Free Web NovelChapter 19: Chapter 19: The General of Darkmoor duchy
Chapter 19: The General of Darkmoor duchy
A sharp knock echoed through the room.
Lyra stood outside the door with her hands folded neatly in front of her. Even after calming herself earlier, her conversation with Evelyne still lingered in her mind, leaving her unusually nervous.
"Young Master," she called softly. "May I enter?"
From inside the room, Andras’s calm voice answered.
"You may."
Lyra slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was filled with the faint scent of steam.
Andras had just finished bathing. His damp white hair fell loosely over his forehead, and a few droplets of water still clung to his skin. He stood near the window, looking far more refreshed than he had the previous day.
The moment Lyra entered, Andras glanced toward her.
A faint smirk appeared on his lips.
"You seem distracted."
Lyra immediately lowered her head.
"My apologies, Young Master."
Andras chuckled quietly before turning toward the mirror.
"Prepare my clothes."
His tone became more serious.
"And bring breakfast afterward. I’ll be heading to the training grounds today."
He adjusted a strand of damp hair away from his eyes.
"I’ve been unconscious for days. Yesterday was wasted as well. My body feels rusty."
Lyra nodded quickly and moved toward the wardrobe.
She selected his usual attire with practiced efficiency.
A black noble shirt.
Dark trousers embroidered with silver thread.
Black boots reinforced with mana-treated leather.
And finally, a dark violet cloak bearing the crest of Darkmoor duchy.
Once everything was prepared, Andras dressed and glanced at his reflection in the mirror.
He gave a small nod of approval.
Then his gaze shifted toward Lyra.
"What did Mother want to discuss with you?"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"And tell me the truth. Not what you think I want to hear."
Lyra hesitated for a moment before recounting everything that had happened inside Evelyne’s chambers.
She spoke honestly, repeating the Duchess’s warnings and advice without hiding anything.
Andras listened quietly from beginning to end.
When she finished, his expression barely changed.
It was exactly what he had expected.
"I see."
That was all he said.
Then he waved a hand dismissively.
"Bring breakfast."
"Yes, Young Master."
Lyra bowed before leaving the room.
A few minutes later, she returned carrying a silver tray filled with food.
The breakfast of noble households was naturally extravagant.
Fresh bread coated with melted butter rested beside sliced roasted meat glazed with herbs and honey. Soft eggs cooked with cream sat alongside grilled sausages seasoned with spices imported from southern territories. Several varieties of fruit had been arranged neatly on crystal plates.
A pot of black tea released a rich aroma into the room.
Andras ate calmly while Lyra waited nearby.
Even the way nobles ate differed from commoners.
Every movement was measured.
Every gesture refined.
Years of etiquette training had made such behavior second nature.
After finishing his meal, Andras wiped his hands with a cloth and stood.
"I’ll be heading to the training grounds."
Lyra bowed lightly.
"Yes, Young Master."
Without another word, Andras left the room.
The corridors of the Darkmoor Estate remained quiet during the early morning hours. Sunlight streamed through the enormous windows, illuminating the polished black marble floors beneath his feet.
As he walked, fragments of the original Andras’s memories surfaced naturally.
Eventually, he reached the outer section of the estate where the training grounds were located.
The atmosphere changed the moment he stepped outside.
The sharp clash of steel echoed through the air.
Soldiers trained in disciplined formations beneath the morning sun while instructors barked orders across the field.
The Darkmoor Duchy possessed one of the strongest private armies in the Empire.
Its military hierarchy was strict.
At the top stood the General—the Duchess’s right hand during war.
Below the General were the Lieutenants who commanded divisions of knights and soldiers.
Then came the Knights, Captains, Sergeants, and finally the Footmen who formed the backbone of the army.
Strength carried more weight than noble birth here.
Andras calmly observed the soldiers around him.
Some practiced swordsmanship.
Others sparred with spears and shields.
Farther away, mages launched spells at reinforced targets designed to withstand repeated attacks.
The training grounds were large enough to resemble a small battlefield.
When several soldiers noticed his arrival, they paused briefly and bowed.
"Young Master."
"Good morning, Young Master."
Their respect, however, was purely formal.
Once the greetings ended, they returned to training without hesitation.
No one approached him.
No one attempted conversation.
Andras wasn’t surprised.
The original owner of this body had spent years abusing servants, insulting soldiers, and relying on Evelyne’s authority to avoid consequences.
Most people feared him.
Very few respected him.
A faint smile crossed his lips.
Fear was often more useful than affection.
As he continued walking, his attention shifted toward a figure standing near the center of the training grounds.
A woman.
Tall.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Dark military armor fitted her frame perfectly, while a crimson cloak flowed behind her in the wind.
Her black hair fell smoothly down her back.
Her eyes were cold and sharp enough to make ordinary soldiers avoid meeting her gaze.
Even without releasing mana, the pressure surrounding her was unmistakable.
Andras recognized her immediately.
Selene Vaelthorn.
General of the Darkmoor Army.
A Peak Seventh Circle Mage.
And the woman who had personally trained the original Andras.
Despite her beauty, almost nobody within the duchy approached her casually.
Selene was infamous for her ruthless personality and merciless training methods.
Even experienced knights feared her.
As Andras approached, Selene turned toward him.
Her black eyes narrowed slightly.
"So the Young Master finally woke up."
Her voice was calm.
But there was a sharp edge hidden beneath it.
