CHAPTER 87: CONVICTION- 2

Hope and burden had no similarities in their literal meaning. However, when they were mixed together, they produced a single, powerful result: Obligation.

For the people of Silverwood, who had lost all hope, the burden of a bleak future was a weight that ate at them day in and day out.

By giving these people a new hope, that burden was transformed. It became an obligation, a deep and powerful sense of loyalty to the one who had given them a reason to believe again.

What else did a ruler need?

Rhys was inwardly praising his own cleverness, but on the outside, he remained a silent, imposing figure, waiting for the people before him to return to their senses.

"You are that abandoned hero’s son..." Derin was the first to speak, his voice a choked whisper. He was utterly awestruck.

"I- I-..." Derin stammered, his mind struggling to process the revelation. Silverwood had once been the primary seat of the Ashton family.

The beast tide had changed everything. After the Ashtons successfully defended the province, they had focused their resources on their larger, more profitable territories, taking them back from the Thorne family who had encroached during the war.

Silverwood was forgotten. Most of the townsfolk with any means or skills had left long ago, leaving behind only those who had no ability or resources to do so.

Technically, the young man standing before him was an heir to the Ashton clan, even if he was an abandoned one.

The weariness in Derin’s eyes lessened slightly. This changed things. The young man was the son of the great Kaelen, the hero of the Ashtons.

He wasn’t just some random, powerful cultivator trying to seize power; he had a legitimate, if complicated, claim to this land.

The initial shock in the crowd began to morph into a wave of murmurs. The older residents remembered Kaelen.

They remembered his strength, his honour.

To see his son return, and with such impossible power, was like seeing a legend come back to life. The fear that had gripped them began to melt away, replaced by a fragile, tentative hope.

[You are better at crowd control, Host.]

’I always know my papa is exceptional.’

Of course he was exceptional, Rhys thought. After all, for a webnovel geek like him, there were no tropes unknown to him.

Derin took a deep breath, his back straightening. The defiance was gone, replaced by a formal respect. He took a step forward and bowed deeply from the waist.

"Lord Rhys," he said, his voice now clear and steady. "Forgive this old soldier’s rudeness. We did not know who you were. Silverwood welcomes you home."

Rhys gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. He was no longer an invader; he was a returning prince. It was a role he would play for now. Until he becomes their emperor.

"Lead me to the City Lord’s palace," Rhys commanded.

"Of course, My Lord." Derin turned and began to clear a path through the stunned crowd.

Rhys gave a mental command to the Behemoth. The massive creature, which had remained kneeling, slowly stood up and took a few steps back from the town walls, settling down in the distance like a living mountain.

It was a clear sign that he did not intend to use its power against them. The tension in the air eased another notch.

He walked forward, Sera’s small form hugged by him.

Derin led them through the desolate streets. Rhys looked at the town he had grown up in with cold, analytical eyes.

He saw the rotting timber of the houses, the cracked cobblestones, and the thin, malnourished faces of the children who peeked from behind their parents’ legs.

Every detail reinforced his decision. This place was a perfect, untouched canvas.

They reached the City Lord’s palace. It was the largest building in town, but it was in a state of disrepair.

The paint was peeling, and several windows were boarded up. It was a perfect symbol of the town’s slow decay.

Inside, the main hall was dusty and filled with cheap, worn-out furniture. Derin gestured for Rhys to take the main seat, a large, carved wooden chair at the head of a long table.

Rhys sat down, his simple grey cloak a stark contrast to the faded grandeur of the room. Sera climbed onto his lap, looking around with curious eyes.

"My Lord," Derin began, standing before him like a loyal subordinate.

"The town is in a poor state. After the war, the main clan withdrew all support. Our trade routes have been cut off by bandit groups that have grown stronger in the chaos.

We have no resources, no skilled craftsmen, and our people... our people have no future. We are just waiting to die." He laid the town’s desperation bare, holding nothing back.

Rhys listened patiently, his face an unreadable mask. When Derin was finished, he leaned forward, his pitch-black eyes fixing the old soldier with an intense gaze.

"I am not here to be a traditional lord, Derin," Rhys said, his voice quiet but firm. "I am not here to collect taxes and rule over a dying town. I am here to build. To create something new from the ashes of the old."

He paused, letting his words sink in.

"I am not just taking over Silverwood. I am founding a new entity. It will be called the Eon Conglomerate."

Derin looked confused. "A... conglomerate, My Lord?"

"It will not be a single business," Rhys explained, his voice taking on a new intensity. He was no longer just a lord; he was a founder, a visionary explaining his creation.

"It will be a massive, interconnected organisation, a self-sustaining ecosystem of power and prosperity. This town, this entire city, will be its heart."

He began to lay out his grand design, a vision of a future so bright it was almost blinding.

"First, we will establish the guilds. The entire city will be restructured. The old, useless districts will be torn down and rebuilt.

We will have the ’Alchemist’s Alley’, a street dedicated to the creation of potions and elixirs. I will provide the knowledge and the rare materials. We will train anyone with the potential to learn, creating a new generation of alchemists."

"Next, the ’Forger’s Road’. A district for blacksmiths, weapon smiths, and enchanters. I will provide them with materials they have never seen, ores from the Labyrinth that can create weapons of incredible power.

I will give them formation blueprints that will allow them to craft artefacts that the great families... no... everyone in the world would kill for."

"Then, the ’Hunter’s Hall’. It will be the central guild for all mercenaries and hunters in the region. They will be our primary workforce.

They will venture into the Whisperwood, bringing back beast cores and materials. They will be equipped with the finest weapons from the Forger’s Road and healed with the best potions from the Alchemist’s Alley.

They will be paid a wage that will make them the wealthiest hunters in the province."

This was not just a plan to save a town; it was a plan to build a nation.

"And to tie it all together," Rhys continued, "we will have our own currency. The Eon Token. It will be earned through work, through service to the Conglomerate. A hunter brings in a beast core, he earns tokens.

A blacksmith forges a sword, he earns tokens. An alchemist creates a potion, he earns tokens. And with those tokens, they can buy anything they need from the other guilds. It is a closed loop, a perfect economic engine that I control completely."

He leaned back in his chair.

"And finally, the most important part. The ’Academy of the Abandoned’. We will build a school, Derin. A place of learning. The skill scrolls I showed you?

They are just the beginning. I will make all knowledge available to those who prove their loyalty and their merit.

We will create our own experts, our own masters. We will give a future to the very people they cast aside as useless."

Derin’s eyes were wide, his mind struggling to keep up with the scale of Rhys’s vision. Then the light in them dimmed a bit.

"The resources needed for all of this are immense, My Lord," Derin said, his head still bowed.

"But it is clear you can solve that problem yourself. My concern is with the people."

He looked up, and for the first time, Rhys saw not just loyalty, but a deep, profound doubt in the old soldier’s eyes.

"If these priceless resources are used on us... on people who have no future, no talent to improve with them... then everything you are building will be nothing but a paper dream. We are the abandoned for a reason, My Lord. We are the ones who failed."

"And we simply do not have enough people to begin with. After all," Derin finished, his voice heavy with a lifetime of accepted failure, "without a strong foundation to build upon, even the grandest structure cannot last for long."