Edward Vistro was in his bedchambers, the quiet of the room broken only by the faint sound of water still dripping from the bathroom. He stepped out slowly, a towel draped loosely around his waist, droplets of water tracing lines down his chest and arms before falling onto the floor. The room was large, far larger than any chamber within the estate, with high ceilings and tall windows covered by heavy curtains. This room had once belonged to his father, the former Marquis, and that fact alone made the space feel heavier than it should have.
Edward moved toward the window and looked out at the estate. The lanterns along the pathways glowed softly, and the rebuilt manor stood quiet under the night sky. From the outside, everything looked stable. Orderly. Strong. That was exactly the image he wanted people to see.
Inside his mind, his thoughts were moving far more actively.
His plan was working, exactly as he intended.
The royal army’s pressure campaign had not surprised him. Just like in his previous regressions, he had expected such a move from the royal court. The Crown chose not to rush into open conflict, fearing that doing so would draw the attention of external kingdoms into the situation. Instead, they favored slow, grinding methods meant to wear people down over time. These methods appeared lawful on the surface, yet were cruel in practice.
The pressure campaign was designed to accomplish clear goals.
One goal was the disruption of the local economy. By placing restrictions on trade routes, increasing inspections, and delaying permits, the Crown hoped to slow the flow of goods into and out of Edward’s territory. Merchants would lose money. Craftsmen would struggle to sell their wares. Farmers would find it harder to move surplus crops. When people began to feel hungry or uncertain about their future, they would inevitably start questioning Edward’s rule.
Another goal was to discourage other nobles from doing business with Edward. Several new laws had been passed under the wording of "maintaining royal legitimacy." Any noble who wished to trade with the Vistro territory now had to file advance declarations with the royal court. These declarations could take weeks or even months to be approved. Nobles above a certain rank were also required to send a royal observer with their trade caravans, someone who reported directly to the capital.
Edward exhaled slowly.
Several new laws had been introduced in the past few days alone.
One law required all large scale construction projects within his territory to receive approval from the Royal Infrastructure Bureau, even though such authority had traditionally belonged solely to the Marquis. This meant construction within his territory would be limited to local expertise. If Edward wished to build any complex structure that required external specialists, he would need royal approval, which would be nearly impossible to obtain.
Another law created a new tax classification that labeled his territory as "under provisional review." This allowed the Crown to impose sudden levies on merchants passing through, discouraging trade caravans from even entering the region.
Noble level contracts above a certain value were now considered invalid unless witnessed by a royal magistrate. This effectively prevented Edward from forming strong alliances with major houses, forcing him to rely on lesser lords and minor families who possessed only limited resources.
Even so, Edward already knew the measures he would take in response. He would not resort to direct confrontation. The kingdom of Luminaris still boasted five Archmages, now reduced to four after the Duke’s death. At his current cultivation, only at the early level of the High Mage realm, Edward did not possess the battle prowess needed to face four Archmages at once. Diplomacy, patience, and steady expansion were the wiser path, especially with the anticipated civil war looming only months away.
And still, Lesser lords, while limited in power and resources, were not useless. Many of them had deep local connections, and flexible operations that did not attract royal attention. By spreading his dealings across many small agreements instead of a few large ones, Edward made it harder for the Crown to track and block everything at once.
Most importantly, Edward understood one thing the Crown had forgotten.
Pressure only worked if the target had nowhere else to stand.
Edward stepped away from the window and reached for a clean cloth to dry his hair. His expression remained calm, his mind clear.
Just as he finished drying off, a sharp knock echoed through the chamber.
The sound was sudden, firm, and respectful.
Edward paused.
He already knew who it was.
He reached for his undergarment and pulled it on quickly, the towel falling away as he secured the fabric around his waist. As he did, a name surfaced in his thoughts without effort.
Fiona.
He straightened slightly and spoke toward the door.
"Come in."
With that, the door opened slowly.
Fiona stepped inside, her movements cautious. She kept her head lowered, her hands folded tightly in front of her. The door closed behind her with a soft click that seemed louder than it should have been in the quiet room.
This chamber had once belonged to the old Marquis. Standing here now, Fiona could feel the weight of it pressing down on her chest. The large bed, the heavy furniture, the banners on the walls. Everything reminded her that the power in this room had changed hands in blood.
While she was away in her hometown for two months, she had heard the rumors.
Their spread quickly, growing darker with every telling. Some said Edward had used a demonic spell to kill the Marquis. Others claimed the Duke had begged for mercy before being torn apart. There were even rumors that Edward had slaughtered his entire family to secure his position.
Fiona did not know what to believe.
She remembered Edward as a Polite. Reserved. Someone who kept to himself and rarely raised his voice. The idea that he could be a monster did not sit well with her, but the fear was still there, twisting her thoughts.
Now, he was the Marquis.
Her Marquis.
She did not know how to address him properly. Every word felt dangerous. Every breath felt heavy.
Edward turned toward her.
He was calm. His expression was neutral, almost indifferent. He did not look like a man drunk on power or stained by guilt. If anything, he looked tired, but controlled.
The silence stretched.
Fiona stood frozen, unsure whether to speak or wait. Her heart pounded in her chest. She could feel sweat forming on her palms.
Edward broke the silence.
"Put my clothes on for me."
The words were simple. Direct. An order.
Fiona’s eyes widened slightly before she caught herself and lowered her head even further.
Shock rippled through her thoughts.
He sounded the same.
The tone was the same one he used before, calm and firm, without cruelty. It was the voice of someone used to being obeyed, not someone looking to threaten.
Edward was only fifteen.
He could not be that evil, could he?
Her mind raced. She questioned her own fear. She questioned the rumors. She questioned whether she was overthinking everything. But fear did not vanish so easily, especially when power changed hands so violently.
She hesitated.
But Edward gaze remained steady, his patience thin but controlled. He spoke again, his voice slightly sharper, cutting through her hesitation.
"I won’t repeat myself. Come put on my clothes."