CHAPTER 44: MOUNTAINHIDE ARMOUR

Some hours later, as the newly arrived slaves settled into their unfamiliar identities, Kaelor gathered with his closest circle in the lord’s hall. The glow from the braziers lit their faces, Vi with her analytical poise, Hound like a statue of grit and stone, and Damien, whose mind was always racing with figures and strategy.

Mildred moved gracefully among them, pouring tea into earthenware cups, the scent of dried hibiscus and mint warming the air.

"Our next agenda," Kaelor began, his voice calm, "is to ensure every stretch of land outside the inner wall is blanketed in rice. That rice," he tapped a finger on the wooden table, "is our only route to power. With it, we gain wealth. With wealth, we purchase people. And with people, we build our dominion."

He glanced at them all, making sure his words landed. "The merchant will return with greater numbers next time. But more than trade, we must think of structure. It’s time for our skilled workers to rise. We need to establish a proper workplace for the Leather Armourers and the Armour Tailors."

Everyone nodded, absorbing the gravity of the vision.

"But..." Kaelor paused, his gaze tightening as he scanned their faces, "...our long-term aim must remain the Oasis Basin. Initially, I intended to relocate there, to conceal our presence but moving the town now isn’t an option. Instead, we’ll focus on slow, deliberate expansion. As our numbers grow, we’ll begin exploring the terrain surrounding the basin."

"My Lord," Hound rumbled, his deep voice echoing through the timber rafters like distant thunder, "there is a concern I’ve carried in silence for too long."

Kaelor turned his full attention to him, eyebrows raised. "What is it?"

"The Blood Moon Bats," Hound said, leaning forward, his brow creased. "They feed on blood. And the Bighorn... it’s not far from the Ivory Hills. From the moment I saw those sheep, they didn’t feel odd to me. They felt placed. As if nature put them there to keep the bats fed."

Vi’s brows knitted tightly. "You’re saying... what we took might’ve been their food source?" Her voice was sharp.

"I don’t know for sure," Hound admitted. "But that’s the feeling I’ve had. It’s been over two weeks now, and nothing has happened. Still... that silence may not be a good sign."

Kaelor leaned back in his seat, fingers lacing together as his mind raced through the possibilities. "We need to verify it. We can’t afford assumptions. If those sheep were indeed placed to keep the bats satisfied, then we’ve unknowingly disrupted a balance we can’t control. And if that’s the case..."

He exhaled slowly. "Then we’re in deep trouble. I don’t think we’re ready to face over a thousand giant, bloodthirsty bats, not with our current strength."

After the meeting, Kaelor stood behind the fence of his lord’s residence, his eyes lingering on the flickering torches and laughter rising from the distance where his people reveled in their feast.

He had sacrificed thirty-five Bighorn sheep in total since the first day the slaves arrived, yet the gains he had reaped far outweighed the cost. More than meat had been offered; he had sown fear, loyalty, and wonder.

Two Dreadclaws stood sentinel before the fence, their imposing figures motionless, Mountain Sabers resting sheathed at their sides. Silent and ever-watchful, they resembled twin statues carved from night itself.

Their sharp, wolf-like ears twitched from time to time, subtle, almost imperceptible movements, but enough to betray their vigilant attunement to even the faintest shift in the night breeze.

Kaelor could have joined the celebration, shared in the warmth of meat and mirth, but the weight of the bat’s report pressed heavily upon him. What kind of lord could feast with ease knowing monstrous bats might swoop down at any moment to mummify all he had bled to build?

His gaze drifted upward, rising past the rooftops and torches, toward the outer wall that loomed before the descending slope into the valley.

It stood tall, firm, promising a sense of security. Without the wardens, he had dispatched ten Dreadclaws to defend it, and leading them was Jon, their captain.

’I have 5,000 fusion points,’ he thought. ’I can try fusing the armour we gathered from the bandits.’ With that decision, he turned to Mildred, who stood quietly beside him, arms clasped before her.

"Where are the leather armours we brought back?" he asked, voice low and steady.

"I’ll go get them," she said with a bow, turning swiftly and vanishing into the dimness.

Some time passed before she returned, leading a horse harnessed to a wooden wagon. Inside, he saw the spoils of their victory, eighteen sets of leather armour, each piece roughly stacked: cuirrasses, vambraces, and pauldrons. The bandit leader’s armour was included, so then nineteen.

"System," Kaelor commanded, eyes on the pile, "fuse."

[200 FP deducted!]

Suddenly, a burst of blue flame ignited over the wagon, engulfing the armours in a swirling inferno. The blaze rose high, crackling and luminous at first, licking the night air like a hungry spirit.

But gradually, the flames shrank, curling inward, as though being drawn into something more compact, until, at last, they vanished.

Kaelor blinked, taking in what was left.

Resting in the wagon was a single piece of armour, sleek, dark, and unyielding. It resembled a long-sleeved gambeson, but forged of volcanic rock rather than cloth. Its high collar gave it a regal air, while its rough, blackened texture carried the essence of cooled magma. It looked more like a thick, hardened shirt than a conventional piece of battle gear.

[You have successfully created the Mountainhide Armour. A gold-ranked armour with the ability to spread to every part of your body, except your hands and feet.]

Kaelor shrugged off his coat and slipped into the new armour. As he did, it began to shift, contracting and expanding, adjusting to his form. It flowed down his legs like living obsidian, stopping just above his ankles. The sleeves extended precisely to his wrists, fitting him as though it had been forged for his body alone.

Brows raised, Kaelor glanced down at himself, his body now sheathed in a smooth, close-fitting inner armour. It was warm, solid, and light. A perfect substitute for mail. A perfect secret beneath a cloak.

He drew Ignis, slowly sliding its edge across his forearm. The moment steel met the new armour, a sharp, grating screech rang out, metal rasping against hardened volcanic shell. His face tightened at the sound, but his eyes glimmered with satisfaction.