Chapter 188: 25 Years
Gabrant had not seen this scenery in a very long time.
He wondered how many years had passed since he had last come. He had no brothers and so he had left everything in the hands of the steward who had managed the land for generations. He had pushed all responsibility onto that man and had paid no attention himself.
As he and his guards rode their horses down the road, he noticed the townsfolk looking up at them with curious faces. To them, it was probably the steward, not Gabrant, who was thought of as their true lord. The thought made him laugh quietly to himself.
Winter had ended and the villagers were now waiting for the melted snow from the mountains to prepare the farmlands.
He saw people working in the fields here and there.
Their work clothes were simple and well-worn, patched in places, but the fabric was thick and sturdy.
The roofs of the homes beyond the farmland were also properly thatched and solid.
The Beaumont family had long been a house that produced military men and perhaps because of this, they never cared much for wealth.
As long as there was enough tax collected to pay the kingdom and enough to maintain the land and manor, that was sufficient.
In fact, the taxes in this land were likely lighter than in other territories.
For Gabrant, that was enough.
If the people lived well and prospered, then nothing more was needed.
Since he had always left them alone, giving them freedom, at least this much had to be done, or else resentment would have surely grown among the villagers.
It was a small domain—six villages and two towns.
After lassing through them, it became clear that the steward was managing things fairly and honestly.
The hildren ran and played in the squares and the shops were lively, with good goods on display. Women washing clothes by the wells chatted cheerfully until they noticed the party riding past. Then, after feeling surprised, they quickly bowed their heads.
As he passed by the church, the bright voices of children could be heard, repeating their lessons with energy.
The knights acting as his guards smiled as they looked around at the peaceful scenery.
This land had not been touched by war, nor was it attacked by monsters. People could live here with smiles on their face and it reminded Gabrant deeply of why he had once taken up arms and fought—to protect this kind of peace.
Now that an alliance had been formed with Dalmasca, there was less to worry about. Yet across the Fontaine River lay the country of Landis and far to the west beyond Nabradia was Arcadia, another warlike nation.
There were still many threats and he could not allow himself to relax completely.
Gabrant had once wished for this land to be inherited by Dominic.
He believed that if it were Dominic, the smiles of the people would never be lost.
Surely, Dominic would take up the sword for the sake of those smiles.
Even if he did not return to the land often, the heart of a true lord would still reach the people and the steward who managed it in his place.
He and the others had sworn loyalty to the king, but the kingdom itself was far too vast.
The king’s vision was great and far-reaching, but it was impossible for his eyes to notice every common person and every corner of the land.
That was why the lords existed—to watch over those corners in his stead and why each village and town had leaders.
Gabrant believed it was their duty to become the hands and feet of the king, to carry the mercy of His Majesty to the people.
Yet in truth, not all lords or stewards held such thoughts in their hearts. That was the sad reality. And what was worse—lords like himself, who still clung to such beliefs, were said to be few. That, too, was a shame he could not ignore.
They passed through the town and soon the forest came into view, thick and green.
Deeper within lay a small lake, in a quiet forest where no monsters roamed.
It was a well-kept forest, one that provided nuts, firewood, and mushrooms as blessings for the people.
In one corner of that forest lay the land reserved for the lord alone.
The trees that had shed their leaves in winter were now beginning to bud and the bright sunlight reached deep into the woods.
In shaded places, patches of snow still remained, but on the ground where the light touched, the soil was already drying, the fallen leaves melting gently into the earth.
After crossing over a small stream filled with melted snow water, Gabrant saw it—the white villa that was glowing under the sun.
The moment the sight of the chalk-white mansion met his eyes, his horse stopped without him even realizing it.
Before coming here, Gabrant had dismissed his mistresses. It was both his decision and his act of sincerity.
Looking back now, he realized he had been an unfaithful husband. Even with Ashe at his side, he had kept several concubines. It had been out of anger toward her cold attitude, as if he had wanted to spite her. For her, that too must have been an unforgivable cruelty.
Even when rumors spread of her own unclean affairs, Gabrant had ignored them. It was not because he thought he had no right to blame her. Rather, twisted by hatred, he had gone so far as to reject her very existence.
What a sinful, foolish man he had been.
A marriage match had been proposed for the daughter born to the fallen noblewoman.
A rising merchant with momentum wanted a noble connection and the mother asked to be taken back and restored as a noble house.
It is common for an ambitious merchant to seek the prestige of a noble link, to push into noble society with money and influence.