Rakshas: Tales of the Summoned Lord

Eastern Residential Street.

The hall was dimly lit, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows on the stone walls. Allen stepped inside, his boots clicking softly against the polished wooden floor. Hilter followed closely behind him, his expression composed yet sharp, while Jasper slouched lazily next to him, his ever-present smirk subdued for once.

A man stood in the center of the hall, wringing his hands anxiously, his clothes slightly disheveled from travel. The moment his gaze fell upon Allen, his entire body stiffened before he dropped to his knees, his voice trembling with emotion.

"Second Young Master!" he cried, his voice breaking.

Allen frowned, halting in his steps. His mind worked quickly, trying to place the man's face, but nothing came to him. His brow furrowed deeper.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice steady but carrying a hint of confusion.

The man's eyes widened in disbelief. "Young Master, don't you recognize me? I am Eman!"

Eman

The name sent a ripple through Allen's mind. A fragmented memory surfaced—a younger version of himself, standing tall and arrogant, while a boy, just a few years younger, chased after him, panting and calling out.

"Young Master, wait for me!"

Back then, Allen had been the spoiled son of nobility, and Eman had been his personal attendant. An honest, loyal child who followed him everywhere, enduring his whims and arrogance without complaint.

His gaze softened, realization settling in. No wonder Eman recognized him instantly.

The moment Allen's eyes flickered with recognition, Eman broke down completely, sobbing into his hands. "Young Master… You must return to the Northlands quickly. The old master is gone… the first young master is dead… and the third young master is very sick… He can't lead the family…" His words became an incoherent mess between his cries. "The family only has you now! Everyone's waiting for you to return and take your rightful place as Lord of the Dominion!"

Allen's body stiffened, he had buried the Styles Family deep in his mind, dismissing them as irrelevant to his new life in Redbrook. Yet now, they came knocking on his door—broken, desperate, seeking his return.

The old master—his father—was dead.

The first young master—his eldest brother—was also gone.

The third young master—his younger brother—was too sick to rule.

Just like that, the noble House of Styles was crumbling.

Allen took a slow breath, calming his swirling thoughts. This wasn't something he had foreseen, and though his mind remained detached, there was an unshakable weight pressing against his chest.

Jasper stepped forward, grabbing Eman by the shoulder and pulling him up. "Oi, stop crying and explain things properly. What the hell happened?"

Eman wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffling uncontrollably, before taking a deep breath to collect himself.

A heavy silence hung in the hall. The air felt thick, suffocating even, as Eman sobbed while Jasper helped him sit on the couch.

Allen's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

"Explain everything from the beginning," he commanded, his voice low but firm.

Eman wiped his tears, forcing himself to speak through his trembling breath.

"Last year, the old master led a force to battle against barbarian pillagers. But they were ambushed… He was gravely injured and never recovered. By the start of this year, he passed away. Before he died, he instructed us to find you, Young Master, and bring you back to lead the family."

Allen's chest tightened. Baron Styles was dead.

Even though he had long buried his ties with the Styles Family, he couldn't deny the weight of those words. The man who had once ruled a dominion with an iron grip… gone.

Eman continued, his voice hoarse. "We knew you had gone to Redbrook City for education, but it's been ten years. We had no idea where to find you..thankfully your servant picked us from the gates and lead us here. At first I was confused and unsure, but now you are here."

His words carried the exhaustion of a long, desperate journey.

Allen finally spoke, his voice colder than before. "Eman… You said my father and brother are dead? What happened to Albert? And what do you mean by we? Anyone else with you too? "

Eman hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. "Three years ago, the first young master… your elder brother… was drafted into Duke Loggins' army under the Second Prince. He died in battle. When that news reached the old master, he fell into grief and was bedridden for a while, and somewhat recovered before he had to led the battle against barbarians. From then on, the affairs of the dominion were left in the hands of the third young master."

Allen's brows furrowed slightly. "The third young master… Cedric… ?"

Eman nodded quickly but his expression was grim. "Yes, but he has no talent for battle force. He's been sick for four years now… and for the last year, he has been completely bedridden. He cannot lead the family, Young Master. The elders tried to manage affairs, but without a strong leader, the dominion has been declining. Many vassals and nearby nobles are restless, waiting to see what happens next."

Allen closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering his thoughts.

His father—dead.

His elder brother—dead.

His younger brother—too weak to rule.

And now, the Styles Family… his family… was standing on the brink of collapse.

Jasper, who had been quietly observing, finally scoffed and crossed his arms. "So, what you're saying is… The Styles Family is done for unless Master Allen returns?"

Eman hesitated but nodded. "Yes. The old butler, Lord Gleis, sent Patt and me because we were the only ones who knew what the Young Master looked like. Patt is the eldest grandson of Lord Gleis. You used to play together as kids, Young Master. He has grown into a strong warrior, already an Iron Swordsman."

"Where is he?" Allen furrowed his brows.

"Young—"

"Master, this Patt was adamant that we are confusing your identify with the person they know. He didn't believe that Allen Styles is master of this estate and an accomplished instructor, he thought you were two different people with same name." Hilter replied before Eman could explain.

Allen raised his eyebrows, but then relaxed them. This Patt was old Allen childhood friend and knew him best, so obviously he would doubt that Allen could achieve this much in life.

"So he went to find the real 'Allen Styles'?" Allen asked.

Eman hesitated and with a guilty face replied, "Yes Young Master, but he would return by night. We had planned that one of us will meet you and other one would find you..?"

Eman was embarrassed as he completed his sentence but Allen didn't care about him.

Allen exhaled slowly. His eyes flickered with thought, but his expression remained composed.

He had not considered returning. His life in Redbrook had nothing to do with the Styles Family anymore. He had carved his own path, trained under Claude, and nearly reached Gold Rank. His ambitions were far beyond ruling a crumbling dominion in the frozen Northlands.

But still…

A father's dying wish was for him to return. His brother lay sick, unable to protect what remained of their family.

'What would the real Allen choose?' Allen thought but he couldn't figure out what to do.