Neither Anna nor Lydia returned by the time Drake heard someone outside call out that it was time for supper, but he knew someone would have come to get him if the camp caught fire or they got attacked by werewolves. He also noticed his palm had stopped hurting.
Best to see if he’d succeeded in his latest quest. It took effort to unwrap the binding on his palm—Lydia had been really thorough—but soon enough, he shook off the wrapping. After he wiped some crusted blood off his hand, he found a palm as unmarked as before.
He pulled out his trusty letter opener. He drove the tip into his now unbroken palm.
Pain came at once, as expected. As withdrew the letter opener, a dollop of blood welled out... and stopped. The hole he’d poked into his palm vanished. It had worked! This last test confirmed everything he had had hoped.
Drake poked several more experimental pokes, and each time, the tiny wound left by the letter opener’s tip sealed up in a second or so. Samuel definitely hadn’t healed nearly this fast, so not only did he have Samuel’s rarity just like he’d hoped. His ability to regenerate was also apparently burnished.
Moreover, the faint sense of the ground shifting beneath his feet that had vexed him since he nearly went off the balcony last night was gone. No doubt about it now. He could only keep one rarity at a time, but holy shit was this going to be useful. Drake grinned wide.
Excitement flooded him as possibilities stretched out ahead. He could turn invisible. He could freeze people’s blood. He could even make his own delicious, spicy meat, though he’d have a hard time explaining to Meryl why he wanted to mix blood with her.
With the true power of his rarity now confirmed, Drake felt like he had a chance to not just survive this world, but thrive here. Moreover, he was now certain he’d had this rarity since he arrived. It was how he absorbed Lord Crow’s dire rat.
His rarity was rarity copying, or to put it in terms that would be more familiar in his world, rarity emulation. If he could somehow find a way to steal some of Lord Proudglade’s blood, he could even toss lightning bolts. That’d throw the old bastard for a loop... or, in a fight, incinerate him.
Drake strode out of his tent with new confidence—no flutterstepping into a pole—and pushed back the flap. He emerged to a dark night with a bright fire not far off. He glanced left to find a large green zarovian in full armor standing at attention. He held a shiny pike straight up with its non-pointy end dug into the ground.
Drake nodded to his loyal soldier and strode out of the tent. Soft slippers announced just who he’d expected. As he meandered toward the fire, Valentia once more found his side. She must have taken on escort duties while the others were busy.
Drake glanced at her. “Thanks for pulling all this together so quickly.”
“It had to be done.”
“And it was done well. After supper, I want you to meet me in my tent with Samuel and the other battle maids. I’d like to talk about what we can accomplish during our trip to the capital. There’s still a lot I need to learn, so I’ll trust you all to tell me where I’m lacking.”
Valentia nodded firmly. Once they reached the light, he spotted a number of folks already spooning thick soup from wooden bowels. There was a large table set up with two large cookpots. He recognized Meryl standing beside one, scooping out soup herself.
This trip had just gotten even better.
He spotted Samuel as well, of course, and then did a double take. Cleaned up and dressed, the man looked like an absolute boss. He’d trimmed his previously shaggy black hair down a short, spiky mess that looked badass instead of unkempt, and while he still had his beard, he’d dispensed with the mustache entirely and carved it into a slick chin beard.
Most people couldn’t make a chin beard look good. Samuel did. His chiseled features, bodybuilder fame, and perfectly pressed noble clothes made him look more like a manor lord than Drake felt he ever could. He was a little envious that his butler looked so smooth.
Butlers were supposed to be the slim, balding guys with monocles who came out to carry silver platters, not the cunningly handsome lead in a fantasy movie. No wonder old Lord Crow had given Samuel grief. He’d probably been jealous as fuck.
“Excuse me.” Valentia hurried off toward Samuel.
And now Drake’s loyal battle maid had tossed him aside to rush to Samuel’s side! Valentia firmly gripped Samuel’s big, strong hands. She stared up at him and spoke so softly that Drake couldn’t hear. So much about not touching. That must only apply to manor lords.
Still, Drake could only smile as he watched Valentia and Samuel speak quietly and warmly like two old friends who hadn’t seen each other for years. It was the first time he could remember Valentia smiling so often and so wide. It felt good to see that.
Everyone in this camp was obviously thrilled to have Samuel back. With a little time to consider the critiques his butler had offered, Drake couldn’t see how the man had steered him wrong, even regarding the pretentious and unreasonable noble court. He knew enough about governments to know they never cared if people thought they were assholes or not.
Complaining about how a government worked changed nothing. All you could do was suffer through their bullshit and get it over with. He’d find a way to assuage the noble court... and with Samuel to guide him, he’d have a much better chance of doing so than otherwise.
With no one to stop him he took a place in the soup line, which only became a problem when the woman ahead gasped and immediately scrambled out of his way. The rest of his people then spotted him and scrambled to clear a path as Meryl, blinking, held her soup spoon in mid-scoop. Fluid dribbled back into the pot.
It was time to prove to his people, once and for all, that he wasn’t the same as the other manor lords they’d known. He motioned with one hand and kept his tone measured and calm. “Back in line, everyone. I’m pleased with the work you’ve done to set up our camp and prepare our dinner. Meryl, you may continue serving people as they were already assorted.”
Every one of them simply stared at him.
“Now,” he added, with a warm smile to take the sting out of his command.
Still looking rather confused, his people nonetheless reformed their brief line. After a moment, Meryl and another cook began to serve soup again. Drake patiently waited his turn, then took a bowl and held it out for his head cook.
As she carefully scooped what looked like broth and meat into his bowl, he leaned forward. “I’m not sure if Lydia has forwarded my compliments on your cooking, but the meat you prepare is the best I’ve ever eaten. So please, keep up the good work.”
She immediately inclined her head. “Thank you, lord.”
Now equipped with a bowl of soup, he walked to the fire and watched two folks who’d been warming their hands hurry off. They were gone before he could call them back, so he sat on a freshly split log beside the fire and slipped his wooden spoon into the soup. Remembering the time he burnt his lips on hot tea, he blew across the spoon first. Though given his new rarity, he could likely simply regenerate any burns.
A cautious sip of the soup found it hot but tolerable. The bits of meat and veggies within tasted a bit bland, but even Meryl could only do so much with a batch of soup this massive. She had a whole camp to feed. While Drake didn’t have an exact count, he suspected he had at least a dozen employees and as many zarovians, as well as his battle maids.
A manor lord traveled with a sizeable entourage. He wouldn’t be surprised if pompous nobles like Lord Proudglade traveled in a caravan three times the size of this one, with pompous golden knights like that Orson asshole strutting around oiling their mustaches. And as for Sky... he wondered where Sky was now. It was, after all, about time for them to talk.
He’d just sat down at the campfire and gotten his soup. It would look odd to everyone if he left right after sitting down, and he had six more days to contact Sky if he missed her tonight. As a wind cooled his face, a brilliant night sky filled with stars glowed, and people who were actually loyal to him milled about, he realized how comfortable he was here.
He could live in this world without complaint. He still faced dangerous enemies, of course, and challenges, but he could now regenerate wounds with lightning speed, emulate and swap out the rarities of anyone loyal to him while making their rarities more powerful, and trust powerful warriors to have his back and help him out. He was in a good place.
And he was surrounded by good people.
A blur of white and black dashed by, and then Emily dived butt-first onto the bench beside him. Grinning wide and holding her bowl of soup, she leaned close. “That was rude, lord! I thought we were all going to eat in the big tent!”
Drake glanced her way. “If that was the plan, I didn’t get the memo.”
“You can’t eat out here every day, you know. Assassins can shoot a very long way. Your tent protects you, but out here, anyone could put an arrow up your nose.”
“I’ll remember that. But I trust we’re safe for now?”
“If we aren’t, me and Sachi are going to have a fight.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “So, did it work?”
“Did what work?”
She leaned even closer and whispered. “Your thingie.”
Lydia must have told her what he and Samuel had planned. After a quick look around to make sure no one was paying too close attention, Drake set down his bowl and pulled out his trusty letter opener. He held his palm between them, eyed her, then poked his palm. Blood welled as he removed the letter opener, then vanished.
Emily made a small “Oooh!” and grinned up at him. “Again?”
He snorted softly and slashed his whole palm open. Blood coursed down his hand before he could stop it, but he faced his palm down so his blood briefly dribbled onto the ground. A moment later, he turned his palm back up again. Then flexed.
There was no trace of the slash from his letter opener. Now, however, his palm was covered in wet blood. He should have remembered to grab a napkin from the table.
Emily yanked a clean white handkerchief from her pocket with a flourish, then scrubbed his palm clean. She tucked the blood-soaked hankie back into her apron with equal aplomb, then eased back and nodded with wide eyes. She looked thrilled.
“You might be the most powerful manor lord.”
“Thanks, Emily.”
Her eager grin threatened to split her face open. “Which means I’m now the most powerful battle maid for the most powerful manor lord!”
He chuckled. “Let’s wait until after Korhaurbauten to start making promises like that.”
Author's Note:
This chapter concludes "Book 1" of Rise of a Manor Lord, in the sense that this arc revolved around Drake landing in this strange world, figuring out its rules, disarming the old lord's traps, and consolidating his power. As of this chapter, Drake now has the full loyalty of everyone in his manor, understands his powerful and flexible rarity, and is ready to tackle the other manor lords arrayed against him.
I'm going to be making some small changes moving forward. First, I'm going to take a short break from RR and Scribblehub before I start posting "Book 2", which will revolve around Drake's misadventures on the way to the capital, recruiting new allies, and tearing apart Lord Proudglade's "Big Four" alliance piece by piece. I'll start posting Book 2 here on Tuesday, July 11.
Second, I'm going to a "four posts a week" schedule starting July 11, and will subsequently be posting Tuesday-Friday. This will give me more time to edit each chapter and make sure I don't burn out. To make up for slowing down on the posting schedule, I've advanced the Patreon one week ahead. It now has 12 chapters ahead of Scribblehub, or three weeks. Book 2 already has 12 chapters on the Patreon if you don't want to wait until next Tuesday, along with a free side story ("How Much Would You Like This to Hurt?") and some cool art.
As always, all your comments, fascinating speculation on where the story is going, and your encouragement is truly appreciated!
Next Week: Sachi smells a wolf, Drake tests his new crossbow, and Samuel is concerned.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Read Ahead on My Patreon
Chat On My Discord
Neither Anna nor Lydia returned by the time Drake heard someone outside call out that it was time for supper, but he knew someone would have come to get him if the camp caught fire or they got attacked by werewolves. He also noticed his palm had stopped hurting.
Best to see if he’d succeeded in his latest quest. It took effort to unwrap the binding on his palm—Lydia had been really thorough—but soon enough, he shook off the wrapping. After he wiped some crusted blood off his hand, he found a palm as unmarked as before.
He pulled out his trusty letter opener. He drove the tip into his now unbroken palm.
Pain came at once, as expected. As withdrew the letter opener, a dollop of blood welled out... and stopped. The hole he’d poked into his palm vanished. It had worked! This last test confirmed everything he had had hoped.
Drake poked several more experimental pokes, and each time, the tiny wound left by the letter opener’s tip sealed up in a second or so. Samuel definitely hadn’t healed nearly this fast, so not only did he have Samuel’s rarity just like he’d hoped. His ability to regenerate was also apparently burnished.
Moreover, the faint sense of the ground shifting beneath his feet that had vexed him since he nearly went off the balcony last night was gone. No doubt about it now. He could only keep one rarity at a time, but holy shit was this going to be useful. Drake grinned wide.
Excitement flooded him as possibilities stretched out ahead. He could turn invisible. He could freeze people’s blood. He could even make his own delicious, spicy meat, though he’d have a hard time explaining to Meryl why he wanted to mix blood with her.
With the true power of his rarity now confirmed, Drake felt like he had a chance to not just survive this world, but thrive here. Moreover, he was now certain he’d had this rarity since he arrived. It was how he absorbed Lord Crow’s dire rat.
His rarity was rarity copying, or to put it in terms that would be more familiar in his world, rarity emulation. If he could somehow find a way to steal some of Lord Proudglade’s blood, he could even toss lightning bolts. That’d throw the old bastard for a loop... or, in a fight, incinerate him.
Drake strode out of his tent with new confidence—no flutterstepping into a pole—and pushed back the flap. He emerged to a dark night with a bright fire not far off. He glanced left to find a large green zarovian in full armor standing at attention. He held a shiny pike straight up with its non-pointy end dug into the ground.
Drake nodded to his loyal soldier and strode out of the tent. Soft slippers announced just who he’d expected. As he meandered toward the fire, Valentia once more found his side. She must have taken on escort duties while the others were busy.
Drake glanced at her. “Thanks for pulling all this together so quickly.”
“It had to be done.”
“And it was done well. After supper, I want you to meet me in my tent with Samuel and the other battle maids. I’d like to talk about what we can accomplish during our trip to the capital. There’s still a lot I need to learn, so I’ll trust you all to tell me where I’m lacking.”
Valentia nodded firmly. Once they reached the light, he spotted a number of folks already spooning thick soup from wooden bowels. There was a large table set up with two large cookpots. He recognized Meryl standing beside one, scooping out soup herself.
This trip had just gotten even better.
He spotted Samuel as well, of course, and then did a double take. Cleaned up and dressed, the man looked like an absolute boss. He’d trimmed his previously shaggy black hair down a short, spiky mess that looked badass instead of unkempt, and while he still had his beard, he’d dispensed with the mustache entirely and carved it into a slick chin beard.
Most people couldn’t make a chin beard look good. Samuel did. His chiseled features, bodybuilder fame, and perfectly pressed noble clothes made him look more like a manor lord than Drake felt he ever could. He was a little envious that his butler looked so smooth.
Butlers were supposed to be the slim, balding guys with monocles who came out to carry silver platters, not the cunningly handsome lead in a fantasy movie. No wonder old Lord Crow had given Samuel grief. He’d probably been jealous as fuck.
“Excuse me.” Valentia hurried off toward Samuel.
And now Drake’s loyal battle maid had tossed him aside to rush to Samuel’s side! Valentia firmly gripped Samuel’s big, strong hands. She stared up at him and spoke so softly that Drake couldn’t hear. So much about not touching. That must only apply to manor lords.
Still, Drake could only smile as he watched Valentia and Samuel speak quietly and warmly like two old friends who hadn’t seen each other for years. It was the first time he could remember Valentia smiling so often and so wide. It felt good to see that.
Everyone in this camp was obviously thrilled to have Samuel back. With a little time to consider the critiques his butler had offered, Drake couldn’t see how the man had steered him wrong, even regarding the pretentious and unreasonable noble court. He knew enough about governments to know they never cared if people thought they were assholes or not.
Complaining about how a government worked changed nothing. All you could do was suffer through their bullshit and get it over with. He’d find a way to assuage the noble court... and with Samuel to guide him, he’d have a much better chance of doing so than otherwise.
With no one to stop him he took a place in the soup line, which only became a problem when the woman ahead gasped and immediately scrambled out of his way. The rest of his people then spotted him and scrambled to clear a path as Meryl, blinking, held her soup spoon in mid-scoop. Fluid dribbled back into the pot.
It was time to prove to his people, once and for all, that he wasn’t the same as the other manor lords they’d known. He motioned with one hand and kept his tone measured and calm. “Back in line, everyone. I’m pleased with the work you’ve done to set up our camp and prepare our dinner. Meryl, you may continue serving people as they were already assorted.”
Every one of them simply stared at him.
“Now,” he added, with a warm smile to take the sting out of his command.
Still looking rather confused, his people nonetheless reformed their brief line. After a moment, Meryl and another cook began to serve soup again. Drake patiently waited his turn, then took a bowl and held it out for his head cook.
As she carefully scooped what looked like broth and meat into his bowl, he leaned forward. “I’m not sure if Lydia has forwarded my compliments on your cooking, but the meat you prepare is the best I’ve ever eaten. So please, keep up the good work.”
She immediately inclined her head. “Thank you, lord.”
Now equipped with a bowl of soup, he walked to the fire and watched two folks who’d been warming their hands hurry off. They were gone before he could call them back, so he sat on a freshly split log beside the fire and slipped his wooden spoon into the soup. Remembering the time he burnt his lips on hot tea, he blew across the spoon first. Though given his new rarity, he could likely simply regenerate any burns.
A cautious sip of the soup found it hot but tolerable. The bits of meat and veggies within tasted a bit bland, but even Meryl could only do so much with a batch of soup this massive. She had a whole camp to feed. While Drake didn’t have an exact count, he suspected he had at least a dozen employees and as many zarovians, as well as his battle maids.
A manor lord traveled with a sizeable entourage. He wouldn’t be surprised if pompous nobles like Lord Proudglade traveled in a caravan three times the size of this one, with pompous golden knights like that Orson asshole strutting around oiling their mustaches. And as for Sky... he wondered where Sky was now. It was, after all, about time for them to talk.
He’d just sat down at the campfire and gotten his soup. It would look odd to everyone if he left right after sitting down, and he had six more days to contact Sky if he missed her tonight. As a wind cooled his face, a brilliant night sky filled with stars glowed, and people who were actually loyal to him milled about, he realized how comfortable he was here.
He could live in this world without complaint. He still faced dangerous enemies, of course, and challenges, but he could now regenerate wounds with lightning speed, emulate and swap out the rarities of anyone loyal to him while making their rarities more powerful, and trust powerful warriors to have his back and help him out. He was in a good place.
And he was surrounded by good people.
A blur of white and black dashed by, and then Emily dived butt-first onto the bench beside him. Grinning wide and holding her bowl of soup, she leaned close. “That was rude, lord! I thought we were all going to eat in the big tent!”
Drake glanced her way. “If that was the plan, I didn’t get the memo.”
“You can’t eat out here every day, you know. Assassins can shoot a very long way. Your tent protects you, but out here, anyone could put an arrow up your nose.”
“I’ll remember that. But I trust we’re safe for now?”
“If we aren’t, me and Sachi are going to have a fight.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “So, did it work?”
“Did what work?”
She leaned even closer and whispered. “Your thingie.”
Lydia must have told her what he and Samuel had planned. After a quick look around to make sure no one was paying too close attention, Drake set down his bowl and pulled out his trusty letter opener. He held his palm between them, eyed her, then poked his palm. Blood welled as he removed the letter opener, then vanished.
Emily made a small “Oooh!” and grinned up at him. “Again?”
He snorted softly and slashed his whole palm open. Blood coursed down his hand before he could stop it, but he faced his palm down so his blood briefly dribbled onto the ground. A moment later, he turned his palm back up again. Then flexed.
There was no trace of the slash from his letter opener. Now, however, his palm was covered in wet blood. He should have remembered to grab a napkin from the table.
Emily yanked a clean white handkerchief from her pocket with a flourish, then scrubbed his palm clean. She tucked the blood-soaked hankie back into her apron with equal aplomb, then eased back and nodded with wide eyes. She looked thrilled.
“You might be the most powerful manor lord.”
“Thanks, Emily.”
Her eager grin threatened to split her face open. “Which means I’m now the most powerful battle maid for the most powerful manor lord!”
He chuckled. “Let’s wait until after Korhaurbauten to start making promises like that.”
Author's Note:
This chapter concludes "Book 1" of Rise of a Manor Lord, in the sense that this arc revolved around Drake landing in this strange world, figuring out its rules, disarming the old lord's traps, and consolidating his power. As of this chapter, Drake now has the full loyalty of everyone in his manor, understands his powerful and flexible rarity, and is ready to tackle the other manor lords arrayed against him.
I'm going to be making some small changes moving forward. First, I'm going to take a short break from RR and Scribblehub before I start posting "Book 2", which will revolve around Drake's misadventures on the way to the capital, recruiting new allies, and tearing apart Lord Proudglade's "Big Four" alliance piece by piece. I'll start posting Book 2 here on Tuesday, July 11.
Second, I'm going to a "four posts a week" schedule starting July 11, and will subsequently be posting Tuesday-Friday. This will give me more time to edit each chapter and make sure I don't burn out. To make up for slowing down on the posting schedule, I've advanced the Patreon one week ahead. It now has 12 chapters ahead of Scribblehub, or three weeks. Book 2 already has 12 chapters on the Patreon if you don't want to wait until next Tuesday, along with a free side story ("How Much Would You Like This to Hurt?") and some cool art.
As always, all your comments, fascinating speculation on where the story is going, and your encouragement is truly appreciated!
Next Week: Sachi smells a wolf, Drake tests his new crossbow, and Samuel is concerned.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Read Ahead on My Patreon
Chat On My Discord
