A corrupt King sits the throne. The last generation of heroes have gone extinct. The lands are as green and as promising as they ever were. The Gods watch with interest and they wait. As next the next uprising comes from the most unlikely of places. A slow burn novel.
Lord Blackwell shook his head at that. "You're positively feral, aren't you, Oliver? That is something that you will need to work on. No doubt that you will quickly pick up such things at the Academy, but do so with my warning: in the courts, I had to put out my neck for you. In the absence of your Father, and with the recommendation of Lombard, I've staked a claim on you. Your actions, be they good or bad, in the future, they will reflect on me."
"And what do I gain from this arrangement, Lord Blackwell?" Oliver spoke directly, but politely. Even in the presence of a Lord, with such wealth draped over him, of the likes that he had never seen, Oliver did not hesitate to speak his mind.