The rider arrived in Montserrat on a gray afternoon, when the mist had not yet fully lifted from the barley fields. His horse was nearly exhausted; white foam clung around its jaws, and its legs trembled slightly each time it stopped.

  People who lived in small territories like Montserrat usually understood this sort of sight quite well. Messages delivered this quickly rarely carried ordinary news.

  Philip was in the training yard when a guard called for him.

  “Young master, the estate has received a letter from Re-Robel.”

  He stopped immediately.

  The name alone was enough to catch his attention.

  Re-Robel was the largest port city in the region, a commercial center along the trade route between the Kingdom and the Holy Kingdom of Roble. The Montserrat family, like many other baronial houses nearby, were technically vassals of the count who ruled that city.

  In other words, letters from Re-Robel were rarely personal matters.

  That same afternoon, Baron Montserrat summoned his sons to his study.

  The letter lay on the table, sealed with red wax bearing the crest of the count’s family.

  The baron finished reading it and folded it carefully.

  “The count is calling for troops.”

  Philip’s eldest brother immediately asked,

  “Is there a war?”

  The baron shook his head slightly.

  “Not necessarily.”

  He opened the letter again.

  “But there are signs that the Zurrenorn organization has been active near Re-Robel.”

  The room fell silent for several seconds.

  Philip said nothing, but inwardly he became alert. From the memories of his previous life, Zurrenorn was not a band of ordinary criminals. They were heretical mages who studied necromancy. If they had truly appeared around Re-Robel… then the situation was probably more serious than a simple peasant rebellion.

  According to the letter, a rebel force had gathered in the swamplands west of Re-Robel. It was suspected that this group had connections to the Zurrenorn organization, and several nobles in the surrounding region had already been massacred.

  The mayor of Re-Robel, Count Valcere, was said to be furious and had ordered nearby nobles to mobilize their forces to suppress the rebellion.

  All vassal territories were required to send troops to the city within ten days.

  The Valcere family had ruled the city for more than a century. Though they were not among the highest ranks of the nobility, they were still considered a major noble house within the kingdom, and in this region their authority was immense.

  Armand de Valcere was around fifty years old that year. In his youth he had served in the royal army before returning home to inherit his domain. Over the years he gradually took on another important role: mayor of the city of Re-Robel.

  On paper, this arrangement made city administration more efficient.

  In reality, when one man controlled both the local nobility and the municipal government… it often provided far greater political advantages than outsiders realized.

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  Count Valcere was known as a calm, courteous, and extremely patient man. Merchants who had met him often remarked that he had a habit of listening longer than necessary before making a decision—the type of man who preferred to observe the chessboard carefully before moving a piece.

  The consequences of Montserrat’s lack of information were now clear. The rebellion had already begun nearly a month ago, yet the Montserrat family had known nothing about it.

  The mobilization order now lay on the table, but no one in the room had any idea what the situation at the front lines truly looked like.

  Still, even without intelligence reports, everyone could guess that the matter was serious. If it had only been an ordinary peasant uprising, the nearby lords could have suppressed it themselves. There would have been no need to summon additional nobles from the region.

  And this time, the shadow of the Zurrenorn organization seemed to be involved as well.

  Given such an order, Philip suspected that the situation might have deteriorated badly enough to make even Count Valcere lose some of his usual composure.

  An army was not simply stronger because it had more people. Twenty farmers gathered together might not necessarily defeat four trained guards from their own estate.

  Moreover, the preparation time was far too short. Within only a few days, how could anyone properly prepare weapons, armor, and supplies for a force?

  Baron Montserrat finished reading the letter and spoke.

  “We must send troops.”

  That was a basic obligation every noble was required to fulfill.

  Philip’s eldest brother spoke first.

  “Father should not leave the territory right now.”

  The baron frowned.

  “What do you mean?”

  His eldest son explained that over the past few weeks, merchants traveling the northern road had reported increasing numbers of bandits appearing in the forests. They had not yet caused serious damage, but their numbers were growing.

  If the baron took the entire garrison to Re-Robel, the territory would be left almost defenseless.

  For a small domain, losing control of its trade routes could sometimes be more dangerous than fighting a distant battle.

  The baron did not immediately argue.

  Philip agreed with his elder brother’s assessment.

  “Father, the situation is still unclear. We should not move the family’s main force. The order only requires us to send twenty men. We could recruit twenty able-bodied villagers, give them some training, and fulfill the summons first. Then we can decide what to do next.”

  The baron fell into thought.

  The real question now was: who would lead them?

  The eldest son spoke again.

  “I will go.”

  “No,” the baron replied. “You must remain here.”

  His eldest son frowned but did not object. Among nobles, the position of heir was fragile. And given how complicated this situation seemed, he was not entirely certain he would return alive.

  The baron then turned to his second son.

  “You still need to travel to the Valen territory.”

  That trip was related to a political marriage between the two families. Matters like that were rarely canceled simply because of a rebellion.

  The second son nodded.

  The baron exhaled slowly.

  Both of his older sons were unavailable.

  His gaze shifted toward Philip.

  The room fell quiet.

  Philip spoke first.

  “Father… I request permission to lead the troops.”

  The baron immediately shook his head.

  “No.”

  He answered almost instantly.

  “You have never been on a battlefield.”

  Philip did not argue.

  “That is true.”

  He nodded.

  “But we cannot refuse the summons either.”

  The baron remained silent.

  Philip was right.

  If Montserrat failed to send troops, Count Valcere would have every right to consider it disobedience. For a small territory, the consequences could be unpleasant—higher taxes, revoked trade privileges, or worse.

  The baron stood and walked slowly around the room.

  Clearly, he was hesitating.

  Letting Philip command troops… the idea did not sit comfortably with him.

  Philip had only just reached adulthood. No matter how diligently he trained, a battlefield was something entirely different.

  After a while, the baron spoke again.

  “We can only send twenty men.”

  He looked at Philip.

  “And all of them will be farmers.”

  The estate guards had to remain behind to protect Montserrat. If they left, the territory would have almost no defenses.

  Twenty farmers.

  Poorly equipped, with no combat experience.

  To be honest, such a force had little real military value.

  The baron stopped beside the table.

  “Do you understand what that means?”

  Philip answered calmly.

  “I will try to keep everyone alive.”

  The response made the baron look at him longer.

  Perhaps he had expected a more knightly answer—something about honor, duty, or fighting for one’s lord.

  Instead, Philip gave a far more practical one.

  Keep them alive.

  After several seconds of silence, the baron sighed.

  “Very well.”

  He said quietly.

  “You will lead them.”

  Philip bowed his head.

  “Yes, Father.”

  Twenty farmers.

  Not a real army.

  But it would be enough for Montserrat to fulfill its obligation to Re-Robel.

  The baron watched his son for a long moment before adding,

  “You will command them all.”

  “But remember… if the situation becomes dangerous…”

  He paused.

  “…you must know when to retreat.”

  Philip nodded.

  At the very least, that was advice he completely agreed with.