Chapter 161 Declaration

Words : 1117 Updated : Oct 2nd, 2025

Jolthar sat in the heart of the bustling town, his usual spot just outside the bakery that Nora had built with such passion. Mira, as always, had clambered into his lap the moment he arrived, chattering away with her innocent exuberance. Her presence was a comforting distraction, but Jolthar's mind was far from at ease. He glanced around at the townsfolk, their faces painted with a mixture of curiosity and unease as the latest rumours swept through the streets. Your next journey awaits at My Virtual Library Empire Whispers of invaders, burnt villages, and the strange happenings in the outlying areas spread like wildfire. The merchants who came into the town brought the rumours from the west. The barony, nestled at the centre of its lands, was surrounded by varied terrain that added to its strategic importance. To the north lay the expansive Meadow Plains, an area of fertile land and gentle hills. To the south, the mines remained a source of growing wealth but also potential vulnerability. East and west were flanked by the dense Alariden Woods, which acted as natural barriers but also hid countless unknowns. The barony itself was small in population compared to the larger cities of the empire, but its prosperity had drawn attention. Once a modest settlement, it had swelled to house nearly 5,000 people as miners, merchants, and artisans migrated to partake in its burgeoning wealth. Despite this growth, the barony's military presence was modest. With only 500 soldiers, including infantry and cavalry, it was far from prepared for a full-scale invasion. Yet Jolthar noticed that Cleora had moved quickly to rally her forces, assembling them with an efficiency that suggested she had anticipated trouble long before the rumours reached the townsfolk. He watched her soldiers train in the distance, their movements sharp and purposeful. Cleora was no fool; she understood the precarious position the barony was in. But why had she sent an envoy instead of going herself to meet the lords of Chittera? Mira's voice pulled Jolthar from his thoughts momentarily as she rambled about a kitten she had seen earlier. He smiled faintly, his hand gently patting her head, but his mind drifted again. The decision to send an envoy gnawed at him. It made sense, politically, for Cleora to go herself. As the baroness, her presence could have conveyed respect and authority, possibly diffusing tensions. Chittera's lords, despite being outside the empire's direct rule, were still figures of power and pride. To send an envoy instead of going personally could be seen as a slight. Was it a matter of fear? Or was Cleora playing a deeper game? Jolthar's instincts told him there was more to this. He had heard enough about Chittera to know that their lords, though few in number, were warriors of formidable skill and lineage. Their ogre ancestry was no mere legend; it was evident in their strength and ferocity. If Cleora had miscalculated, it could provoke them further. Yet, if her decision was deliberate, what was she hoping to achieve by staying behind? Was she preparing for the worst, knowing that diplomacy was unlikely to succeed? He shifted slightly in his seat, causing Mira to giggle as she adjusted herself on his lap. Jolthar's eyes scanned the town square, observing the subtle shifts in the crowd's energy. People who had once moved freely were now more cautious, their steps hurried, their voices hushed. The barony's recent prosperity had brought with it both opportunity and danger, and now the looming threat of Chittera cast a shadow over its people. As Mira continued to talk, Jolthar's mind turned to the envoy. The old man Cleora had sent was a trusted figure, loyal and experienced. Yet Jolthar couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The journey to Chittera's camp was dangerous, not just because of the lords themselves but also because of the strange reports coming from the surrounding villages. Burnt-out homes, bloodstained ground with no bodies—these were not the acts of mere raiders. "And as swift as possible." While waiting, he stood silently beside the horse, his expression grim. The crowd stayed at a distance, murmuring nervously among themselves. Jolthar could feel their fear, their uncertainty. This was no longer a mere rumour or distant threat—it was here, on their doorstep, and it was terrifyingly real. Minutes later, Cleora arrived, flanked by her son Roblan and Nora. Her face, usually composed, betrayed a brief flinch when her eyes landed on the mutilated body. Roblan and Nora, however, were visibly shaken, their faces pale as they struggled to comprehend the horror before them. Roblan looked like he might be sick, and Nora clutched his arm tightly for support, her eyes wide with shock. Cleora, to her credit, recovered quickly. Jolthar watched her carefully, his keen eyes noting the way she straightened her shoulders and composed herself. Despite the gruesome scene, she did not crumble. Instead, she began issuing orders with a steady voice, her authority slicing through the tension like a knife. "Get this... abomination off the horse," she instructed, her tone firm. "Bring it to the square. We need to examine it further. And find out if anyone saw where the horse came from." She turned to Roblan and Nora, her voice softening slightly. "Go back to the mansion. There's no need for you to be here." Roblan hesitated, clearly torn between obeying his mother and staying by her side, but a sharp look from Cleora sent him and Nora retreating toward the mansion. As the soldiers moved to carry out her orders, Cleora glanced at Jolthar, who was still watching her intently. "They're making a statement," she said quietly, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "They're daring us to respond." Jolthar nodded, his eyes narrowing. "A statement, yes," he agreed. Cleora's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then we'll need to prepare," she said firmly. "If this is what they're capable of, we can't afford to hesitate." Jolthar said nothing, but his mind raced. The mutilated envoy was a clear sign that diplomacy was no longer an option. Chittera had drawn first blood, and the barony would have to respond—decisively and swiftly. But how? With only a modest force at their disposal and the full might of Chittera looming, the odds were stacked against them. As the soldiers worked to remove the envoy's remains from the horse, Jolthar and Cleora exchanged a grim look. The time for plans and strategies was over. War was no longer a distant possibility—it was here, knocking on their door.

Chapter 161 Declaration

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