Meeting!

The door closed softly behind him. For a moment, there was silence in the room. Thorn's gaze lingered on the door Harry had exited through, and his composed expression gradually shifted into one of sharp calculation.

"Your Excellency," a voice broke the silence, coming from a young man standing by the wall. He looked genuinely moved. "That young man, he's quite the filial child, isn't he? The sadness on his face just now… he was on the verge of tears."

Thorn turned toward him, a bemused smile creeping onto his face. "You think he's truly grieving?"

"Isn't he?" The young man tilted his head, confused. "It seemed genuine. His voice, his demeanor; it was all so… sincere."

Thorn chuckled softly, shaking his head. "David, do you know what you're saying? That man is anything but a sentimental fool. He's the same person who killed his stepmother and two of his own brothers to secure his place as Baron Ethan's heir. Do you truly believe someone like that has tears to spare for his father?"

The young man, David blinked, stunned. "He… did that? But… he seemed so—"

"Convincing?" Thorn finished, his smile fading into something more serious. "That's what makes him dangerous. And remarkable. I had expected him to be crass, blunt, perhaps overly confident. But instead, he walked in here with all the poise and manners of a seasoned noble. He's far more capable of deception than I'd anticipated."

"But why pretend?" David asked, still processing.

"Because, my son," Thorn said, his tone cooling, "a man like that knows when to play the part. He understood the situation perfectly. He knew that showing grief would disarm me, make me more inclined to sympathize with him. He's no ordinary knight or lord, he's a strategist, and a damn good one."

Thorn paused, his gaze distant for a moment, before his expression softened again. "I have to admit, I underestimated him. Becoming a knight at sixteen is no small feat, but his talent goes far beyond the battlefield. His ability to read a room, to adapt, to manipulate; that's the mark of a genius."

Thorn turned back to David, his tone shifting to something more instructive. "Listen carefully. This Harry may one day rise far beyond his current station. He's young, ambitious, and clever. You, too, are young, and in terms of strength, you may even be his equal. But in other ways, he's miles ahead."

Thorn leaned forward slightly, his gaze hardening. "If you ever have the opportunity, forge a connection with him. Build a rapport. He's the kind of ally who could change your future."

David hesitated, unsure. "Do you think that's wise? A man like that… he could just as easily be an enemy as an ally."

"Exactly," Thorn replied, his tone sharp. "And that's why it's better to have him on your side. A wolf is less likely to bite when it feeds at your table. Remember that."

David nodded, though his expression remained pensive. "Understood, Father. I'll keep that in mind."

Thorn smiled faintly, but his thoughts remained on Harry. 'A wolf indeed,' he thought to himself. 'Let's just hope he doesn't outgrow his leash.'

---

Walking out of the hall, Harry replayed the earlier encounter in his mind. The conversation with Earl Thorn had gone smoothly, but it wasn't the Earl who lingered in his thoughts.

It was the young man standing at Thorn's side.

Among the guards stationed around the hall, that young man was the only one who caught Harry's attention. He had a presence about him; a sharpness, a weight, that set him apart from the others. Harry wasn't one to be easily intimidated, but there was no denying the subtle tension in his chest when their eyes briefly met.

'That one,' he thought, his expression unreadable, 'is dangerous.'

Could he be a knight? It wasn't often you saw someone so young carry that kind of aura. Then again, the rumors Harry had heard about Earl Thorn's youngest son suddenly resurfaced in his mind.

David Thorn.

The youngest child of the Earl, barely twenty, but already a knight, a rare achievement in this world. Harry had heard stories of the Earl's open affection for the boy, grooming him personally to inherit his legacy. A young knight of such promise and skill was bound to be the pride of any noble house.

'That must have been him,' Harry concluded silently, committing David's features to memory. There was no telling when their paths might cross again, but something told Harry that this wouldn't be their last encounter.

---

Under the guidance of a servant, Harry was shown to his quarters. The room was spacious, well-appointed, and adorned with luxurious furnishings. Everything smelled new and fresh, clearly prepared with great care for the guests who had come at the Earl's invitation.

The maid assigned to his service stepped forward, bowing politely. "My lord, if there is anything you require, please let me know. I am here to ensure your stay is comfortable."

Harry barely glanced at her, waving his hand dismissively. "Leave me. I need no service."

The maid bowed again and exited without a word, leaving him alone.

Harry shut the door behind her and let out a slow exhale, finally allowing his mask of polite composure to slip. Moving to the window, he gazed out at the city below, his mind still turning over what he had observed in the hall.

Earl Thorn wasn't just gathering anyone; he was being deliberate. The men and women called here weren't ordinary lords or nobles; they were knights, warriors, people with real power. Harry wondered what the Earl truly intended. 'You don't call a gathering of knights just to talk about plagues,' he thought, his lips tightening into a faint smirk.

---

Two days later, the appointed date arrived, and the halls of Thorn's manor buzzed with activity. Lords and knights from across the region had assembled, each carrying their own suspicions and curiosities about why they had been summoned.

That evening, Earl Thorn hosted a grand banquet to welcome his guests. The hall was magnificent, adorned with banners and lit by glittering chandeliers. Plates overflowed with food, and cups brimmed with wine. Despite the feast, however, the atmosphere was heavy with tension.

Standing at the head of the table, Earl Thorn raised his glass, his face wearing its usual calm, practiced smile. "My esteemed guests, welcome," he said warmly, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Your presence here fills me with hope. With so many great lords and knights gathered together, I believe we have the strength to overcome the plague that threatens our lands."

As he finished speaking, a murmur ran through the room. Though his words were polite, they left many of the lords confused and annoyed.

A deep, gruff voice broke the murmurs.

"With all due respect, Your Excellency, why exactly have you called 'us' here?"

The voice belonged to a stout, broad-shouldered man with scars running down the side of his face. His cold, direct tone carried across the hall.

"If you wanted someone to fight, I'd understand," the man continued bluntly. "But dealing with a plague? I'm a knight, not a healer. You want me to swing my sword at disease?"

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Earl Thorn, waiting for his response. Even Harry leaned back slightly in his chair, watching carefully.

Thorn, however, didn't falter. He met the man's sharp words with an easy smile, as though he had expected such a question. "A fair concern," he said, nodding slightly. "And one I will address."

His eyes scanned the room, taking in the expressions of his guests. "I summoned you here not because you are healers, but because you are warriors. Each of you commands power, power that will be crucial in the days to come. The plague is not a simple illness, my friends. It brings something far worse in its wake."

The lords exchanged uneasy glances.

"Worse than death?" the gruff man asked skeptically.

"Worse," Thorn affirmed, his voice dropping. He gestured to one of his attendants, who stepped forward and placed a parchment on the table in front of him. "You have all heard the rumors. The dead walking, twisted and feral, attacking the living without hesitation."

The murmurs returned, louder this time.

"These are no mere tales," Thorn continued, his tone hardening. "The plague spreads death, and death gives rise to monsters. Creatures that feel no pain, that do not stop, that cannot be reasoned with. Entire villages have been overrun in days."

Harry's expression didn't change, but inwardly, he couldn't help but admire the Earl's skill in commanding the room. The weight of his words pressed down on everyone present.

"But why us?" another lord asked, his voice quieter, tinged with unease. "Why knights? What can we do against such horrors?"

"Because knights are the only ones who can," Thorn said firmly. "We can't cure the plague, that much is true. But we can protect the living. We can contain the threat before it spreads further. And…" He paused, letting the tension build, "…we may uncover the source of this nightmare."

The room went quiet again.

"Make no mistake," Thorn said, looking each lord in the eye. "I did not summon you here to fight the plague. I summoned you to fight what comes 'after'. And if we fail… the entire region will fall."

His words hung in the air like a blade poised over their heads.

Harry remained silent, his mind racing. Thorn's plan was clearer now, he wasn't just rallying them to address the plague; he was building an army to fight the chaos left in its wake. And if Thorn was right about the scale of the threat, it would take every ounce of strength they could muster to survive it.

For now, Harry kept his thoughts to himself, sipping his wine as the room buzzed with quiet conversations. But one thing was certain: whatever happened next would be far more dangerous and far more interesting, than he had anticipated.