Chapter 5: Hard Mode and Heartbreak

As I gradually got used to this era, I belatedly realized:

Damn, the timing of my time-travel is really bad! If I’d landed even a year earlier, maybe things would’ve been easier. Now, I felt like a rookie quarterback dropped into the Super Bowl with the game on the line.

Not only can’t I meet so many people I want to, I didn’t even get to enjoy any carefree days. The weight of history pressed down on me, heavy as a lead blanket.

Now is when the Dalton family is seriously wounded! Isn’t this hard mode? The kind of challenge you only see in video games when you accidentally click the wrong setting.

If I remember right, after my old man "passes" and dies, the rear of the Dalton family will catch fire. Then the Chief will spend three to five years putting down the rebellion, and then it’s time to go north. There’s no time. Although it’s not very nice, I have to start preparing for my old man’s death early.

For this, I secretly summoned Aaron King and Ben Sanders late at night. We met in a back room, under the dim glow of an old desk lamp, the kind you see in every American small-town police station.

"You two, I’ll be blunt. I want soldiers—here’s the plan..." I laid it out for them, no frills, no grand speeches.

As soon as I spoke, the two of them were stunned. Ben Sanders glared with eyes as big as his father’s and asked:

"Your Highness, you want us brothers to secretly transfer troops—will Uncle Leo and Zach Young agree?"

"I’ll speak to them myself." I tried to sound more confident than I felt, my palms sweating.

Seeing them still hesitant, I added: "This concerns the safety of the Dalton legacy.

My father—Leonard—and your fathers were sworn brothers. You two are naturally my sworn brothers as Leonard’s heir.

I’m young and may not command respect, but for the people of Maple Heights, I can only ask you two righteous brothers to help." I played three cards in a row: national affairs, brotherhood, and the people’s livelihood, persuading the two young generals to kneel and agree. After sending them off, I called George Young over.

"Attendant George, I have an important task for you—here’s what you need to do..." I outlined my plan quickly, knowing every second counted. George looked nervous but determined, like a rookie cop handed his first big assignment.

For the second time, using national affairs as an excuse, I sent off the slightly reluctant George Young. Suddenly, I felt exhausted from talking. My throat was raw, my head pounding—the weight of leadership settling in.

...

"In late July, on the day of the 17th, the First Patriarch passed away in Oakridge Manor, at the age of sixty-three."

This line from the Dalton Chronicles refers to today. The words sounded hollow, almost distant, like a news report playing on a radio in another room.

Grant Campbell cried louder than anyone. Even in his grief, there was a dignity to him—a sense that the whole world had shifted, and he was the only one left to keep it spinning.

Leonard’s entrustment and urging to take the reins were real, and Grant’s earnest refusal was also real. The story of three hundred guards on the night of entrustment is pure fiction.

In my view, my old man probably considered removing me and passing the crown to the Chief. He never really counted on his own useless little cub; he counted on the Wise Owl. But my old man couldn’t bear it, nor could he let Grant take the blame. After all, the crown of the North was also "ceded" to Carl Pierce by the pitiful last king.

As for why Larry Young was made second-in-command, it wasn’t about mistrust between leader and advisor. My old man didn’t distrust Grant, but had no choice.

The only base left was South County, and to be blunt, even that was taken from Leo Smith by my old man and the Chief. If you don’t give the old South County faction some face, aren’t you just asking them to rebel? Politics is a game of give and take, even here.

Central City wasn’t recovered, and if this goes on, we’ll lose South County, then Northfield, then Maple Heights, and after that, there’s nothing left—not even our lives. The stakes were real—no more do-overs, no more safe harbors.

Uncle Leo—no, the late patriarch—did this to stabilize the council, mainly to appease the South County group. That’s my take. Of course, that’s just my opinion.

Under the Chief’s leadership, in August, the late patriarch was sent back to Savannah for burial. The streets filled with folks in black suits and raincoats, umbrellas bobbing like a funeral parade down Main Street. Someone played "Amazing Grace" on a battered trumpet.

When the Chief and council discussed the late patriarch’s posthumous title, I blurted out "The Valiant."

‘Valiant’ means illustrious and wise; ‘The’ means heroic and a people’s leader. Just two words, but they sum up the last blooded patriarch who fought all his life to restore the family, yet could not contain his grandeur.

The Chief looked at me deeply, then nodded in satisfaction, and the posthumous title was set. The silence in the room was thick, but for the first time, I felt like I belonged.

To me, I was just returning it to him. The least I could do for a man whose shoes I could never fill.

Not long after that, Andy Dalton, the Next Lord of the Dalton family—that is, me—took the oath. The era name was changed to New Dawn, the first year of New Dawn.

Looking at the hall below, with the Chief at the head of all the officials and generals, I could hardly suppress my excitement. My heart thudded with a mix of dread and hope.

Every man has a Dalton dream deep in his heart. In that dream, the fall wind of Westfield is an eternal regret.

Listening to the repeated cries of "Your Majesty" in my ears, I turned and saw the Chief’s resolute profile. For a moment, I thought I saw a faint smile tug at the edge of his mouth.

First to surrender? Good-for-nothing? Happy to forget Maple Heights?

As someone with the playbook, it’s time to show my real skills. No more hiding—this was my shot.