“The Ezram Kingdom has been known to allow nobles from defeated kingdoms to retain a measure of their authority even as their lands were assimilated into the kingdom. In most cases, this resulted in a more peaceful transfer of sovereignty and ensured that the lives of the lower class were not affected by much. In one case however, this show of benevolence came back to bite them in the rear end for centuries to follow.” - Albus Weintraub, History Professor.

To Cal’s profound surprise, the current baron of Statham barony had not resided in a luxurious manse in the largest city of the region - though the manse was indeed in use by his wife and young children as their residence, he himself rarely stayed there unless it was to accompany his family. The young Baron, a half-Orc by the name of Guilbert ver Statham-Blackshield, typically resided in Fort Gastnell, the military fortification where the barony’s private soldiers were housed, located roughly in the middle of the barony itself.

What that meant was that Cal, Piotr, Yeshua, as well as the five soldiers that helped escort their four cultist prisoners, reached the Baron within three days of departure from Poschei, and found the Baron himself in the fort’s courtyard as he supervised the soldiers train. The man was quite young - in his mid-thirties or so if Cal guessed it right -, and his orcish heritage gave a savage tint to his handsome features that just gave him a look that would be right at home on a military commander’s miens.

“Captain-Commander Vanderbilt.” The Baron said with an authoritative, stern voice as he noticed their entrance. “Since you are back already with prisoners in tow I assume the swine that infested my territory had been brought to the butcher house?”

“As much as I would like to just say yes and claim credit, the credit rightfully does not belong to me, Your Lordship.” Piotr said with a bow to the Baron. “I owed the safety of my village and family to Lady Ambervale, without whose aid I dare not think of what I may have arrived to see.”

“An honor to make your acquaintance, Grand Marshall Ambervale.” Said the baron as he turned to Cal and offered his hand for a shake, a gesture she reciprocated. “It is not every day that a hero of our times came by to visit my humble backwater territory.”

“Charmed.” Cal said as she gave the baron a firm handshake. The man’s hands were quite calloused, in a pattern that indicated someone who had spent much time with a weapon in his hands, the sort of noble she could respect. “I had heard of rumors of unrest in Ezram during my travels, but I did not expect that it would be at the scale of marauding bands of lunatics slaughtering villages, to be honest.”

“The Kingdom as a whole had been made a laughingstock.” Guilbert spat out with visible distaste in his tone. “Many of our nobles are likely in cahoots with these trash, especially those descended from Theodinaz nobility. My faction had long advocated to strip the power from those bastards, if not straight up put every last one of them to the sword, but noooo… the stuck-up inbred fools higher up on the ladder always claimed that keeping the peace is more politically expedient. Now we have as close as it gets to open revolt in those lands in all but name.”

“Is it that bad down in the South-East?”

“Quite so, especially after all this ‘Champion of the Gods’ dogshit being spouted out from the mouth of the clergy, and how the cult claimed that said champion stood by their cause.” Guilbert explained, utter disgust evident in his voice when he mentioned the clergy - clearly a military man with little love for the clergy or his fellow nobles. “Apparently all the clergy got some dream from the gods months ago that claimed that they had chosen their champion in the mortal realm, at least that’s what they announced. Dogshit I say.”

“And the cult claims that the champion is with them.”

“Precisely so.” He said. “Mind you, from the best reports I got my hands on, it seemed more like the cult simply grabbed that ‘champion’ and made him their figurehead. So much for a champion of the gods, hah!”

“Speaking of cultists, we brought four that might be quite inclined to squeal, though they likely don’t know that much with how low they are down the ladder.” Cal admitted. “I think the most useful thing I got out of them was that apparently someone in power helped them on their way here, and they came from the south-west.”

“South-west would be de Burgess’s territory. That incompetent rotten swine would likely help them through without blinking as long as they promised him higher status should they come to power. He had already been demoted once due to his utter incompetence.” Guilbert mocked. “Just too bad he never gave others a good enough reason for us to declare a blood feud on his fat arse, for many of us are eager to remove that blight amongst us.”

“I’m not sure on how the legalities of such matters are dealt with here, but would conclusive proof of collusion with these lunatics be enough to take him down?”

“Heh. If brought to the council of nobles? Not a chance. Too many stuck-up old whoresons who were determined to ‘preserve the lineage of old nobility’. At most they’d give him a slap on the wrist and send him home” Spat the Baron in disgust once again. “On the other hand… If I were to remove him first and report the matter after the fact, with an esteemed figure such as yourself as witness…”

“They might not consider it worth the trouble to help a dead man.” Cal nodded in understanding. She still had not felt quite comfortable with the grand title Xain tacked on to her name, but had to admit that it had its uses. “Moreso if the dead man caused a personal affront to some very important people from a foreign land, correct?”

“You are as decisive as the rumors say.” Guilbert nodded in approval. “I will need the rest of the week to make sure my army is readied and prepared for departure, during which time I would offer you the hospitality of my household.”

“It would be my pleasure to accept.”

*************************************

Cal spent the next four days in the Baron’s manse in the city - barely half a day’s ride away from the fort -, and learned that the Stathams were relatively new nobilities, raised to their position when they led a pioneering party and integrated the wildlands in the northernmost tip of Ezram into the kingdom proper merely a century and a half ago. They chose to stick to their relatively humble roots as commoners instead of living the high life as nobility, and as their domain borders the Xewaur Plains, trade with the orcish clans were one of the largest source of revenue, and marriage with them had happened often in their history.

Guilbert himself was made baron at twenty-eight, not because his mother - the previous baroness - passed away, but because she abdicated and chose to follow her husband in order to live in the orcish lands instead. Guilbert’s own wife was a former adventurer he had known from his younger days, a human lady with some traces of elvish blood, and their three young children showed mixed features that Cal found particularly endearing to her sight. Features that just made her want to pat their heads and pinch their cheeks, to some annoyance of the children.

The Baron’s “Manse” itself was just a particularly large log cabin, not that much different from the many cabins that housed the populace of the city other than being a size bigger, though the plush orcish carpeting and fabrics heavily used inside the cabin did give it some semblance of luxury. Gertrude, the Baron’s wife, echoed her husband's low opinions on the many nobles of their kingdom, and completely approved of his plans to remove their eyesore of a neighbor - that both of the couple were of mixed heritage likely also played a part in their eagerness in the matter.

So it was that by the dawn of the next week, Cal rode alongside the Baron as they led his five-hundred strong army towards the south-west. The Baron had only brought his personal soldiers, as the soldiers under Piotr were not under his authority, but the excuse they had that the soldiers were busy in defense of the villages from marauding fanatics would easily fly muster when the inevitable question of why Piotr had not reported the matter before it could escalate would be asked.