Boundless Family Upgrades For The Deadbeat Lord

Several days passed after Raymond discovered the dead Silver-ranked predator in the snow and received the mandatory mission to survive the abnormal Blackridge Winter Migration.

During that time, the northern watch had been doubled, patrol routes were shortened so no group traveled too far from reinforcement range, and Boris had ordered the guards patrolling wilderness to report even the smallest sign of unusual Magic Beast activity.

The migration itself continued in uneven waves. Some days, the northern plains remained almost completely quiet except for distant herds moving across the horizon; on others, small groups of Bronze-class beasts crossed near Althoff’s boundary before disappearing farther south.

Raymond didn’t waste any of them when safe hunting opportunities appeared, but the carefree excitement he had shown during the first week was gone.

Every carcass they found in the snow, every predator appearing too early, and every strange track leading out of Blackridge reminded him that something deeper inside the mountains had disturbed the entire ecosystem, and until he understood what that something was, he refused to treat the migration like a convenient seasonal marketplace.

The first real sign that the problem extended beyond Magic Beasts arrived shortly after midday on the fourth day.

Raymond was inside the administrative office with Marianne and Lily, reviewing revised winter ration projections, when hurried footsteps sounded along the corridor.

The door opened a moment later and one of Boris’s guards stepped inside, removing his snow-covered helmet before bowing quickly.

"My Lord, the northern gate has spotted a group approaching along the old ridge road. They aren’t soldiers and they don’t appear armed beyond a few hunting bows. There are women and children among them, and several people are being carried."

Raymond’s eyes immediately lifted from the ledger. "How many?"

"More than fifty at first glance, my Lord. The watch captain believes there may be close to a hundred."

Marianne’s expression tightened. Lily stopped writing and looked toward Raymond with concern.

Nobody needed the guard to explain what kind of group traveled through northern Zulor in the middle of winter carrying injured people and children.

Raymond closed the parchment in front of him, stood from his chair, and reached for the heavy winter coat hanging beside the office door. "Tell Boris not to open the gate until I get there. Nobody threatens them, nobody shoots unless they attack first, and I want blankets and hot water prepared near the guardhouse. If they came through the northern road in this weather, they’re probably half frozen already."

The guard bowed and hurried out. Raymond followed only moments later, with Lily and Marianne moving behind him despite his initial attempt to leave them in the warmth of the castle.

The walk toward the northern gate took less than ten minutes, but by the time they arrived, a substantial number of townspeople had already gathered at a distance, curiosity pulling them from nearby longhouses despite the cold.

Boris stood on the inner side of the repaired gate with several guards and two Bronze Knights, while beyond the wooden barrier a ragged group of strangers waited silently in the snow.

Raymond climbed onto the short wall platform beside Boris and looked down.

There were eighty-seven of them.

He didn’t know the number yet, but the scale was immediately clear.

These weren’t travelers caught in bad weather. They were survivors.

Men and women stood pressed together beneath torn cloaks and patched blankets, many of them carrying whatever possessions they had managed to save in rough sacks tied across their backs.

Several elderly people leaned heavily on younger relatives. Two men carried an injured woman between them using a crude wooden board as a stretcher, while another group supported a young hunter whose left leg had been wrapped in blood-soaked cloth.

The children were the worst sight. Some were barefoot beneath strips of cloth wrapped around their feet, others wore coats far too thin for the weather, and one little girl stood completely still in her mother’s arms with blue lips and her face buried beneath a ragged scarf.

Raymond’s jaw tightened.

Boris spoke quietly beside him. "They identified themselves as survivors from Marden Village. It’s roughly twenty kilometers north-northwest of here, close to one of the smaller foothill routes."

Raymond looked toward him. "Marden. How large was it?"

"About one hundred and forty people the last time I heard, maybe more. Mostly hunters, charcoal burners, and a few families raising hardy goats."

Raymond looked back at the group below. "And there are only this many left?"

Boris didn’t answer immediately. "That’s what it looks like."

Raymond descended from the wall and approached the closed gate. The people outside noticed him instantly, and the reaction spreading through the group was not exactly reassuring. Several faces visibly changed when they recognized the young noble standing behind the barrier.

A few whispered to one another. One older man tightened his grip around the shoulder of a boy beside him, while a woman instinctively pulled two children closer.

Raymond wasn’t surprised.

His reputation had traveled farther than he had.

The original Raymond von Althoff hadn’t merely been hated by the people inside his own barony. Stories about the disgraced drunk sent to govern the worst territory in Zulor had circulated throughout neighboring settlements long before Raymond transmigrated into the body. Anyone from Marden would have heard some version of them. The incompetent noble who drank away the treasury. The deadbeat lord whose own guards nearly abandoned him. The man who ruled a territory so poor even bandits avoided it.

Not exactly the person desperate refugees wanted deciding whether they lived through the night.

A man eventually stepped away from the group and approached the gate. He looked to be somewhere in his late forties, although exhaustion and cold made him appear considerably older.

A thick grey beard covered most of his face, and one side of his forehead had been wrapped in a dirty bandage. His leather hunting coat had been torn across the shoulder, and a simple bow was strapped behind him without an arrow nocked. He stopped several meters from the gate and slowly lowered himself onto one knee in the snow.

"Lord Althoff," he said, his voice dry and rough from cold. "My name is Edran Marr. I was one of the senior hunters of Marden Village. We ask permission to enter your territory."

Raymond studied him for several seconds before replying. "What happened to Marden?"

The man’s expression tightened. Behind him, several of the survivors lowered their heads.

"It was attacked three nights ago," Edran answered. "The migration route changed. At first, we thought it was only another herd passing too close to the village. We had dealt with that before. We lit fires, kept everyone indoors, and waited for the animals to move south. Then the predators came."

Boris’s face became grim.

Edran continued, his voice becoming heavier with each sentence. "Frostfang Wolves at first. More than I have ever seen together. We managed to protect ourselves for a while, but something larger followed behind them. We never saw exactly what it was. The animals panicked and crashed through the village. Houses were trampled, the goat pens broke, and by the time morning came, half the settlement was burning. We tried to gather whoever was left and head east toward another village, but the road was blocked by another herd. So we came south."

Raymond looked at the eighty-seven survivors again.

"How many people did you leave Marden with?"

Edran’s eyes lowered. "One hundred and six."

Silence settled near the gate.

Raymond didn’t need to ask what happened to the other nineteen.

Lily stood several steps behind him, clutching the front of her winter coat tightly. Marianne’s face remained composed, but her eyes lingered on the injured children outside.

Raymond exhaled slowly and turned toward Boris. "Any signs they’re being followed?"

"None so far. Scouts checked the road behind them. No immediate beasts within sight."

Raymond nodded before returning his attention to Edran. "Why Althoff?"

That question seemed to catch the older hunter off guard.