CHAPTER 65: FIVE WEEKS

Five weeks went by, and the ninth month of the year had arrived. The Bloodstone Archers under Kaelor’s command had been deployed to Ivory Hills after yet another brutal assault, one that claimed even more than the lives of sheep due to the insufficient number of guards posted there.

The bats that surged from the dark skies were relentless, overwhelming the defenders with sheer numbers.

But constant battle had a way of sharpening the soul.

The Bloodstone Archers had been tempered by the conflict, their bowmanship honed by necessity. With every confrontation, their accuracy improved, their reflexes sharpened, and their teamwork became instinctual. Each return to camp was a testimony to survival, most times, with bandaged wounds and bloodied garments, but also with unyielding resolve. The bats, once a terror, had become an outlet to quench their rising bloodlust.

Soren’s swift rise with the archers did not go unnoticed. It spurred Hound into action, pushing him to hasten the strengthening of his own ranks. He roamed the wilds until he gathered a formidable pack of direwolves, using their ferocity to transform the loyal Guardsmen into a formidable ground force. Once fused, the Dreadclaws were thrust into brutal training, sword, claw, tooth, and shield, until their strength and cohesion matched the might of the Bloodstone Archers.

Both elite units prepared themselves for the inevitable clash with the Baron’s forces. That was their purpose.

"Morning, my lord! How was your night?"

Kaelor, walking past the blue stone-ringed well, paused as Elsa’s cheerful voice drifted toward him. He turned, offering a small wave in return.

"I’m alive and well," he replied with a calm nod. After more than three months in this world, he had grown far more accustomed to its rhythm, the weight of command, the uncertainty of survival, the quiet pride of progress.

Looking around, he found himself taking in the transformed heart of Redwood Town.

The inner section had undergone a remarkable change. Rows of newly erected storey buildings lined the lanes, each structure a blend of strength and practicality. Their lower halves were solid stone, sturdy and imposing, while the upper sections were crafted from seasoned timber, darkened by treatment and wear. Though the roofs remained thatched, not yet the slabbed perfection Kaelor envisioned, they still offered warmth and shelter in abundance.

It was impressive work, too fine to ignore. He found himself casting a thoughtful glance toward Benjamin, the lead mason whose hands and direction had shaped this rebirth.

Kaelor now saw him in a different light. With housing like this, four thousand souls could dwell safely within the inner walls, protected from the cold, the rain, and whatever else the wild might throw their way.

Today, Kaelor wore a simple black tunic of fine weave, brown trousers tucked neatly into sturdy boots the color of oak bark. His hair, now tamed and neatly combed by Mildred earlier that morning, gave him a somewhat noble bearing.

Ignis remained loosely wrapped in his left hand, a subtle warning to any who might forget, this lord of theirs was good with the sword.

As he approached the inner gate, two Dreadclaws came into view, standing as sentinels beneath the rising sun.

Their forms were imposing, shields strapped firmly across their backs, and Mountain Sabers hanging at their waists. These massive slashing blades were made for wide arcs of death, weapons that could hew through bone and armor alike. What drew Kaelor’s gaze, however, was their new uniform.

Each wore a black gambeson that reached to their knees, padded for warmth and protection, secured by a series of tight knots. Over this, a hardened leather breastplate had been fitted, reinforced with metal strips and rivets to absorb the shock of incoming blows. Their forearms were guarded by leather vambraces, but their pawed feet could not be covered, it was a weapon of its own. This outfit was not quite the steel cuirass of a noble army, but it was a sign of progress.

These were no longer mere village guards. These were warriors.

The Dreadclaws, true to their namesake, were born anew with an innate trait known as Tough Skin, a biological resilience that made their flesh denser, more resistant than that of any ordinary man.

Still, in a world where weapons were crafted not just to kill but to obliterate, layering their supernatural toughness with gambeson and reinforced leather was not a redundancy, it was wisdom.

A single layer might not turn a fatal blow. Two layers might mean the difference between dying on the battlefield or returning to fight another day.

Kaelor’s lips curved into a quiet smile. His people were growing. His town was evolving.

"My lord." They bowed as a door to the left of the small gate creaked open. Kaelor stepped out into the outer section of the town. Several times larger than the inner section, it now stretched wide like a golden sea, an expanse transformed by abundance and effort.

The rice fields had grown exponentially. Not only had they reaped three consecutive bountiful harvests, but the farmland itself had stretched outward, gaining several new hectares. It was a vast, living plain of Starlight Rice, each blade dancing softly in the breeze. Their translucent veins shimmered like stars caught in strands of silk, casting a soft, ethereal glow beneath the afternoon sun.

Amidst the sprawling rice, nestled in a neat clearing, stood three modest houses surrounded by a short wooden fence. It was a small hub for equipment, tools, and the unofficial seat of Elsa, who now oversaw the agricultural front with unmatched diligence. Though she held no title, her leadership in the fields was unquestioned.

The Eonwheat, legendary and mana-rich, had yielded its first harvest. Its stalks glistened faintly, their roots feeding the soil like veins of life itself. The field had already spread farther, creeping toward the horizon. By Kaelor’s estimate, before the year’s end, half of the outer section would be blanketed in grain.

Redwood would not just feed the land, it would become its granary, its lifeline. A jewel of sustenance, worthy of fierce protection.

Tilting his head to the right, Kaelor caught sight of another development. Foundation markings, cleared earth, and rows of timber spoke of a barrack soon to rise.