A fire crackled in the chimney and dispelled the outside's chill.

The soft armchairs in front of it invited their owner to waste a few hours in this comfy atmosphere. A fine glass of wine, a good book, and a game of chess waited in the wings at all times, but the servants understood the reality. These weren't necessary. Their master hadn't sat in these chairs for months. But whether this was because of his hardworking character or the brief list of friends, they didn't dare to speculate.

That much was obvious for the slaves, but even the hired servants didn't gossip. A secure job between thick stone walls was that valuable to them. Their master would do what their master wanted to do.

And their master sat behind a wooden desk and read through reports. Taxes, military spending, harvest reports, diplomatic letters, and even rumors from the marketplace. The high pile of letters stood testimony to his long hours of work.

And to his wealth, as even the successful merchants couldn't afford such an amount.

"The numbers don't add up," Houdin spoke, half to himself. "Another fraud. Take his stall away."

"It'll be done," the Freiherr's chief steward answered with a bow, before leaving the room.

Left alone, Houdin sighed, stretching himself.

He was 48 years old. And Gladford's ruler.

A Freiherr, a lord over a city and the surrounding villages, with his own guardian troops. The power to change any life in these settlements. And the power to decide their death. But to him, this description rang hollow.

Gladford was a poor town. Most of its houses nothing more but wooden huts, with more beggars than merchants on the marketplace. The troops' equipment mirrored the scarce tax income. And even the rampart was a decaying earth wall, with a handful of logs here and there.

He gritted his teeth.

They had tricked him. Those guys from the moon alliance had played him. This was no place for glory and ascension. It was a demotion. With this city nothing more than a buffer against the monsters. A sacrifice that provided peace for the inner cities.

And he was sentenced to ruin.

A knock on the door stopped his self-pity.

"Yes," he barked towards the door after putting on a mask of indifference. "What is it?"

"Excuse me, Freiherr," a maid entered, bowing deeply. "The young miss has arrived."

"I'll see her."

"As you wish."

Another bow. And a youthful woman, or rather a girl, stood before him.

"We got word from the patrol. The missing caravan was attacked by monsters."

Another report he didn't need.

"Survivors?"

"None. But they found a clue."

"Huh?" He raised his gaze and mustered her.

A sloppy salute, nothing like a proper soldier, but one of the few usable assets he had. She wore the guardian troops' uniform. A worn leather armor on her upper body, thick linen trousers, and patched up shoes. A rusty sword and a dagger with a wooden handle. And a light-blue ribbon on her left arm.

She was rather well-build, but so lanky, the armor wore her instead. A child playing soldier.

Rubbish. Not even worth a second glance.

But the girl radiated a unique atmosphere. Less a dirty child, but more a diamond in the mud. Her finely chiseled face was worth a nobleman's mistress. And her silver-blonde hair, flowing down her back, drew looks even in this getup.

The Maiden of Gladford.

Loved by the peasants for her humble upbringing, desired by the rich for her beauty.

And one of his commanders.

"We found this between the remains," she said and put a tiny sword on his table.

Misshapen, rusty, and filthy. Only a hand long. Not something a human soldier would use.

"This is?"

"We asked Master Bernier. Leprechauns. Given the marks, probably a dozen."

"Anything else?"

"Master Bernier thinks they are scouts. Their rare attacks support that."

"Damn bookworm."

Houdin sighed. So at last this time had come.

"Use the missing caravans to monitor their movement," he instructed the girl in front of him. "Find their origin. Afterwards, talk with Commander Edun. He shall draft the layout for a new troop and their support. In spring, we'll screen the farmers and form a new army."

"You won't ask the mercenaries?"

"They are too costly for mere leprechauns. We should have the time to force some peasants into shape. It should be enough."

"As you will," the girl bowed, turned around, and left.

"No way I'll waste the little we have," Houdin muttered to himself.

A fire crackled in the chimney. In here, the world was at peace.