บท 3: Chapter 3: Ebonwood's Scepticism
The once vibrant village of Ebonwood stood in ruins, a stark testament to the bandits' cruelty. The fields, once a patchwork of green, were now barren wastelands. The villagers, a proud community of beastfolk, were reduced to shadows of their former selves, their bellies empty and their spirits broken.
Amidst this desolation, Prince Satoru—now known as Simha the Third, the bastard prince of the Lycanth Kingdom—stepped into his role as the village lord. The title was a heavy mantle on his shoulders, one made heavier by the distrustful gazes of the beastfolk. They had suffered at the hands of humans before, and the memory of betrayal ran deep.
Simha could sense their skepticism, their doubt in his ability to lead them out of this darkness. They whispered of his human scent, so different from their own, and of the lion's blood that supposedly ran through his veins—a lineage he had yet to embrace or even understand.
He kept his past life as Satoru, the salaryman, a secret. To reveal his human origins now would only serve to widen the chasm of mistrust between them. Instead, he focused on the present, on the urgent need to address the starvation and poor cultivation that plagued Ebonwood.
As he walked through the village, his eyes met those of a young maid, her fur matted and her frame gaunt from hunger. She bowed her head in respect, but her eyes held a flicker of hope. "My lord," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "the people are saying you have the blood of the lion kings. Can it be true?"
Simha paused, considering his response. "I am Simha the Third," he affirmed, "and I carry the legacy of the lion kings. But it is not blood that will save us—it is action, determination, and unity."
The maid nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Then show us, my lord. Lead us to a future where our cubs do not cry from hunger."
And so, Simha set to work. He gathered the elders, the farmers, the hunters—all who remained—to share his vision. He spoke of crop rotation, of irrigation, of trade and education. He spoke of a future where Ebonwood was not just a surviving village, but a thriving kingdom.
The beastfolk listened, their initial skepticism giving way to cautious optimism. Here was a prince who did not boast of his bloodline, but instead offered practical solutions. Here was a leader who saw beyond the ruins to the potential that lay beneath.
As the days passed, Simha worked alongside the villagers, his hands becoming calloused, his skin taking on the sun's kiss. He learned of his lion heritage, of the strength and courage it bestowed upon him. And with each passing day, the villagers' trust in him grew.
Ebonwood's skepticism had not been easily overcome, but Simha had taken the first steps on a long journey. A journey that would see the rise of a kingdom from the ashes of despair, led by a prince who was once a salaryman, who now embraced his destiny as Simha the Third.
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