The sight that greeted him was grim. Shabby huts made of rotting wood and mud lined the dirt roads, their crooked roofs sagging under neglect. People wandered the streets in ragged clothes, hollow eyes staring at the ground as if hope had long abandoned them.

Roman's gaze tightened when he noticed a group of gaunt civilians locked up inside iron cages by knights stationed nearby. Their pale faces and trembling bodies revealed the toll of sickness. The guards occasionally threw scraps of food into the cages, like feeding animals. Roman clenched his fists but forced himself to walk past—for now, he was simply an observer, learning about this world.

He reached a small merchant stall near the village square. The aroma of baked goods wafted in the air, simple but enticing. Roman stepped closer.

"Welcome, traveler," the shopkeeper greeted, giving him a curious look. "Aren't you… the duke's youngest son?"

Roman smiled faintly, shaking his head. "No. I came from a neighboring county. I'm just a passerby."

The man seemed unconvinced but didn't press further. "What would you like to eat?"

"Anything simple," Roman replied. "Whatever is available."

Soon, he was served a few bagels and a small cream pie. Roman sat at the wooden bench in front of the shop, quietly eating. But his peace didn't last.

A small group of children wandered the street, going from door to door, begging for food. Each time, they were shooed away with cold excuses—"we don't have enough for ourselves." The children's faces showed exhaustion and despair.

Roman couldn't watch any longer. He raised his voice. "Hey, kids. Come here!"

They hesitated at first but slowly gathered near him. Roman pushed his plate forward. "Eat something. Order what you like. I'll pay."

The children's eyes widened with disbelief, but hunger quickly overtook doubt.

The shopkeeper looked alarmed. "Sir… are you the son of a wealthy merchant or something? These kids will eat at will—it'll cost you a fortune."

Roman tilted his head. "How much could it possibly cost?"

The man cleared his throat. "So far, with what they've eaten, it's around 300 valon of clover coins."

Roman almost choked on his pie. "For a few bagels and pie? That much?"

"Yes," the shopkeeper sighed, shaking his head. "The wars and famine have driven the market into chaos. Prices keep climbing higher every day. But what are the king and nobles doing? Filling their own coffers while we starve."

His voice softened. "Our duke, Jacob… at least he tried. He fought to lower the prices, but the king denied him. So, the duke cut taxes here in Presia, easing some of our burden. Even so, it's not enough. Things are still grim. If not for him, we'd have starved like many other counties already."

Roman listened quietly, filing away every word. This was the reality of the dukedom—one he had to face sooner or later.

Suddenly, a small girl tugged at his sleeve. She held a piece of bread tightly in her tiny hands. "Thank you, big brother… you're very kind."

Roman's heart softened. He crouched and patted her head. "You're welcome, little princess. But… what about your family? Don't you want to buy them something?"

Her eyes dimmed. "I don't have a family anymore. They… they all died."

Roman froze. For two whole minutes, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Finally, he placed his hand gently on her shoulder. "Then from today… protect your friends. That's your family now."

He turned to the group. "Gather everyone. I have something for you."

The children quickly returned with eager faces. Roman reached into his pouch and handed each of them 100 valon. "This is yours. Use it for food, not nonsense." He then faced the shopkeeper. "Give these children three meals a day. Whatever they need, provide it. Send the bill to me—I'll make sure it's paid."

The shopkeeper's jaw dropped. "Who… who are you really?"

Before Roman could answer, a group of rough-looking thugs emerged from the alleyways. They had been watching him for some time, and now their greedy eyes gleamed.

"Well, well," their leader sneered. "You're quite generous, stranger. Carrying so much money must be heavy… why don't we lighten the load for you?"

Roman slowly rose to his feet, his hand resting on his sword. His expression darkened. "I can carry my own weight. But if you insist, I'll let my sword do the talking."

The thugs laughed mockingly and drew their rusty blades.

Before the clash could begin, a shadow flickered between them. A knight in polished armor appeared, sword drawn, his presence commanding.

"Young Master Roman," he said firmly. "Allow me to handle this."

Roman's eyes narrowed. "Grey…"

The shopkeeper gasped, nearly dropping his tray. "Young Master… Roman?!"

The truth slipped out—shocking everyone present.