Lord blessed by the elves

Chapter 2 The Ruined Territory
"It's finally here! The perks of time travelers."

Kruze's eyes lit up suddenly. He squeezed his legs against the horse's belly, and the fairly strong nag trotted through the rather simple wooden gate of Lion Tooth Territory.

The two militiamen on guard at the gate wore patched old leather armor and carried gleaming spears.

Upon seeing Kruse, a clear look of surprise flashed across their eyes, as if they hadn't expected this "young master" to return alone, especially during this time of war.

But their surprise was instantly replaced by trained obedience; they quickly straightened their backs, placed their rough hands on their chests, and spoke with a barely perceptible hint of unease:
"Welcome back, young master!"

Kruse remained expressionless, only giving a barely perceptible nod to his chin as a response.

He didn't stop, urging his horse to continue forward.

The horses' hooves pounded the compacted earth with a dull thud.

The Lion's Tooth Territory that comes into view is less a knight's glorious fiefdom and more a forgotten, large farm struggling on the poverty line.

Its size is really limited; after all, it is just a knight's territory, a tiny place that can be seen in a few glances.

The low, dilapidated shacks, like mushrooms with festering sores, clustered haphazardly on both sides of the road.

The roof was covered with rotten thatch or blackened planks, and the walls were made of mud and branches, cracked and peeling in many places, revealing an equally barren interior.

The air was thick with a suffocating, oppressive smell, a mixture of animal dung, damp earth, and smoke from burning firewood.

Most glaringly, not a single free citizen could be seen in the entire territory.

Everywhere he looked, there were serfs dressed in rags, covered in dust, with numb eyes.

They toiled hunched over in the cold air, or cast timid and empty glances from the doorways of dilapidated houses.

Kruse knew that every inch of this land, every dilapidated house, and even the people themselves were all tied to his father’s surname and title.

Every winter, the howling north wind mercilessly sweeps away several frail lives, freezing them to death in some drafty corner of a thatched hut. This is just a silent and long-standing norm on this land.

Kruse was fully aware of all this decline.

The root of the problem lies with his renowned father, Reyes the Lion.

As the Earl of Camp Nou's sharpest sword and strongest shield, Reyes dedicated almost all his time and life to the Earl and the battlefield.

Lion's Tooth Territory, this fiefdom won with blood, was more like a distant symbol to him, a responsibility to support his warriors rather than a home to cultivate.

The management and development of the territory were entrusted entirely to the steward who remained in charge.

The steward… Kruze’s gaze swept over the dilapidated shacks and the emaciated faces of the serfs, his lips pressed into a cold, straight line.

Competence? Loyalty? Both are worth exploring in depth.

The glory of her father on the battlefield did not seem to penetrate the dark cloud called "neglect" that hung over Lion Fang Territory.

Kruze pulled on the reins, dismounted, and handed the weary horse to the groom who had rushed over at the sound of his voice. He looked up at the so-called "castle" before him, which was more like a slightly sturdy stone farmhouse than a castle.

It occupies only about 200 square meters, with a two-story structure and walls made of rough gray stone, from which a few strands of withered grass stubbornly grow.

The only defensive symbol was a low stone wall at the entrance, more symbolic than practical, and a heavy oak door that was now open.

The old butler, Buffett, appeared at the doorway at just the right moment. He wore a faded but crisply starched butler's uniform, his hair meticulously combed, and a perfunctory, respectful smile plastered on his face. He strode forward and bowed deeply.
"Ah! Young Master! You're back!" His voice carried just the right amount of surprise, but then his tone shifted, and his cloudy yet shrewd eyes quickly swept over Kruze, as if confirming something, his tone carrying a hint of deliberate doubt, "This... the battle at the front is raging, why... didn't you accompany the Master on his campaign?"

This question is like a fine needle, precisely piercing Kruse's most painful scar.

How could Buffet not know the reason?
The Count's order to send back the apprentice knights must have been communicated beforehand.

This question, which is already known to the answer, is tantamount to a veiled insult.

Kruse narrowed his eyes, and before he could figure out the most dignified way to brush it off, a young voice filled with heavy sarcasm rang out from behind him:

"Hmph! What else could it be? Butler Buffel, you're just asking a question you already know the answer to!" A boy, even more robust than Kruze, dressed in hunting attire and carrying a wild rabbit on his shoulder, strode over.

With an undisguised sneer on his face, he was none other than Rezael, Kruse's younger brother.

He walked closer, deliberately tossed the rabbit to the ground with a dull thud, then raised his chin, his gaze sweeping contemptuously over Kruze, his voice loud enough for the passing servants to hear clearly:

"It's probably our 'honorable' eldest brother. His pitiful fighting spirit hasn't improved at all; he can't even muster a vortex of energy! Father is wise and mighty; taking him to the battlefield? That would be like bringing a burden, sending him to his death for nothing! Keeping him in the territory, at least he can... well, watch over the house?"

Rezael's words were like a poisoned dagger, piercing Kruze's heart and instantly tearing his dignity to shreds.

The air around them seemed to freeze. The servants lowered their heads, quickened their pace, and dared not look any longer.

Butler Buffet maintained his respectful smile, seemingly oblivious to Rezal's harsh words. However, his slightly drooping eyes betrayed an indescribable coldness and...knowingness.

Kruse took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs and suppressing the surging humiliation and anger.

Having lived two lives and accumulated over thirty years of experience, he possessed a maturity and patience far beyond his apparent age.

Although his face was ashen from his brother's humiliation, his eyes held a calm as still as an icy lake, showing no trace of the anger or loss of control that a young man should have.

He stopped looking at the smug and provocative Rezal and instead fixed his gaze on the old butler Buffel, whose smile remained but whose eyes were unfathomable.

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a deliberate, authoritative steadiness, mimicking his father's authority, and clearly pierced the slightly awkward silence.
"Butler Buffet".

The old butler bowed slightly, his posture impeccable: "Yes, young master?"

Kruze's gaze swept over Buffalo, then casually glanced at Rezal, who still wore a mocking expression, and said, word by word, "This return is my father's arrangement. He has appointed me—Kruze Lion—to manage all affairs of Lion Fang Territory."

He deliberately emphasized the words "appointment," "full management," and "all affairs."

The moment the words left his mouth, it was as if the air had been sucked out.

(End of this chapter)