CHAPTER 19: THE SEEDS OF SUSPICION

[Leif’s POV – Thorenvald Estate, Training Field]

I leaned against the railing, the winter air biting at my cheeks, and watched the field below.

"Hmmm... Sir Haldor really did a good job," I mumbled, as my eyes swept across the sight.

Baron Sigurd, standing at my side with his usual calm composure, gave a small nod. "Yes, my lord. After hearing the requirements you set for your knights, many young people from the villages applied. These here—" he gestured toward the field—"are the ones who passed every single test Sir Haldor demanded."

My gaze sharpened. Down below, rows of fresh-faced men and women stood in formation, their breaths steaming in the cold air, while beside them padded the magnificent forms of my Crimson Pack. Wolves and humans, side by side. Not rivals. Not predators and prey. But partners.

"And Sir Haldor himself?" I asked, eyes still fixed on the sight before me.

"He has taken a personal interest in training them," Baron Sigurd said. "He intends to shape them himself, until you say otherwise."

It’s... amazing that sir Haldor treats managing my wolves and training recruits like it’s nothing.

In truth, what I was seeing was far from nothing. It was the beginning of something no one had ever dared to imagine.

The field below throbbed with energy. The Crimson wolves sat proudly beside their chosen knights, their eyes gleaming like embers. And the recruits—they stood taller because of it. Shoulders squared. Backs straight. Their hands did not tremble, for they knew they were not alone.

If—no, when—this succeeded...

I gripped the railing tighter, heart pounding.

These knights would become the first in history to walk forward, leading my Crimson Packs into battle.

It would be a spectacle the world had never seen. Not just men and women wielding swords. Not just wolves baring fangs. But both—bound in loyalty, moving as one.

A union of discipline and raw primal power.

Together, they would be unstoppable.

"Do you see it, Baron Sigurd?" I murmured, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. "Once they’re trained, once their bond with the packs deepens... my knights and my wolves will no longer be separate. They will be one force. A single, unbreakable unit."

The baron nodded. "It will change everything, my lord. This... this has never been done before."

Exactly. This is history in the making. Imperial knights may have their polished armor and endless coin. But mine? Mine will have the loyalty of beasts, the strength of wolves, and the courage of men and women who’ve already survived the harshest winters this land can offer.

I could almost see it.

An army marching under my banner, the Crimson Packs running alongside them, howls shaking the earth. Imperial knights? Hah. They would falter before the storm I was building here. Even the Emperor himself would not be able to look away.

I let out a breathless chuckle. "They’ll be stronger than Imperial knights, Baron Sigurd. Stronger than anything the empire has ever fielded. The kind of strength that carves its name into the bones of history."

The baron nodded with a smile. I just leaned further over the railing, smiling faintly and proudly. Because for the first time since arriving in this goddamn world, I wasn’t just surviving.

I was building something that could shake the entire empire to its core.

"It’s fun," I muttered to myself, grinning like a maniac at the sight of my wolves and recruits moving in formation.

And then—warmth.A big woolen jacket suddenly draped around my shoulders.

I startled, looking up—only to see Alvar standing beside me. His glacier-blue eyes narrowed, his expression a mixture of sternness and... something softer.

"Why are you wearing thin clothes?" he asked, voice low, almost scolding. "Do you want to catch a cold?"

I smirked, puffing out my chest like a proud rooster. "Hah! Joke’s on you. I drank two whole bottles of beer this morning. I’m very warm. Internally."

Alvar stared at me. Flat. Unamused.

"Beer does not replace clothes, Leif," he sighed, like a long-suffering husband realizing his wife just put a fork in the toaster again.

I huffed and flicked my hand dramatically. "Details, details."

But he didn’t argue. He just adjusted the jacket around my shoulders, making sure it stayed snug, before turning his gaze toward the field.

"Oh... so the new recruits have joined," he murmured, watching the knights and my wolves with that calculating calm of his.

"Yes!" I beamed, placing a hand proudly on my hip, nose tilting skyward. "Do you see this, Grand Duke? My knights—MY knights—will be stronger than any other knights in history! They’ll put Imperial knights to shame!"

I tilted my chin higher, basking in my own genius. Honestly, I was about two seconds away from demanding someone paint me in this exact pose for the history books.

Alvar’s lips curved—just faintly. A rare sound rumbled from his chest. A chuckle.

"That’s great," he said softly. His eyes lingered on me a fraction too long before he added, "Now... shall we go? The royal siblings are waiting. They want to inspect the greenhouse project personally."

I groaned dramatically, dragging my hands down my face. "Gosh... I already feel tired just thinking about them."

"Hmm." Alvar’s hand settled on my shoulder, steady and firm, a casual touch that sent sparks skittering down my spine. "Endure it. We have big negotiations ahead—for the Trivurum Core Stone."

***

[Greenhouse Construction Site—Leif’s POV]

The construction site buzzed with life—archmages weaving runes into the frames, workers hauling glass panels, and the scent of damp earth and magic in the air. It was beautiful chaos, the kind that would one day feed Frojnholm even if the empire starved us.

Crown Prince Arden and Princess Sirella stood at the front, their presence regal and sharp—like polished blades meant to remind the world who ruled. Archmages bent low, explaining every detail of the runic heating systems, the irrigation enchantments, and the light-reflecting glass.

And me?I stood a step behind them with Alvar at my side, calm and collected. Or at least pretending to be.

Then it happened.Both royal siblings turned their gaze toward me.

A single glance. The archmages bowed quickly and scattered, as if sensing blood in the water. Sirella’s lips curled. That smirk—sharp enough to slice me in half.

"Leif, I never knew," she purred, "that a traitor’s brain of yours could still think of such clever ideas."

I froze for half a second, smiling faintly outside. Inside? Trembling with rage. Compliment served with insult—free package deal.

"Thank you, Your Highness," I said sweetly. Then my smile sharpened. "I had to come up with the idea, of course. Since the royal family cut off supplies to Frojnholm."

Did you think only you could play games, Sirella?Bitch—please. I invented them.

Sirella’s smirk faltered for just a flicker of a heartbeat. Then she leaned in, lashes fluttering, voice dripping with venom.

"If the Thorenvald family had not betrayed the royal crown..." Her smile was sharp, eyes glittering. "...why would we cut the supplies in the first place?"

Bitchy bitch.

I tilted my head, expression angelic, words dripping acid. "Strange. I never knew the royal family was so pitiful—that they would starve innocent commoners just to punish one house. History will not call you glorious rulers, Your Highness." My smile widened, sharp as ice. "It will call you petty tyrants."

The air thickened. Sirella’s fists clenched at her side, her frame trembling ever so slightly.

"You—!" she hissed, eyes flashing.

But before she could spit fire—

"Wait," Crown Prince Arden interrupted, blinking innocently. "Why... would we cut the supplies?"

...

The entire field froze. Even the workers slowed, sensing the sudden shift in air.

I blinked. Sirella blinked. Alvar’s brow furrowed faintly.

"Brother... you didn’t?" Sirella asked.

Arden tilted his head, looking baffled. "Why would I?"

We furrowed our brow. Then, Arden continued saying, "I didn’t cut any supplies, Sirella. There was no reason for me to. Why would I starve commoners? That doesn’t benefit anyone."

What’s going on?

Alvar finally spoke, his tone calm and grounded but wary. "...Your Highness, are you saying you gave no such order?"

"That’s exactly what I’m saying." Arden’s voice carried firm honesty. "I never gave such an order."

My lips parted. "But... Baron Sigurd said it was your decree. He even showed us a letter—signed, sealed, and stamped with the royal crest."

Arden’s frown deepened. "A letter with my seal?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "We received it directly."

He shook his head. "But I never signed such a paper. Ever."

The silence that followed could’ve cracked glass.

Even Sirella, for once, had no words. Her hand trembled slightly at her side. Alvar’s jaw tightened. Arden looked troubled but honest.

And then—like idiots in perfect sync—we all muttered under our breath:

"...Something is fishy."