Chapter 35: Vassal House

The central carriage had barely come to a complete stop before Sigurd pushed open the door and stepped down onto the grass.

After spending most of the day surrounded by polished wood, cushioned seats, and the steady rumble of wheels, the evening air felt unusually pleasant against his face.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms while the convoy immediately transformed around him. Guards dismounted, Grimhorn Warsteeds were led away from the road, supply carriages opened, and soldiers moved with the efficiency of people who had performed the same routine countless times.

Several cleared the ground while others established a perimeter between the river and the forest. Tents rose quickly, baggage was unloaded, and sentries disappeared toward positions overlooking the surrounding approaches.

Sigurd’s smaller figure stood out among the armored adults moving around the clearing, yet nobody needed to tell him where he could or couldn’t walk. Even while making camp, the escort never stopped functioning as a military unit.

Ottilie emerged from the carriage shortly afterward carrying a folding chair.

She opened it beneath the shade of a broad tree, brushed the seat once with her hand, and turned toward Sigurd with her usual gentle smile. "Young Master, you can sit here while everything is being prepared. Dinner shouldn’t take too long."

Sigurd stared at the chair, then at Ottilie. He had spent hours sitting inside a carriage until his legs felt as though they had forgotten their purpose, and within a minute of finally escaping, his personal maid had thoughtfully prepared somewhere else for him to sit.

"Ottilie, I’ve been sitting since this morning," Sigurd reminded her, his expression making his opinion obvious. "If I sit again now, you might have to carry me into the carriage tomorrow."

Ottilie covered a smile with one hand, but Sigurd had already waved her off and begun walking around the campsite. It was partly boredom and partly habit.

Wherever Nikolai had gone in his previous life, one of the first things he learned was the terrain surrounding wherever he expected to sleep.

Ten years in Eden hadn’t removed that instinct. If anything, Osric’s training had strengthened it. Sigurd walked along the edge of the forming camp, noting the river to the east, the road behind them, the dense forest several dozen yards to the west, and the slight rise in the ground to the north.

The guards had chosen their position well. Water was close, visibility was good on three sides, and anyone approaching from the forest would have to cross enough open ground to be noticed.

By the time Sigurd completed his slow circuit, the clearing had changed completely. Large tents now stood in ordered rows, the Grimhorn Warsteeds had been watered and secured, and lamps had been positioned around the perimeter for nightfall.

A larger tent had naturally been erected for Sigurd near the center, while another section had become an improvised kitchen. The maids accompanying the convoy moved between tables and supply crates carrying vegetables, spices, preserved meat, utensils, and heavy pots.

Ottilie had abandoned the chair after accepting that Sigurd had no intention of using it and was now overseeing the other maids with considerably more authority than her usual gentle demeanor suggested.

She directed one toward the vegetables before correcting another who had reached for the wrong supplies. "Use the deeper pot for the stew, and leave that second crate closed. Those provisions are for later in the journey. We have enough fresh ingredients tonight."

Sigurd watched for a moment before looking toward the forest again. The camp was secure, dinner was being handled, and nobody required anything from him. That left him with the increasingly familiar problem of having nothing to do.

His eyes eventually found Captain Hartwin speaking with two soldiers near the perimeter.

Sigurd walked over and waited until the captain finished issuing his instructions before gesturing toward the forest. "Captain Hartwin, come with me. I want to hunt something for dinner."

Concern crossed Hartwin’s face before discipline smoothed it away.

He glanced toward the forest and then toward the guards around camp before answering, "Tenth Young Master, the scouts checked the immediate area, but we haven’t surveyed deeply into the forest. If you wish to hunt, I can send several men ahead and have them accompany us."

Sigurd shook his head. "I’m not planning to search for a Demonic Beast. A few rabbits or birds will do. Besides, you’re coming with me. If something in that forest is dangerous enough that the two of us can’t deal with it, adding three ordinary guards probably won’t improve our situation."

Hartwin seemed to consider arguing, but whatever he knew about Sigurd’s training persuaded him otherwise.

After a moment, he released a quiet breath and nodded. "Very well, Tenth Young Master. Give me a moment."

He turned toward the soldiers beside him, ordered one to take temporary command of the perimeter, instructed another to keep everyone inside the established boundary after sunset, then checked the sword at his waist before returning to Sigurd.

They entered the forest together.

The change in atmosphere was immediate. Sounds from the camp faded behind walls of enormous trees, replaced by rustling leaves, insects, distant birdcalls, and occasional movement through the undergrowth.

Evening sunlight filtered through the canopy in broken golden shafts, illuminating patches of moss and thick roots twisting across the ground.

Sigurd breathed deeply as he walked. The air smelled of damp soil, bark, vegetation, and running water from streams feeding the nearby river. After five days of roads, carriages, and scheduled stops, the simplicity of the forest was refreshing.

Hartwin remained several steps behind and slightly to Sigurd’s right, close enough to intervene but far enough not to crowd him. Sigurd noticed the positioning.

The captain had clearly spent enough time fighting that such habits no longer required thought.

After several minutes of silence, Sigurd stepped over a fallen trunk and glanced toward him. "Captain Hartwin, you’re from Archlight House, aren’t you? How did someone from one of the Eighteen Vassal Houses end up commanding an estate guard unit?"

Hartwin showed no offense at the question. Instead, he brushed a low branch aside and answered with a small shrug. "There isn’t much of a story, Tenth Young Master. My talent was never exceptional. I awakened, entered Helheim when I was ten, graduated, and enlisted afterward. The military suited me better than chasing a position my ability couldn’t support."

Sigurd slowed slightly at the mention of Helheim and looked back at him. "You attended Helheim?"

Hartwin nodded as they continued deeper between the trees. "Eight years. After graduation, I joined the army and eventually volunteered for deployment to the Outer Battlefield. I spent ten years there before returning to Varangia. By then I’d had enough of living months at a time in armor, so I accepted a position with the household guard. A few promotions later, I became captain."

There was no bitterness in his voice when he described his talent, nor any exaggerated pride when mentioning ten years on the Outer Battlefield. Hartwin spoke as though he were describing an ordinary career. Sigurd remained silent afterward, reassessing the man walking beside him.

Archlight was ranked ninth among the Eighteen Vassal Houses sworn beneath House Grandel. Its members carried the designation Von, just as Hartwin did.

The distinction was simple but deeply rooted in the clan’s hierarchy. Di belonged to the direct Main Family bloodline. Var marked descendants of the Branch Houses. Von belonged to the recognized Vassal Houses. Yet being ranked ninth among the Eighteen didn’t make Archlight weak.

A Vassal House capable of maintaining such a position beneath Grandel possessed territory, wealth, martial inheritances, military strength, and thousands of family members spread across numerous professions. Remove Archlight from beneath the shadow of House Grandel and place it in many other regions of Eden, and it could establish itself as a Great Clan in its own right.

With thousands carrying Archlight blood, however, not every descendant could become an elder, commander, or celebrated martial genius. Some became soldiers. Some became administrators, instructors, merchants, craftsmen, or guards. Hartwin becoming captain of a Main Family estate guard wasn’t particularly strange when viewed that way.

A faint movement in the brush interrupted Sigurd’s thoughts. His hand rose, and Hartwin stopped immediately as a rabbit emerged near the roots of a tree twenty yards ahead, its long ears twitching while it searched the ground. Sigurd bent, picked up a small stone, and flicked it with his thumb.

The rabbit dropped before it heard the sound. Hartwin looked from the animal to Sigurd and gave an amused shake of his head. "I suppose bringing a bow would have been unnecessary."

Sigurd walked over and collected the rabbit by its hind legs, a faint smile appearing on his face as he replied, "I told you we were hunting dinner, Captain. I never said we were doing it properly."

Their hunt continued as the sun descended. Hartwin brought down two pheasants with small throwing blades, while Sigurd caught another rabbit after spotting tracks beneath a patch of ferns.

They could easily have searched for larger prey, but neither saw a reason to turn an evening walk into another battle.

For once, Sigurd was content to move through the trees without something enormous attempting to kill him. He listened to the wind passing through the canopy, breathed the cool natural air, and simply enjoyed the forest.

Eventually the light between the branches began to fade, and Hartwin glanced toward the darkening canopy before reminding Sigurd that the camp would be expecting them.

Sigurd nodded, shifted the rabbits in his hand, and turned back toward the direction they had come. Hartwin carried the pheasants beside him as they retraced their path through the woods, the distant glow of the camp gradually appearing between the trees.

For the first time since leaving the estate five days earlier, Sigurd no longer felt quite so bored.