Ch3: Personal interest.

One fine day, Alaric Vargas was lounging in his dimly lit room, lost in the pages of an old book. The soft light of the afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. He was at the climax of the story, his mind fully immersed, when an unexpected knock at the door interrupted his peace.

"Enter," he called out, not bothering to lift his gaze from the book.

The heavy oak door creaked open, and in stepped the head steward, Geralt, alongside a young maid named Lila. Geralt was a tall, stern man with a no-nonsense demeanor, while Lila was petite with a sharp tongue, often speaking out of turn.

"Master Alaric," Geralt began respectfully, "your presence is requested by the Count in the meeting hall."

Alaric didn't even glance up. "Not now, Geralt. I'm at the best part of this book, and I won't leave until I've finished it."

Lila scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You should be grateful, Master Alaric. This might be an opportunity given by the Count. You shouldn't waste—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Alaric hurled the book at her. Geralt, with reflexes honed by years of service, caught it just before it hit her face. Alaric feigned innocence.

"Oops," he said with a smirk.

Lila shuddered, taking a step back. "You shouldn't do that," she stammered.

Alaric rose from his chair, walking over to her. He leaned in close and whispered something inaudible to Geralt, but it made Lila turn pale and flee the room. Alaric watched her go with a satisfied smile, then turned to Geralt.

"Put the book down," he said nonchalantly. "My mood is ruined now."

As they walked to the meeting hall, Geralt couldn't help but ask, "What did you say to her?"

Alaric handed him a biscuit from his pocket. "Next time, make up a more detailed lie," he advised before pushing open the grand double doors of the hall.

Inside, all the nobles under the Vargas County were gathered. His father, Count Vargas, sat at the head of the table, flanked by Alaric's siblings, Damian and Eliza. Alaric scanned the room and noted the absence of a seat for him. Unperturbed, he casually sat on the table itself.

A baron, Baron Walter, rose in protest. "This is highly inappropriate!"

Alaric shrugged. "So is missing taxes, Baron Walter," he replied with a lazy grin, eliciting a few chuckles from the other nobles.

Count Vargas cleared his throat, bringing the room to order. "We have a grave matter to discuss. There are reports of an external force supporting a rebellion within our kingdom. This unrest is brewing in our region."

Alaric, lounging on the table, yawned. "Have any of you increased taxes recently?" he asked lazily, his eyes half-closed.

Some nobles bristled at his question. "What does that have to do with anything?" one of them, Sir Roderick, demanded. "This is a matter of external threat, not internal policies."

Alaric's eyes flashed with mischief. "Really, Sir Roderick? Because if you push people to the brink with high taxes, they might just be desperate enough to rebel. Just a thought."

Sir Roderick's face reddened. "You speak of matters beyond your understanding, Alaric."

Alaric leaned forward, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Beyond my understanding? Sir Roderick, I think you misunderstand the situation. People are rebelling because they're being bled dry by your greed. If you can't see that, maybe you're the one who's beyond understanding."

A few nobles murmured in agreement, while others glared at Alaric with thinly veiled contempt. The Count finally raised a hand to silence the room.

"Enough," Count Vargas said sternly. "The issue at hand is serious. We must focus on intelligence gathering. Find out who is behind this rebellion and who their external supporters are."

The meeting wrapped up with various nobles assigned tasks to investigate the rebellion. Alaric remained seated on the table, a bored expression on his face.

As the nobles filed out, Count Vargas, his face a mask of barely contained anger, approached Alaric. "You continue to make a mockery of our family," he hissed.

Alaric slid off the table and stood toe-to-toe with his father. "And you continue to underestimate me," he retorted calmly. "This rebellion is intriguing. I want a piece of it."

Eliza, his elder sister, sneered. "And what could you possibly contribute?"

Alaric gave her a cold look. "More than you, apparently."

Damian, the eldest, stepped forward, his expression hard. "You're nothing but a burden, Alaric."

Alaric shrugged. "Then consider this burden about to lift himself. I'm going out tomorrow."

Count Vargas's eyes narrowed. "Are you finally going to compete for the right of succession?"

Alaric chuckled. "Compete in that idiocy? Never. I'm doing this for fun. Besides, if I play my cards right, I might make some money."

With that, he left the hall, leaving his family fuming. The next morning, true to his word, Alaric ventured into the backward territories of the county, areas often overlooked and neglected by the nobility. He moved through the small villages, observing the hardships of the people, speaking with them, and gathering information on the brewing rebellion.

The villagers, initially wary, found themselves drawn to Alaric's sharp wit and surprising empathy. He listened to their grievances, noted their concerns, and subtly pried for information about any unusual activities or outsiders who might be stirring trouble.

By evening, Alaric had gathered enough intelligence to form a clearer picture of the rebellion's roots. He made his way back to the Vargas estate, arriving just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

On his way to his room, he passed his mother, Lady Isabella, who had just returned from another one of her endless tea parties. She glanced at him with the same disinterest she always did, a look that said he was a constant disappointment.

Alaric ignored her and continued to his room. Once inside, he collapsed onto his bed, exhausted but content. He had a purpose now, a challenge that excited him far more than any noble meeting or petty squabble ever could.

---

The next morning, Geralt found Alaric in his room, poring over maps and notes he had compiled from his trip. "Master Alaric, you look... busy," the steward remarked.

Alaric looked up, a rare gleam of excitement in his eyes. "Busy? Yes, you could say that. I've uncovered some interesting leads about this rebellion."

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "So, you are going to pursue this?"

Alaric smirked. "Of course. It's the most interesting thing to happen around here in years."

"And the right of succession?" Geralt inquired, though he already knew the answer.

Alaric laughed. "Let Damian and Eliza fight over that. I'm not interested in the title. But if I can use this situation to my advantage, why not?"

Geralt nodded, a hint of admiration in his usually stoic expression. "Very well, Master Alaric. Just... be careful."

Alaric waved him off. "Careful is my middle name, Geralt."

---

Over the next few weeks, Alaric immersed himself in the investigation, leveraging his unique skills to unearth more about the rebellion and the mysterious external force supporting it. He visited more villages, spoke to more people, and slowly, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

Back at the Vargas estate, the tension among the family continued to simmer. Count Vargas and his eldest children were preoccupied with their own pursuits, barely noticing Alaric's absence. This suited Alaric just fine. The less they paid attention to him, the easier it was for him to maneuver.

One evening, after a particularly fruitful day of information gathering, Alaric returned home to find his siblings arguing in the hall.

"This is all your fault, Damian!" Eliza was shouting. "If your factions nobles weren't so greedy with the taxes, we wouldn't be dealing with this rebellion!"

Damian glared at her. "And if you hadn't wasted our resources on your vanity projects, we'd have more funds to handle this crisis!"

Alaric leaned against the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips. "Fascinating. Please, continue. Your squabbling is far more entertaining than anything on the streets."

Both siblings turned to glare at him, their faces flushed with anger. "Stay out of this, Alaric," Damian snapped. "You have no stake in this family."

Alaric's expression turned icy. "You'd be surprised, brother. I might just be the one who saves this family from itself."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving his siblings fuming in his wake. He had a plan, and it was time to set it into motion. The rebellion was just the beginning, and Alaric Vargas was ready to prove that even an outcast could wield power in ways that no one could have anticipated.