Four days later, Kaelor arrived at Redwood Town, and all the slaves settled outside the wall, on the other side of the rice field.
Philip looked at the field, lush and glistening under the sun, brimming with life and abundance. His eyes widened. "I... is that rice?"
Damien squinted, frowning slightly as if the thought unsettled him. "If I’m not wrong, that is Starlight Rice, one of the rarest and most treasured varieties on the continent."
Philip’s eyes bulged further in disbelief. "What is such a thing doing here?!"
His voice rose too high, drawing the low growl of a nearby Dreadclaw that turned its head toward him, eyes gleaming. Philip flinched and lowered his voice quickly, but his eyes widened again as two female Dreadclaws emerged from the town gate. Their figures were lithe, shapely, and graceful, their long, tufted tails swaying with each poised step.
They weren’t terrifying like the male wolf-men, instead, their presence was enchanting, strangely alluring.
"This is a strange place," Damien murmured, his tone more cautious than captivated like Philip and the others.
While the new arrivals remained baffled by the many wonders of this small town, within its walls, Kaelor faced a crowd of hundreds, some excited about his return, others visibly shaken by the monstrous beast he rode on.
None of them had ever seen, let alone expected, a creature with more than one head. But there it was, a massive, armoured, dog-like beast with three snarling heads and crimson eyes that glowed with hunger. The children clutched at their mothers’ skirts, hiding behind trembling legs.
But trailing behind Kaelor were several wagons, loaded high with sacks of golden wheat and baskets of wheat seeds. The Dreadclaws began offloading them with brisk efficiency, and the townsfolk, drawn by the commotion, quickly gathered.
Hound stood before the Dreadclaws, arms crossed firmly across his broad chest.
"Bring your bowls!" he called out, voice strong and firm. "His lordship has decided to make sure every one of you has enough to make a meal tonight!"
Kaelor smiled faintly at the sight; the wide grins, the relieved tears, the children running ahead with bowls in hand. It was the kind of joy that made the struggles worth it.
Turning from the crowd, he made his way toward his residence. There, waiting for him by the short wall, stood Mildred, wrapped in a warm woolen coat.
Her presence was constant, always there, always watching for his return. Titan’s approach made her eyes widen slightly, but even the three-headed beast didn’t bare its fangs at this woman.
Through nothing but quiet loyalty, she had carved out a space deep in Kaelor’s heart.
With a genuine smile, Kaelor dismounted and strode toward her in long, confident steps. Mildred’s eyes scanned him up and down, and she instinctively took a step back when he got too close.
"You stink," she said dryly. "I’ve prepared a warm bath for you."
Kaelor ignored the jab and pulled her into a loose embrace, arms resting gently around her neck.
"What did you prepare?" he asked, voice low and expectant. After days of nothing but bland wheat porridge, anything sounded promising.
"Once you’re done with your bath, you shall have Mutton Pottage," she replied with a small, triumphant smile. "Luckily, I preserved a portion of the mutton you brought back from the Bighorn Fields."
Kaelor chuckled softly.
As they walked in together, he glanced around. "Where is Vi?"
"You know an Acranist has to train, right?" Mildred replied. "She’s been in her house since the eve of yesterday."
Kaelor looked in the direction of the town head’s abode, his expression pensive. After taking his bath and eating his fill, he’d considered resting but ultimately decided to visit Vulcanus, who by now must have received the wrought iron.
At the forge, Kaelor felt as though he had stepped into an oven; a wave of heat rolled over him the moment he crossed the threshold. A few meters away, Vulcanus was hard at work, hammering glowing metal inside a mold. The shape was beginning to form, clearly a shovel head.
Even after Kaelor entered, Vulcanus remained engrossed in his task. Minutes passed before he finally plunged the red-hot metal into a trough of water. Steam hissed upward, washing over his face in a ghostly cloud before he pulled the piece out and tossed it to the ground.
Kaelor’s eyes fell to the shovel. Something about it held his attention, it pulled at him. An urge to pick it up, attach a wooden shaft, and dig as though the tool itself whispered its purpose into his mind.
It was faint, but familiar. The Mountain Sabers had this same pull, but this was subtler, lighter. Yet Kaelor could imagine it: if Vulcanus sharpened that feeling just a little more, he could craft weapons so compelling that one could simply leave them lying in the street, and strangers would instinctively reach for them... and slaughter each other.
He frowned at the thought.
Just then, Vulcanus turned, a broad smile spreading across his face, as if he hadn’t just sent a chill crawling up Kaelor’s spine.
"Lord Kaelor, I’ve seen the iron. You have no need to worry, there’ll be enough Mountain Sabers to arm a hundred men."
Kaelor gave a small nod, stepped forward, and picked up the shovel. "How did you do this?"
"No. I can feel someone from it. Like you’ve left part of yourself inside. It’s as if you told it what to do and whoever wields it will feel that command, without question." Kaelor glanced at Vulcanus, who responded with a soft chuckle.
"It’s simple, really. I think of what I’m creating the weapon for. What is its purpose? Is it meant for killing? For protection? For farming? Or simply to be admired? The picture in my heart, that’s what I forge into my creations."
Kaelor exhaled, eyes lingering on the tool. "So the weapon came from your heart then."
"You could say that. Will is what empowers a Weaponmaster, an Acranist, nearly every vocation. Once it’s nurtured enough, your will begins to take shape outside of you," Vulcanus said.
"I see." Kaelor rose to his feet. "How long will it take to make the Mountain Sabers?"