On the third day after Barnaby fled under cover of night, a long convoy shattered the peace of Newborn Town.
More than a dozen knight-lords from around Graysea Marsh gathered there, bringing "lavish gifts" commensurate with their respective means.
Kane and Moll stood at the head of the group outside the Lord's Manor.
They held the highest status among these minor lords, so they naturally became their representatives.
Fine beads of sweat formed on Kane's forehead. He tugged at the collar of his stiffly starched formal attire, his movements rigid.
Moll kept stealing sidelong glances at the guards by the entrance. Dressed in matching leather armor, they stood silently with spears in hand, radiating an invisible pressure.
The gifts brought by the convoy were unloaded one by one.
A few scrawny live chickens, a sack of sprouting potatoes, and half a cartload of baskets filled with dull-colored turnips.
Piled together, these gifts looked less like a congratulatory offering than an exhibition themed around "poverty."
A young man dressed as a clerk emerged, carrying a wooden clipboard.
"The baron has been informed of your kind intentions, my lords. Please follow me. He awaits you in the reception hall."
As they entered the reception hall of the Lord's Manor, the atmosphere grew heavier still.
Veylin sat at the head of the room. He wore no finery proclaiming his status, only a simple black outfit. His fingers interlaced, he watched them calmly.
To his left sat Ola, whom he had reportedly captured alive.
Gone was Ola's usual snarling, glaring expression whenever he saw them. Instead, he was "dutifully" wiping down his enormous axe.
The sight nearly made the lords' jaws drop.
Every one of them had been extorted by this savage half-Dwarf. When had they ever seen him so docile?
Just how terrifying