239 Preparing for the Journey

After his conversation with Helen, William shifted his focus back to stabilizing Asagrim.

But this time, rather than overseeing everything himself, he turned his attention to a different task—training Hans to act as his proxy.

Hans, overwhelmed, stared at him in horror. “Your Highness, I haven’t even adjusted to my role as chamberlain, and now you’re giving me this responsibility? I’m not qualified!”

“It’ll be difficult,” William admitted, “but there’s no one else I trust to handle it.”

Hans paled. “Wait. Proxy? You don’t mean—”

“I do,” William said. “You’re going to act as lord in my absence.”

Hans’s mouth fell open.

In a traditional noble estate, if a lord had to leave, the steward or chief administrator would temporarily assume his duties. The idea of placing a newly appointed chamberlain in such a role was unprecedented.

“I—I can’t!” Hans stammered.

“Don’t worry,” William reassured him. “I’m not expecting you to manage everything. The other administrators will handle governance, and Sir Gareth will oversee the military. You only need to step in if serious conflicts arise.”

“But that’s the problem!” Hans protested. “Who would even listen to me? No one will take my judgment seriously!”

“Then let Sir Aizen act as your advisor,” William said. “Tell him to stand by your side and provide support. He knows our circumstances—he won’t refuse.”

Hans still looked unconvinced. “But—!”

William silenced him with a firm look.

“I’m not asking for miracles,” he said. “If I return to find the territory in chaos, I won’t blame you. Just keep things stable. As long as a rebellion doesn’t break out and Asagrim isn’t burned to the ground, I’ll consider it a success.”

Hans let out a strangled groan.

It was clear from William’s tone that no amount of protesting would change his mind.

“…Fine,” Hans grumbled. “But I really am just going to hold things together. If anything goes wrong, don’t blame me later.”

William smirked. “I won’t.”

“At least tell me where you’re going!” Hans demanded.

William’s smirk widened.

“To retrieve a dragon’s corpse.”

“…What?”

“There’s something I need to collect.”

Hans gawked at him.

William said nothing more.

To be honest, even he wasn’t sure what to believe yet.

Whether the dragon’s remains truly existed. Whether a tribe beyond the tundra was using its heart.

There was only one way to find out.

Six months passed.

In that time, Hans gradually settled into his role, however reluctantly.

Asagrim’s population continued to grow. What was once an empty land now bustled with life, with nearly half the city filled with new settlers.

Merchants, sensing an opportunity, flocked to establish trade routes.

Shops began opening. The economy stabilized.

With the land’s foundation secured, even the administrators finally had a moment to breathe.

But it wasn’t just the land that had changed.

“Sir Hugo has completed his training in the Lion’s Sword.”

William, enjoying a rare moment of peace, blinked in surprise. “Already?”

Aizen nodded.

The Lion’s Sword was an ancient technique reserved only for those who served the lineage of House Hern.

Hugo had never been a knight before, and as such, had never been eligible to learn it.

Only after his official knighthood had the teachings been passed down to him.

And now, in just six months, he had mastered it.

William had expected Hugo to show promise, but the knight’s rapid progress still caught him off guard.

“He had talent from the beginning,” Aizen remarked, “but now that he has cast off his burdens, his growth has accelerated. If he continues at this rate, it won’t be long before he surpasses Sir Raymond.”

William’s lips twitched upward. “That’s… both impressive and a little unsettling.”

For a Sword Saint like Aizen to declare that Hugo had fully mastered the technique meant there was nothing left to teach him—at least in that particular sword style. A part of William couldn’t help but feel pleased. A hidden talent had been brought to light, and under his own leadership, no less.

But Aizen wasn’t finished.

“And Felicia as well,” he added. “Yesterday, we held our final sparring session. There’s nothing more I can teach her. From now on, she must refine her skills through real combat.”

William’s expression shifted. His eyes sharpened.

Felicia was different from Hugo. She wasn’t just Aizen’s student—she was his daughter, his heir. If Hugo had mastered a single sword technique, then Felicia… had inherited everything Aizen had to offer.

It meant that, in Aizen’s eyes, Felicia had reached a level where she could already be considered a Sword Saint.

“You have given me the chance to set things right,” Aizen said, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction. “I have no regrets left. Whenever the Eight Masters call for me, I will go without hesitation.”

William’s expression stiffened. “Don’t speak like that. You still need to see Felicia make a name for herself.”

“Haha, that’s true,” Aizen admitted with a smile.

But William couldn’t shake the unease settling in his chest.

Regret was a heavy weight, but it also tethered a person to life. It gave them something to hold onto—something to keep them moving forward.

And yet, Aizen had no regrets left.

William knew what that meant. If things continued like this, he might leave this world far sooner than he had in William’s past life.

I need to act quickly.

After seeing Aizen off, William made his way to Ian and Raymond.

As expected, Ian was buried in his research, surrounded by the rare herbs retrieved from Asagrim’s underground treasury.

“I’ve identified nearly all their properties,” Ian said, his voice practically humming with excitement. “Every leaf, every petal—each one possesses incredible potential. If I refine them into potions, the results will be—”

He cut himself off, staring into the distance as if lost in a trance.

William watched him in mild amusement. He looks like a man who’s glimpsed heaven itself.

“But,” Ian muttered after a moment, his voice losing some of its enthusiasm, “I still haven’t found a proper substitute for Moonlight Grass. That’s the most critical component.”

“That is unfortunate,” William admitted. “What about the nectar I requested?”

“I managed to make two more vials,” Ian said, handing them over. “Moonlight Grass is scarce, no matter how much pressure I put on my suppliers. They say they can’t find any more.”

William accepted the vials, tucking them away. “That’s enough.”