Chapter 3: The Crumbling Kingdom

Chapter 3: The Crumbling Kingdom

The next morning, Alden awoke early, the pale dawn light filtering through the small window of his chamber. The stone walls, cold and unadorned, pressed down on him, a stark reminder of how far the Harroway family had fallen. His body still ached, his limbs weak from weeks of inactivity, but his mind was sharp, buzzing with questions. This world was a puzzle, and the pieces were slowly falling into place. But one critical aspect remained elusive: the true state of Eryndor.

Conrad's words from the night before had stung. The Harroways were weak, yes, but what about the kingdom itself? What forces were at play beyond the estate's crumbling walls? Alden had lived in the shadows of academic brilliance in his past life, and if there was one thing he had learned, it was that knowledge was power. He needed to understand the world he had been thrust into—not just its magic, but its politics, its economy, and its society.

As he dressed in simple robes, he made a decision. Today, he would venture beyond the estate and into the nearby village. If he was going to understand Eryndor, he needed to see how its people lived. The common folk often knew more about the state of the kingdom than the nobles did.

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The road to the village wound down from the estate through the parched fields, where once-verdant crops had withered into brittle stalks. Alden rode slowly on a weary-looking horse, the rhythmic clop of hooves the only sound in the still morning air. The further he went, the more signs of decay became apparent. Farmhouses stood abandoned, their roofs sagging and their doors hanging off rusted hinges. Fences lay collapsed, overtaken by wild brambles. The land was sick, and the people were suffering for it.

The village itself was no better. A small collection of stone and wooden buildings clustered around a central square, most of them in disrepair. The cobbled streets were uneven, with weeds growing through the cracks, and the people who moved about did so with hunched shoulders and tired eyes. Alden dismounted, tethering his horse to a post near a faded inn sign that creaked in the wind.

He entered the inn, the dim light inside doing little to lift the sombre atmosphere. A handful of villagers sat at rough wooden tables, their conversations muted. The innkeeper, a middle-aged man with a greying beard, gave Alden a cursory glance before turning back to cleaning a mug with a stained rag.

Alden approached the counter, choosing his words carefully. "Good morning. I'm looking to learn a bit more about the state of things. Has the harvest been poor this year?"

The innkeeper snorted, setting the mug down with a clatter. "Poor? Lad, it's been poor for the last five years. The drought's turned our fields to dust. We barely have enough to feed ourselves, let alone send anything to the cities."

Alden frowned, leaning in slightly. "And what of the kingdom? Surely the crown must be aware of the conditions here."

The innkeeper gave him a hard look, as if deciding whether to trust him. Finally, he sighed and lowered his voice. "The crown? The king sits on his throne, far away in the capital, surrounded by his mages and courtiers. They don't care about what happens out here in the hinterlands. As long as the cities stay fed and the nobles pay their taxes, they turn a blind eye."

Alden's heart sank. So, it wasn't just the Harroways struggling in this part of the kingdom. The drought had crippled the entire region, and the monarchy was too distant—too insulated by layers of privilege and magic—to care. He pressed further. "And the nobles? Don't they offer any aid?"

The innkeeper scoffed. "Aid? The nobles are just as bad. They hoard what little they have left. The ones with magic still have their grand estates, their enchanted wells to keep the water flowing, but the rest of us?" He gestured around the room. "We're left to rot."

Alden nodded slowly, taking it all in. The social divide was stark—those with magic lived in relative comfort, protected from the harsh realities of the world, while the common folk struggled to survive. It was no different from the wealth inequality he had seen in his old world, where the privileged few lived in luxury while the majority scraped by. But here, magic exacerbated the gap, creating an almost insurmountable divide between the haves and the have-nots.

"What about the other nobles?" Alden asked, his voice quiet. "Is it just our lands, or are others facing the same troubles?"

The innkeeper leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "It's not just us. The kingdom's falling apart, lad. The borderlands have been overrun by raiders, and the merchants refuse to travel beyond the major cities anymore. There's talk of rebellion in the south—peasants rising up against their lords. And the mages? They're at each other's throats, squabbling over power while the rest of us suffer."

Alden felt a chill run through him. The kingdom was unraveling, its foundations crumbling beneath the weight of corruption, neglect, and internal strife. The king was distant, the nobles were selfish, and the common folk were on the brink of revolt. It was a powder keg waiting to explode.

"What's caused all this?" Alden asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"The drought," the innkeeper replied, shaking his head. "It's been going on for years. Crops have failed, livestock's died, and no one's been able to figure out why. The mages have tried, but their spells haven't brought the rains. Some say it's a curse, others say it's the gods' punishment."

A curse? Alden's mind raced. It was unlikely to be a mere coincidence, but the people of this world lacked the tools to investigate the cause properly. If magic was as deeply intertwined with the land as he suspected, then perhaps it was a magical issue—something disrupting the natural flow of mana. Or, more sinisterly, it could be a deliberate act, an unseen hand pulling the strings.

He filed the thought away for later. For now, he needed to gather more information. "And what of our family?" Alden asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. "How are the Harroways viewed?"

The innkeeper's expression soured. "The Harroways? No offence, lad, but your family's seen better days. The old lord—your father—he's a decent enough man, but weak. He hasn't been able to keep the estate running, and everyone knows it. Your brothers... well, they're not much better. The younger one's a hothead, always getting into fights. The elder, Conrad, he's trying to hold things together, but without magic, there's not much he can do."

Alden's stomach twisted. His family's position was even more precarious than he had thought. Without magic, they were powerless in a kingdom where magical strength determined everything. And with the economy collapsing, their wealth and influence were dwindling rapidly.

"Thank you for your honesty," Alden said quietly, placing a few silver coins on the counter. The innkeeper gave a small nod of appreciation but said nothing more.

As Alden left the inn, the weight of his new reality settled over him. Eryndor was a kingdom on the edge, its people desperate, its leaders blind or uncaring. And the Harroways, with their lack of magical power, were teetering on the edge of oblivion. Yet, as bleak as the situation seemed, Alden felt a flicker of something deep inside him: opportunity.

The kingdom's woes were rooted in magic—something that everyone around him accepted as an immutable force. But Alden didn't see magic as a mystery. To him, it was a system waiting to be understood, a code waiting to be cracked. If he could harness the principles of magic the way he had once harnessed the power of genetics, he could change the rules of this world. He could find the cause of the drought, rebuild his family's fortunes, and perhaps even reshape Eryndor itself.

As he mounted his horse and began the ride back to the estate, Alden felt the first stirrings of a plan forming in his mind. The kingdom was fragile, and fragile things could be reshaped.

All it would take was knowledge—and Alden intended to acquire all of it.