The palace gates loomed behind him, heavy with the judgment of the entire capital. Jack stood silently beside his horse, his eyes lifting to the sky for a moment. No one came to bid him farewell. Not a servant. Not a single official. Not even his children.
He should've expected it.
"Sir Jack," Damon said, tightening the saddle straps. "All is prepared."
Jack nodded. Damon, ever loyal, was the only one standing by his side. The task he had been given was not one of honor, but of humiliation. A symbolic errand to a dying town—Merriton—once prosperous but now plagued by famine, bandits, and corruption. The king had handed it to him with false courtesy, and the Prime Minister with open smirks.
A soft voice spoke behind them. "Not a single farewell? Even from the children?" one of the guards murmured.
"Would you send off a man you believe ruined your daughter's life?" another replied.
Jack pretended not to hear.
---
The journey to Merriton was long and uneventful, save for Damon occasionally pointing out markers from his military days. Jack listened, grateful for the company, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
He thought of Elsa, leading soldiers far from the capital, oblivious or indifferent to his departure.
He thought of the children, especially Laina—how she had looked away from him yesterday like he was a stranger in her world.
"Merriton's close," Damon said, snapping him out of his reverie. "But don't expect a warm welcome. They remember you. Or... the old you."
Jack sighed. "Let's see what mess I'm cleaning up this time."
---
They arrived late afternoon. Merriton, once famed for its vibrant market and fertile fields, now looked like a skeleton of its former self. The roads were cracked, homes were abandoned, and the watchtower stood half-burnt. Children with hollow eyes stared from doorways.
At the town square, the acting mayor—a thin man named Orlis—stepped forward with a forced smile.
"Lord Jack," he said, with a bow that barely bent his back, "We had not expected you to take this task... personally."
"The King sent me. Personally," Jack said.
A whisper ran through the crowd.
"Thought he'd be dead or locked in a room somewhere," someone murmured.
"Maybe he's here to milk the town dry again."
"He looks different..." said a young woman.
Orlis cleared his throat. "Well, you're welcome, of course. We have... lodging prepared."
"Not the inn, I hope. I heard it collapsed."
"Yes, after your last visit," someone muttered, earning a glare from Damon.
Jack raised a hand. "Enough. I'm not here to argue. I'm here to work. Show me the reports."
The council chamber was dusty and unused. As Jack read through the reports of crop failure, trade breakdowns, and bandit attacks, he realized it was worse than expected.
"This isn't just misfortune," he said. "It's decay. Systemic."
"Bandits hit us twice a month. They take food, threaten women. We have no soldiers. No coin," Orlis said.
"Why haven't you sent a formal plea to the capital?"
"We did," the treasurer said bitterly. "But letters with Jack's seal never left the region. Everyone thought we were lying."
Jack fell silent. He understood now. The former Jack hadn't just ruined his own name. He'd buried the town with it.
Later that night, Jack stood on the inn's broken balcony, watching smoke rise from distant chimneys. Damon joined him.
"You shouldn't shoulder all of it alone," Damon said.
"If I don't, who will?" Jack whispered.
Suddenly, a knock. A local girl—barely ten—handed him a folded parchment.
He opened it.
"Father,
I don't know if you'll read this, or if you even care. But I hope you do. I don't remember much, but I remember when I was small, you used to braid my hair. And I laughed. I think that was real. Please... don't die. Come back.
Laina."
Jack clenched the note, his eyes misty.
"Damon."
"Yes, my lord?"
"This town needs saving. And maybe, just maybe... I need to be saved with it."
Damon nodded. "Then let's begin."
Jack turned to the town below.
"Let's dig this place out of its grave."