved it into my hands, beaming with pride. "Took us all night! Used the sacred Raventon bees and a pinch of phoenix ash for an extra kick!"

That last part did not sound reassuring.

I peered inside the mug... and froze. "That’s... not supposed to sparkle, is it?"

Bromir blinked innocently. "It means it’s alive!"

. . .

"...Wonderful," I said slowly, holding the mug at arm’s length like a live grenade. "Please ensure it stays alive outside my digestive system."

His face fell immediately, eyes going wide and heartbreakingly shiny. "You don’t like it?"

Oh, no. Not the puppy eyes. Not the dwarven puppy eyes. Those things were lethal.

I panicked, turning to Nick. "Nick?"

He smiled knowingly, the absolute traitor. "I shall take it to the kitchen, my lord."

"Bless you," I muttered, handing it off before Bromir’s expression made me adopt him.

Nick gave me a polite nod and whisked the mug away. Bromir looked slightly appeased, stroking his beard with satisfaction. "You’ll love it once it ferments a little longer. Might grow teeth."

"What?"

"Just kidding!" he said cheerfully, and ran off toward the brewery tents before I could confirm if he was joking.

I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I’m surrounded by lunatics."

"Correction," Nick said, returning with perfect timing. "You hired them, my lord."

I sighed. "Yes. Because I enjoy suffering."

And as we stepped out into the sunlit courtyard, where dragons soared, dwarves cheered played with my Crimson Pups, villagers bartered, and the faint echo of approaching royal carriages could already be heard from the northern gate, I muttered to myself—

"Alright, Leif. Time to convince wine-hoarding villagers, survive an Imperial family reunion, and avoid any assassination attempts or disaster. How hard can it be?"

***

[Courtyard—Later]

As I stepped into the courtyard, sunlight pooled across the cobblestone like liquid gold. At the far end stood two elderly figures—the respected elders of Raventon—gazing up at the sky with expressions that screamed equal parts awe and terror.

To be fair, seeing a full-grown dragon gliding lazily over your new lord’s estate was probably a bit much for first-time visitors.

"That’s Zephyy," I said quickly as they both jumped. "He’s... friendly. Most of the time."

The moment their gazes dropped from the sky and landed on me, they panicked properly this time, bowing so low I thought their spines might protest.

"Your Grace," Elder Bran spoke first, his voice deep and coarse like old oak. "We are truly in your debt. If not for your knights, the storm would’ve washed our entire village away. Because of their help, we were able to rescue everyone trapped in the dangerous areas."

I smiled, raising my hands. "Please, do not bow. We couldn’t stand by and watch people drown after they asked for help. That’s... not how I rule."

The other elder, soft-spoken Elder Maira, lifted her face. Her wrinkled hands clutched her prayer beads tightly. "We prayed for mercy, my lord, but the Emperor ignored our cries. You heard us instead. For that, we thank you from our hearts."

Her voice trembled slightly—not from fear, but from genuine gratitude.

Maira’s eyes softened further. "The people of Raventon will never forget your kindness. Our fields breathe again, the wells are full, and our hearts are... at peace."

A warmth bloomed in my chest—the kind that could melt glaciers. "That means more to me than you know," I said, bowing slightly in return. "But please—don’t call me Your Grace every five seconds. I’m not made of marble. Just Leif is fine."

The two elders exchanged looks—the kind that politely screamed, ’Sure, Your Grace’ .

Before I could add anything, Elder Bran suddenly brightened. "Ah! We have also brought a gift from the people of Raventon to show our gratitude."

I blinked suspiciously. "Please don’t tell me it sparkles too."

Bran laughed, clapping his hands. Two young villagers appeared, carefully carrying a massive wooden barrel between them.

"It’s our finest red wine," Bran declared proudly, "brewed with our traditional method—fermented under the moonlight and blessed by the forest spirits."

I leaned forward and inhaled deeply. The scent was rich, deep, and intoxicating—like sunlight trapped in liquid form. "That smells... divine," I said honestly. "Are you sure this isn’t holy wine?"

Elder Bran’s chest puffed up. "You could say it’s spiritually uplifting , Leif."

I grinned. "I’ll take that as code for dangerously potent ."

They both chuckled—and I decided to strike while the mood was warm.

"You must already know why I wanted to meet you today," I said, crossing my arms casually.

Their laughter died instantly. They exchanged a glance that could communicate an entire argument in half a second.

"Yes, Leif," Elder Maira said finally. "But... we still cannot share the recipe for our wine. It is the pride of Raventon—our heritage."

My heart sank a little. There went my dream of mass-producing celestial-level wine.

But then Bran added, "However... if you agree to our condition, we shall brew it for you—exclusively. You’ll have Raventon’s wine for your court, your army, and your people. But we must sign a deal."

My eyebrows rose. "A deal? Alright, what kind of deal?"

They exchanged another secretive glance before Maira spoke, her tone softer this time.

"We heard rumors that you’re planning to establish your territory as an independent kingdom once you annex two more villages."

"Correct," I nodded slowly. "And?"

Bran inhaled deeply. "We want Raventon to be declared as the second city of your kingdom. A place that will never be separated from it—by treaty, by trade, or by crown."

Ah. There it was—the fear behind their politeness. Fear of being forgotten again. Fear of being left behind when power changed hands.

I looked at their tired, hopeful faces... and smiled. "I accept your deal," I said without hesitation. "But you’re thinking too small, Elder Bran. Do you want me to write it as your village being a second city, or shall I just declare Raventon as a capital city ?"

Their eyes widened, mouths parting in stunned silence.

"You would... truly do that?" Maira whispered.

I chuckled. "Why not? You’ve already got better wine, better people, and apparently forest spirits doing half the work for free. Sounds like a holy capital to me."

For a second, neither of them spoke—then both of them smiled, warmth spreading across their faces like sunrise.

"We are truly thankful, Leif," Bran said with deep sincerity. "May the spirits bless your reign."

I just smiled faintly and just like that... I’d earned a new alliance—and their recipe. Maybe politics wasn’t so bad after all.

Then, from the northern gate, the trumpets blared.

...Never mind.