The Duchy of Douglas was composed of six fortified cities, each with its own traditions and a deeply rooted identity. They were lands of discipline, autonomy, and above all, unwavering loyalty to their lord. Its people tolerated no outside interference and no words that dared question the honor of House Douglas. Nearly seventy percent of the population practiced dark magic, using it both to defend their territory and to preserve their culture.
When the priests and heralds of the temples arrived at the first city, they came with confidence, believing their divine authority alone would earn obedience. But they made a grave mistake: in their speeches, they insinuated that Lusian Douglas and his lineage should answer for "atrocities of the past."
It was dusk. The central plaza was filled with people returning from their work, walking among market stalls and the dark stone houses. When the heralds appeared with banners raised and scrolls ceremoniously unrolled, silence fell over the crowd.
"Citizens!" one of the priests proclaimed. "The time has come to face the truth. The gods have chosen their voices, and we have come to guide you toward justice—"
At first, the crowd listened cautiously. Some bowed their heads; others simply watched.
"—and it is necessary to acknowledge the actions committed by Duke Lusian Douglas and his family. For years, his gover—"
A sharp crack cut him off.
A broad-shouldered man, cloaked in the black mantle worn by dark mages, stepped forward and struck the ground with his staff.
"Shut your mouth!" his voice thundered across the plaza. "How dare you stain the name of our lord? Lusian Douglas protects these lands with his life! Neither you nor your gods have the right to judge him!"
The murmur turned into a roar. The crowd surged forward, pushing against the priests. An elderly woman with gray hair—a veteran of old campaigns—hurled her empty basket at them.
"Get out of our city! And be grateful it's only a basket!"
The priests tried to calm the crowd, but they were soon surrounded by young men holding sticks and improvised shields. One mage gathered dark energy, making the ground tremble beneath a herald's feet.
"For our duke," he said coldly. "If you speak his name with contempt again, it will be the last time you ever have a voice to speak."
Silence fell again.
One of the priests, pale as ash, raised his hands.
"We seek no confrontation… we only wish—"
A rain of fruit, stones, and shouted insults forced them to retreat. With their banners trampled in the dirt and their dignity in ruins, the heralds began their journey back.
It was more than a defeat.
It was a reminder.
In the Duchy of Douglas, loyalty is not bought with speeches or blessings. It is earned through deeds… and defended with one's life.
The news spread quickly. The other cities responded in the same way: gates sealed, sorcerers watching from their towers, and populations that respected strength… but rejected any attempt at manipulation.
The heralds soon understood something important.
The Douglas family was not merely a ruling house.
It was the symbol of a people who refused to kneel before divine promises or threats from an altar.
Inside the strategy chamber of Castle Douglas, the trembling light of chandeliers bathed maps, reports, and mana crystals spread across the central table.
No one spoke.
Even the air itself seemed to be holding its breath.
Lusian stood with one hand resting on the map of the duchy, his eyes fixed on the borders of his cities. He did not need words to command respect. Beside him, Duchess Sofía watched silently, arms crossed, her gaze as sharp as a freshly drawn blade.
Count Harven of Rasten was the first to break the silence.
"This is outrageous," he growled. "They arrived with false courtesy and then dared to defile the name of our duchy. They should be chained to the walls!"
Sofía interrupted him, her voice cold.
"And start a war with four temples?" she asked. "Would you sacrifice your people for pride, Harven?"
The count clenched his teeth and fell silent.
Lady Mara of Argös, young but resolute, spoke next.
"We cannot leave such an insult unanswered either. If we remain silent, they will believe the Duchy of Douglas can be trampled without consequence. My city is furious."
"Let them be furious," Sofía replied. "I prefer fury over the graves a holy war would leave behind."
Their voices clashed like swords. Beyond the tall windows, the night deepened quietly while arguments crossed the room.
Lusian remained still, listening.
Once, he would have answered with steel and blood. Now every word was weighed with the precision of a strategist who valued the lives of his people as a treasure.
He raised his hand.
Silence fell again, heavy and expectant.
"The temples made a mistake," he said calmly. "But we will not make a greater one."
Several counts lowered their gazes.
"No herald will enter our cities again without authorization," he continued. "That will be our position. But we will not start a conflict that could consume the duchy… or the entire kingdom."
Sofía glanced at him from the corner of her eye. A faint, approving smile touched her lips.
Lusian was no longer reacting like a warrior seeking victory through force.
He was learning to rule as a leader.
He unrolled a parchment.
"We will send letters. Diplomatic, respectful… but firm. We will explain that the conduct of their priests created unnecessary tensions, and that for the good of all, no representative will enter our lands again without prior agreement."
A murmur spread through the chamber.
Lusian raised his voice, marking each word.
"This is not weakness. It is control. We set the pace. We establish the rules. Not them."
Harven spoke again, cautiously.
"And if they choose to ignore the letter?"
Lusian met his gaze without blinking.
"Then they will learn," he said in a calm voice heavier than any shout, "what it means to challenge the Duchy of Douglas. But first, we will do what is right."
The silence that followed was not fear.
It was respect.
One of the frontier captains stepped forward.
"My lord, the monsters continue to increase. Creatures of Epsilon and Omega level have been sighted farther north."
An aide spread a map across the table. Several red marks indicated the latest sightings along the border.
Lusian studied the map in silence.
Exactly where he expected them to appear.
No one in the room noticed the faint curve at the corner of his lips.
"Reinforce the patrols," he ordered calmly. "We will not allow those creatures to approach Douglas territory any further."
A respectful silence spread through the room. Sofía placed a hand on her son's shoulder. No words were needed.
The duchy is in good hands, her gaze seemed to say.
Lusian took the quill, dipped it in ink, and spoke.
"Prepare the letters," he ordered. "And reinforce the patrols. Not because of the temples… but because of what moves in the night, beneath this Mana Cloud."
With the quill in his hand and the weight of the future on his shoulders, Lusian did not speak like an heir.
He spoke as a Duke.
As a leader.
As a man who no longer reacts to the world…
but governs it.