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In the sprawling halls of Baron Geisler's mansion, a meeting room bristled with tension.

A grand table stretched the length of the chamber, its surface polished to a mirror-like shine.

Surrounding it were advisors, military strategists, and key members of the household.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the faint tang of wine, but even these luxuries couldn't mask the anxiety permeating the room.

The Baron himself, a towering figure with a thick salt-and-pepper beard, sat at the head of the table.

His piercing gray eyes swept across the room, scrutinizing every face as if daring anyone to speak out of turn.

Despite his formidable presence, his brow was furrowed in thought, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table as the discussions raged around him.

"This kingdom is fracturing," one advisor began, a wiry man with spectacles perched on his nose. His voice was sharp, cutting through the murmurs like a blade.

"The king's failure to name a successor has thrown the realm into chaos. The princes are gathering their allies, and if we delay our decision any longer, we risk being left in the cold."

"Left in the cold?" Another man, broader and red-faced, slammed his fist onto the table.

"Do you think we're some minor house to be overlooked? We are Geisler! A barony of strength, with lands that feed half the western province! Any prince would grovel for our support!"

"But at what cost?" a woman countered, her voice calm but firm. She was dressed in flowing robes, her sharp green eyes betraying a keen intellect.

"Throwing our lot in with the wrong prince could be disastrous. If they lose, the victor will strip us of our titles and lands. We must choose wisely."

"Prince Aldric has the largest army," another advisor chimed in, his voice measured. "He's young, yes, but his forces are disciplined, and his coffers are deep. Aligning with him would secure our position."

"But what of Prince Leander?" the spectacled man interjected.

"He may lack Aldric's numbers, but his alliances with the mage guilds make him a formidable contender. A single battalion of battlemages could devastate an entire army."

"And then there's Prince Orlan," the broad-shouldered man muttered.

"Cunning bastard, that one. He doesn't fight with swords or magic—he fights with whispers. He's already turned half the nobility against each other. Backing him might keep our heads on our shoulders."

The room descended into a cacophony of arguments, voices rising and overlapping as each advisor championed their preferred candidate.

The Baron listened in silence, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he raised a hand, and the room fell silent.

"We will not rush into this decision," he said, his voice a low rumble that commanded attention.

"The Geisler name carries weight. We will not squander it by pledging fealty to a prince without careful consideration.

"Continue gathering intelligence. I want to know their movements, their strategies, their weaknesses. Only then will we decide."

"But, my lord," the woman in robes pressed gently, "time is of the essence. Every moment we delay, the balance of power shifts. Already, reports suggest that Aldric's forces are advancing toward the central plains."

"Let them march," the Baron said with a dismissive wave.

"Aldric seeks to intimidate his rivals, but he cannot win the throne with brute force alone. This game is not won on the battlefield—it is won in the shadows, with alliances and betrayals."

The discussion shifted to logistics: the state of the barony's army, the condition of the treasury, and the political maneuverings of neighboring lords.

The advisors debated fiercely, their voices rising and falling like waves crashing against a cliff.

"We must also consider the smaller factions," someone pointed out.

"The minor lords and barons like ourselves. A united coalition could tip the scales in any prince's favor. If we act as mediators—"

"Mediators?" scoffed the broad-shouldered man. "That's a role for cowards. We are not fence-sitters. When we act, we act decisively."

As the argument continued, the tension in the room grew palpable.

The weight of their decision hung over them like a storm cloud, each advisor acutely aware of the stakes.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door cut through the heated debate.

The room fell silent, all eyes turning toward the entrance.

"Enter," the Baron commanded, his voice tinged with irritation.

The heavy oak door creaked open, and an attendant stepped inside, his face pale and his eyes wide with urgency. He bowed deeply before addressing the room.

"My lord," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "Forgive the interruption, but... something has happened."

The Baron's eyes narrowed. "Speak."

The attendant swallowed hard, his gaze flickering nervously across the gathered advisors.

"It's the pendant, my lord. The pendant of the young master Maxillian... it... it has shattered."

A heavy silence fell over the room, the implications of the attendant's words sinking in like a stone thrown into a still pond.

All eyes turned to the Baron, whose expression darkened like an approaching storm.

Baron Geisler's chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood, his towering frame casting an imposing shadow over the trembling attendant.

His eyes burned with fury, his thick salt-and-pepper beard quivering as his jaw clenched tightly.

The room fell deathly silent, every advisor holding their breath as the Baron strode toward the terrified servant. Enjoy new tales from empire

"You dare interrupt this meeting?" the Baron roared, his voice echoing through the grand chamber like thunder.

His powerful hands grabbed the attendant by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

The fine fabric of the servant's tunic bunched in the Baron's iron grip, choking the man slightly.

"We are in the midst of deciding the fate of this barony! The future of our lands and people lies in these discussions, and you burst in with nonsense about a pendant? Are you a fool, or do you have a death wish?"

The attendant's legs dangled as he clawed weakly at the Baron's wrist, his face turning red. "M-my lord, I—"

"Silence!" Geisler bellowed, shaking the man like a ragdoll.

"Do you know what is at stake here? The kingdom teeters on the brink of war! Princes vie for power, alliances are forged and shattered in the shadows, and every baron, count, and duke is choosing sides!

"If we misstep—if we back the wrong prince—we lose everything! Our lands, our title, our lives! Do you understand that, you wretch?"

The room's occupants watched in stunned silence, their faces pale. No one dared intervene.

"The people of this barony depend on us," Geisler continued, his voice a guttural snarl.

"Every farmer in the fields, every soldier in the barracks, every merchant in the markets—they all look to me for protection and leadership!

"I carry the weight of their lives on my shoulders! And you come here, interrupting this vital council, over some trinket? Do you think I have time for your idiotic ramblings?"

The attendant choked out a desperate, garbled response, but the Baron wasn't finished.

"And let me remind you," he hissed, his face mere inches from the servant's, "there is no danger in this barony. None! My forces patrol every road, every village, every forest.

"Bandits fear us, monsters steer clear of our borders, and the rival lords know better than to provoke Geisler!

"So tell me, you pathetic worm—what in all the hells could possibly have happened to my son Maxillian that would shatter his pendant?"

The Baron's words hung in the air like the toll of a death knell.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

He pulled the servant closer, his free hand twitching as though ready to strike.