The Twenty-eighth Duke of Mason

  The main tower of the Duke of Mason's castle sits atop a high hill, where the Herman family first built their tower. The Herman family's history is said to date back to the time of Charlemagne, when they were only minor lords on the border. Their tower initially had only two floors, but as the family's power grew, it was gradually increased to three, four, and so on. When it could no longer be expanded upwards, the Herman family began building walls around the tower, slowly extending them outwards from the hill in concentric circles. The closer one lived to the center of the castle, the closer they were to the Herman family, until the outermost layer was formed by various residential buildings for people working for the Hermans.

  "How many city walls have we passed?" Yifu scratched his head and turned to Arude as he crossed the last city gate.

  "This is the third one, and it should be the last city wall. Look, isn't that the tower where the Duke resides?" Arwade gazed at the sturdy stone structures of the city walls, involuntarily admiring the wealth and power of the Herman family. The brick structures were indestructible, with green moss growing on them, showing their age. The guards standing on the wall, holding broad-bladed long-handled axes and wearing helmets, were vigilant at all times. The arrow towers stood densely in the castle, and the archers looked out through the narrow shooting holes, giving anyone who saw it an unbreachable psychological feeling.

  "We've arrived." The main tower of the castle presented a stereoscopic quadrangular columnar shape. From the fourth layer of stone steps, Arwode and others saw that the gate of the tower was made of solid oak and tied with black iron bars, with three rows of iron rivets on top. Above it, the flag of Duke Mason's family emblem hung proudly in the gentle night breeze. The gate revealed a gap, and small attendants wearing square cloak badges came in and out, occasionally sending food from the lord's kitchen next to the tower into the room. Light leaked from the gap in the gate, and people's laughter also spread across the empty fields. The four-layer high tower had lively lights in every window on each floor, with men in noble attire and carefully dressed noblewomen smiling and chatting at the windows.

  "This is my home, welcome, my friends." Sir Ebril stood with one foot on the step, smiling and waving his arm to Arwod and others, with a proud tone.

  "A beautiful home." Yves's mouth hung open, his eyes wide with wonder as he stared up at the tower, following Sir Ebrulf in a daze.

  "A place of solemn grandeur and glory." Sir Wendel gazed up at the towering spire, his voice tinged with reminiscence. The knight's youth had been spent largely within these walls, and he still recalled vividly the scene of his first accolade in the tower.

  "Ah, welcome!" Sir Ebril pushed open the large door and strode in, with Arwold following closely behind. Their arrival drew attention from others, and as Arwold stepped into the medieval castle for the first time, he was filled with curiosity. He saw that from the entrance to the farthest point inside, there were many massive stone pillars supporting the internal structure. Looking up, he could see the vaulted ceiling of the tower. The interior was not entirely made of stone; instead, the staircases and corridors between floors were constructed from sturdy birch wood planks. Many nobles stood there conversing with each other, with windows on one side and a balustrade on the other. The large open space on the first floor was filled with long wooden tables and benches, covered with candelabras holding burning candles and white linen tablecloths. Other nobles sat there eating and drinking heartily. Their voices naturally echoed in the grand hall of the banquet, and Sir Wendel told Arwold that this place was deliberately built to be so spacious, so that whispers between nobles would be amplified by the echoes, allowing the duke seated there to know who was plotting against him. Of course, this was just a beautiful wish; real plots would naturally take place elsewhere.

  "Father, these are Sir Wendel and his family; they are my guests." Lord Aber walked to the far end of the long table, in front of an old man with a shining golden noble crown on his head, whose hair was silver white, and said loudly.

  "My son, you don't need to shout so loudly, I'm not deaf yet." The old man's face was ruddy, with a pair of eyes that inadvertently revealed a stern expression, a high nose and a downturned nose tip, thin lips that were occasionally pursed, wearing a blue silk robe, with a large red gemstone pendant around his neck. This was the most powerful person in this land, Duke Mason.

  "Duke, I am Sir Blackmoor of the Old Duke's own tutelage, at your service my most noble lord." Sir Wendel hastened forward on one knee, his head bowed and hand pressed to his chest, reciting the oath of fealty. Seeing their father kneel, Yifu and Arud also hastily dropped to one knee.

  "Ah, of course, of course, delighted you could make it to my party." Duke Mason merely raised his own finger slightly, his fingers were long and thin, but no one dared to question the power of this finger, because it was said that when Duke Mason executed his enemies, he would use this finger to give orders to his knights.

  "My father, they are my guests." Sir Ebril's brow furrowed in disapproval, feeling his father was not showing enough respect to his guests.

  "My son, I've already given you enough face, be content." Duke Mason looked at his handsome son with a smirk, amused by the young man's naivety. His own banquet was filled with significant political intentions, and all the guests invited were lords or bishops who could help the Herman family in critical moments. And yet, his foolish son had brought several unknown knights to join the party, and he hadn't even sent them to dine with the grooms, which was already a great favor.

  "We are already more than satisfied to be able to attend your banquet, and we have no other intentions." Lord Wendel hastened to assure the duke.

  "Hmm, very well." The duke sat in a high-backed oak chair, nodded and began to converse with the Bishop of Rist in a low voice beside him, not sparing a glance at the Wendel family or anyone else, as if he didn't even want to waste his energy.

  "Perhaps we shouldn't have come here." Arwade's heart was indignant, although Wendel and Eve didn't mind the duke's attitude. That was because they were used to the hierarchical system of this era and lived under it as a matter of course. But Arwade wasn't. His soul came from the 21st century without hierarchy, as a Chinese who dared to fight against heaven with his own strength, his self-esteem made him unable to tolerate such contempt. However, he couldn't let his little self-respect lead the whole family into disaster, so he suppressed the unhappiness in his heart.

  "Oh, is that roasted goose meat? And wine." Eve didn't think so much, seeing so many delicious foods, he naturally wanted to enjoy this rare feast. So he saw an empty seat on the long bench and sat down with a plop, reaching out to grab food from the table and putting it in front of him. Gluttony was a characteristic of the nobility of this era, so no one blamed his crudeness. On the contrary, several young nobles thought Eve was a refreshing knight and struck up a conversation with him.

  "Father, I need some air." Arutha said to Lord Wendel, though there were friendly nobles towards his family, more people treated them as outsiders among their midst, the stifling atmosphere was making it hard for Arutha to breathe.

  "Off you go, child. I have some old acquaintances to meet with. I recall there's a side door on the left that leads to the courtyard garden. You can take a stroll around there, but don't forget your manners. If you see any of the duke's family, be sure to bow and give way."

  "The duke's family should all be attending the banquet." Arwade looked at Sir Eber, who was sitting next to the duke, and a middle-aged noblewoman wearing a silk long dress, who should be the duke's wife, thinking so, he headed towards the side door his father had told him.

  "Where is your sister Josie, Abner?" The Duke and the Archbishop had a somewhat dry conversation after which the latter declared that his diocese was completely neutral in this war and would not take sides with either the Duke of Saxony or the Duke of Meissen. This left the Duke of Meissen somewhat disappointed and helpless, for if the Archbishop were to join forces with him, he would have had enough power to defeat the Duke of Saxony. But under the present uncertain circumstances, the Archbishop's choice was also understandable. The Duke could even guess that the Duke of Saxony must also be trying to win over the Archbishop, which made him feel somewhat anxious and restless. He couldn't help but think of his lovely daughter and where she had run off to; if she were here, she would surely cheer him up - the good child was always a source of joy for him.

  "I don't know, she says she has a headache and doesn't want to attend the banquet." Sir Ebril said, picking up a slice of ham and taking several large bites before turning to Duke Mason.

  "What's wrong with the child, has Brother Royce seen him?" The Duke of Mason furrowed his brow and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, causing the oak to creak. Brother Royce was a monk skilled in medicine who oversaw the physical health of the duke's family members.

  "No, she said maybe it was playing too long in the courtyard last night, and resting today will be fine." Sir Ebral felt a little jealous of his sister, as the duke favored her over him, but he had nothing to say because he also spoiled that little one.

  "Go and see her, go yourself." The Duke of Marston ordered his son discontentedly, and waved his hand impatiently to dismiss a baron who stood up wanting to toast the Duke of Marston. Lord Aber had no choice but to stand up and throw down the delicious food, leaving reluctantly.