Maron Valenheart is not the sort of man people comfortably call charming. Clever, certainly. Useful, undeniably. But charming? Only if one considers sarcasm a social virtue and permanent irritation a sign of good breeding. He is stubborn, sharp-tongued, and possessed of the unfortunate habit of noticing every flaw in a plan, every weakness in an argument, and every moment in which someone is about to do something heroic and stupid.
Vice Lambert, naturally, provides him with endless material.
To most of the revolutionary army, Vice is the blazing heart of the rebellion: the noble warrior who broke his chains of privilege, freed thousands of Myra, and became the living symbol of Rosenburg’s future. To Maron, Vice is also loud, reckless, infuriatingly dramatic, and far too willing to solve complex political problems by setting something expensive on fire. He never misses an opportunity to question Vice’s leadership, his decisions, or the survivability of whatever bold plan Vice has just announced with heroic confidence and insufficient logistical detail.
And yet, it was Maron who brought him into the revolution.
That contradiction is the essence of Maron Valenheart. He may complain about Vice at every opportunity, but he understands exactly what Vice represents. Revolutions are not won by strategy alone. People need something to believe in. Soldiers need a banner to march behind. The oppressed need proof that the old order can be defied. Maron knew Vice could become that proof, so he placed him where the army needed him most: not necessarily as the mind of the rebellion, but as its face, its voice, and its sword.
Maron himself remains something colder and far more dangerous. He is the strategist behind the revolutionary army’s movements, the quiet architect of ambushes, supply lines, false retreats, hidden alliances, and carefully timed strikes. Where Vice inspires people to fight, Maron makes sure they fight where it matters. His mind is a ledger of troop movements, noble rivalries, bribed officials, exposed weaknesses, and risks calculated so finely that even his allies sometimes wonder whether they are being saved or merely rearranged on a board.
His talent for war was not born in a military academy, but in the counting houses of Rosenburg. Maron is heir to the Valenheart Trading Group, the largest slave-trading family in Rosenburg and, by many accounts, all of Valeria. The Valenheart name is written across generations of suffering: in contracts, auction records, shipping routes, prison ledgers, and the quiet signatures of nobles who preferred their cruelty neatly documented and profitable. Maron grew up surrounded by wealth built upon chains, and unlike many of his peers, he understood exactly what those chains meant.
That knowledge made him invaluable. Maron knows how Rosenburg moves its money, where it hides its prisoners, which noble houses are drowning in debt, which officers can be bought, and which respectable families are only respectable because no one has yet opened the correct account book. He understands the machinery of oppression because he was born standing at its centre. The revolutionary army survives, in part, because Maron knows where to strike that machinery without wasting lives.
But why Maron truly ignited the flames of revolution remains a question few dare ask him directly. Some believe it was guilt. Others whisper of a personal betrayal within the Valenheart family, or a crime so vile that even Maron could no longer dress it in business language and pretend it was civilisation. There are those who think he is trying to destroy his inheritance before it destroys whatever remains of his soul. Maron, when asked, usually gives an answer so dry and cutting that the questioner forgets they were looking for sincerity in the first place.
Whatever his reasons, his commitment is beyond doubt. Maron has turned his family’s own wealth, secrets, and networks against the monarchy that protected them. He funds the rebellion, guides its campaigns, and ensures that every victory becomes more than a moment of courage — it becomes a step towards dismantling Rosenburg’s old order.
He may not inspire songs in the taverns. He may not stride into battle wreathed in fire and thunder. He may, in fact, complain bitterly if asked to stand anywhere muddy. But behind every daring raid, every freed prisoner convoy, and every noble house suddenly finding its secrets in rebel hands, there is often the same invisible signature: Maron Valenheart, irritated, calculating, and several moves ahead of everyone else.
| Full Name | Maron Valenheart |
| Aliases | |
| Race | Human |
| Age | 27 |
| Gender | Male |
| Height | 178cm |
| Weight | 85kg |
| Hair Colour | Black |
| Eye Colour | Hazel |
| Distinguishing Marks | None |
| Relationships | |
| Occupations | Noble Merchant Strategist |
| Affiliations | Rosenburg Rebels |
| Abilities | |
| Equipment | None |
| Suit | Spade |
| Class | Strategist |
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