The path into Black Hollow was not a road—it was a gash across the land, a trail of rot and ash. Trees stood like blackened skeletons. The air was thick with damp, metallic decay, and the sky was a sullen gray canvas.
Leon rode at the front, flanked by the stolen horses and supplies looted from the failed ambush. Behind him trailed Mira, cloaked and hooded, her sharp eyes constantly scanning.
"So this is the place," Leon muttered. "My father really meant to bury me."
Mira pointed ahead. "There. That's the keep. Or what's left of it."
The remnants of Black Hollow Keep rose in the distance. Once a proud fortress, it now sagged like a wounded beast. One tower had collapsed entirely. The gatehouse was cracked and scorched. Moss devoured the outer walls.
Yet it was still standing.
Leon dismounted and approached the gate. A sentry peeked over, eyes wide with disbelief.
"State your name!" he shouted.
Leon raised a hand. "Leonard Graves Virdalia. Third Prince. Your new lord."
A heavy silence fell. Then, the creaking groan of rusted chains. The gates opened.
A small, ragged garrison awaited. Fewer than twenty soldiers, most too thin, too old, or too wounded to pose real strength. They watched Leon like feral dogs—hopeful, hungry, but unsure whether to bite or beg.
Leon stepped forward. "From this moment on, Black Hollow stands again. Under my rule, we build not to survive—but to conquer."
Some murmured. One or two laughed.
Then Leon drew his sword and drove it into the stone ground.
"Swear loyalty to me now, or walk away and die in the wastes."
He had their attention.
Over the next few days, Leon took stock of his domain. Black Hollow was a disaster—disease-ridden, lawless, forgotten.
The villagers were emaciated, hiding in broken homes. Bandits roamed nearby. The local farms were dry and neglected. Wells were poisoned. Wild beasts roamed even during daylight.
But the land still had potential.
Beneath the castle ruins was a geothermal spring. Ancient aqueducts—broken but salvageable—ran through the hills. And hidden among the people were craftsmen, alchemists, and even one disgraced mage.
Leon summoned everyone to the town square.
"I won't lie. This place is cursed," he said. "But curses are manmade—and I am not afraid of men."
He laid out plans: walls repaired, farms cleared, wells purified. A training ground. A watchtower. A blacksmith forge.
To fund it, he offered incentives—food, land, rank. And protection.
"I will kill any bandit who dares touch this soil. You have my word."
Mira stepped beside him. "And I will help him burn them alive."
The spark was lit.
Using his System, Leon traded Crown Points for skills and bonuses:
[Structural Reinforcement Knowledge – 400 CP]
[Basic Alchemy Recipes – 300 CP]
[Minor Leadership Boost – 300 CP]
He studied architectural scrolls, advised builders personally, and recruited volunteers. He even led the rebuilding of the watchtower himself, hauling stones and hammering beams.
His hands bled. His muscles burned.
And the people watched.
By the end of the week, the tower stood tall—reborn.
The villagers began calling him not Prince, but "Ironblood."
He didn't correct them.
Leon knew his next move would define his rule: destroy the bandits.
They were led by a man named Garron—a former knight turned warlord. He ruled over three hill camps and raided Black Hollow freely.
Leon sent a message:
Come to parley. Or I come with fire.
Garron came.
A towering brute, scarred and cruel, he arrived with twenty men. Leon met him at the outer field with ten loyal guards and Mira.
They spoke under a dead oak tree.
"You think you can fix this shithole?" Garron laughed. "It's been dying for years. Let it rot."
Leon didn't smile.
"I don't fix. I build. And I burn obstacles."
He drew a dagger and drove it into the table between them.
"Join me. Kneel. Or I'll put your head on a pike."
Garron snarled. "You've got guts, boy. But guts don't beat numbers."
He stood and walked away.
Leon whispered to Mira, "Make sure he doesn't leave the valley."
That night, Garron's entire vanguard was ambushed.
Leon led it personally.
By dawn, Garron was dead, head severed and mounted outside the gate.
The bandits scattered. Some surrendered. Others vanished.
Leon took every surviving one and gave them a choice: serve, or die.
Most chose to serve.
Weeks passed.
The farms grew green again. The walls stood firm. Blacksmiths fired up their forges. A school opened. A militia formed.
But something deeper stirred.
Late one night, while surveying the old crypt beneath the keep, Leon discovered something ancient.
A stone throne. Cracked. Forgotten.
Carvings covered it—runes of the First Crown.
As Leon approached, the system pulsed.
[Crown Relic Detected] Would you like to bind: Throne of the Lost Sovereign?
Leon placed his hand on the stone.
[Binding Initiated...]
Visions flooded him.
A war long past. A king betrayed. A throne stolen. A kingdom shattered.
And a voice:
"Rule not as they ruled. Build not for glory. Rule for legacy. Build for eternity."
Leon collapsed—but when he rose, his eyes glowed faint gold.
His system menu now included a new tab:
[Sovereign's Mandate]
Issue edicts to your people
Influence loyalty, growth, and rebellion
Unlock advanced construction, magical defense, and military tactics
The first edict he issued:
"From this day, all who serve with honor shall be equal in my eyes. Status comes from strength, not birth."
Black Hollow cheered.
The Reborn King had claimed his throne.