Chapter 52: The Story’s Hero
Half a mile away from the village stood the barony’s graveyard, a small plot of land filled with graves, the final resting place of humans and the inevitable fate none had ever escaped.
In a slightly vacant spot free of tombstones, Arthur stood silently, a sorrowful expression on his face. His gaze was fixed on a fresh grave marked with the letters: R.I.P.
His sorrow wasn’t directed at his savior, but the scene, the grave, the stone marker, and the stance he took—evoked a painful memory: the day he had buried his own parents.
Despite the profound grief, his eyes remained dry. He couldn’t shed a single tear, yet his heart wept silently. He let the emotions rise without suppression. His mind quieted, his anxieties vanished. He didn’t think about anything else, he was simply sad and deeply calm. For the first time since coming to this world, he didn’t care about anything, only that moment.
After ten long minutes standing still like a statue, he let out a soft sigh. He was finally ready to rid himself of the last obstacle in his path.
"Thank you," he offered his final words of gratitude to the one in the grave, then turned and headed back to the castle. Several arrangements had to be made, and a number of things had to be crafted, he planned to leave for a short while.
Upon his return, the very first thing he did was order the soldiers to gather enough men and equipment and head to the forest to retrieve the items they had left behind the previous night.
While seated on his chair, Octavia approached and said, "My Lord, all the census staff have gathered. They await your permission to deliver their reports."
He had been expecting this. In fact, the census had taken longer than he anticipated.