Mountain Sabers

Kaelor watched the chaos unfold with a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. He didn't flinch when some of the townsfolk broke through the shouting scuffle and chased Ned down into the mud.

The sight of the once-dominant town head being tackled and pummeled until he writhed in the dirt brought no small amount of satisfaction.

Without hurrying, Kaelor turned his eyes toward the other end of the field, where his Dreadclaw Guard had been watching the spectacle. A sharp whistle pierced the air.

Hound and the six beastlike warriors charged over at once, fangs bared and kicking up dust behind them. Kaelor walked, calm and composed.

By the time he arrived, the fight was over.

Ned and his sons, along with a few bruised cronies, had already been dragged out of the flooded fields. They knelt in the muck, faces swollen, noses bleeding, breath ragged. The sight was pitiful.

"My Lord!" a woman cried out.

She stepped forward, shoving Ned down once more. Her gown clung to her in muddy clumps, soaked to the bone, but there was fire in her eyes. She looked to be in her early thirties, worn, but strong.

Kaelor recognized her as one of the women Mildred told him about. "Elsa," he said quietly.

She nodded, panting, then pointed at Ned with a trembling, angry hand. "I heard him. He said he'd sell all the rice by year's end, report to the Baron, tell him to burn this town and then run."

Kaelor's eyes dropped to the groaning man on his knees.

"The Baron will kill you all!" Ned rasped, spitting blood. "This land belongs to him! How dare you lay claim to a noble's property? You fools, have you no fear for your lives?"

Kaelor crouched before him, expression unreadable.

"I am the lord of this town," he said softly. "Every inch of land here is under my dominion. Not the Baron's."

He rose and turned to face the crowd, eyes sweeping over mud-streaked cheeks and children clinging to their mothers' gowns. "These people are starving. Children are dying. Meanwhile, we have enough rice to feed them and it's being hoarded like gold."

He gestured behind him, toward the fields. "This land could feed every mouth in this town, rebuild it, raise its walls again. With what's here, we could thrive. We could sell rice. We could hire protection. You could sleep at night without fearing wolves or hunger."

"You're a drunkard!" Ned hissed. "I know who you are, I know you sleep—"

Kaelor kicked him in the jaw before he could finish, the sharp crack silencing him as he slumped, unconscious, into the mud.

Kaelor looked at the townspeople. The moment hung heavy, and he could feel the air stir with tension. Was their belief in him strong enough to silence the old man's words?

No, it wasn't. And that was why he silenced the old man.

He took a deep breath.

"This field is ours," he declared. "It shall feed us. And soon, it shall feed others. We will export it legally, and this town will rise. I promise you, I've lived the life you dream of. And I will bring it here."

Eyes met his. Mud-covered children, weeping mothers, men with bloodied knuckles and hungry bellies. And in every face, he saw it: hope. A fragile, flickering thing, but it was there.

"Hound."

The tall warrior stepped forward, claws retracted, fangs gleaming faintly in the light.

"Go to this thief's storehouse," Kaelor said. "Empty it. Make sure every family gets enough to fill their bellies."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Then, laughter. Cries. Praise.

Children clung to their mothers, who wept openly. Men beat the air with muddy fists in celebration. Even a few of Ned's cronies turned away with uncertain smiles.

A small notification appeared in Kaelor's mind:

[You have greatly increased the impression your subjects have of you. Average Loyalty: 70%]

[1,000 FP Gained!]

Kaelor smiled faintly.

"I want 120 more Starlight Rice seedlings," Kaelor muttered under his breath as he made his way back toward the fields. "Fuse them from the ones already planted."

The crowd's eyes tracked his every movement with curiosity.

[600 FP deducted!]

A surge of blue flames erupted across the field, engulfing a large section of the rice stalks. The people flinched, some shielding their eyes, but when the flames vanished, a hundred and twenty new seedlings stood tall, joining the original forty like emerald sentinels.

Each of them shimmered faintly, their emerald leaves crisscrossed with those same luminous, translucent veins, alive with quiet magic.

Ordinary rice produced around 150 grains per stalk, barely enough to make a difference for an entire town. One man could consume thousands of grains in a single meal.

But the Starlight Rice was different. Each stalk bore 250 plump, mana-rich grains. The total of 160 seedlings still wasn't much by sheer numbers, but it was much better compared to the latter.

The greater the numbers, the greater the difference between them.

After overseeing the rice distribution and watching Hound and the rest of the Guard finish erecting a makeshift prison for Ned and his loyalists, seven in total, Kaelor finally returned to his residence, hoping for a brief moment of rest.

To his surprise, Vulcanus stood in the yard, an enormous cloth-wrapped object slung across his back. He was speaking animatedly with Mildred, who paused the moment she saw Kaelor approach.

Vulcanus turned, a wide grin breaking across his beard-framed face. "Little Lord, I've finished your weapons!"

'Little Lord?'

Kaelor's brow twitched. He was 178 centimeters tall, a fair height. But standing next to Vulcanus, who easily towered over Hound and looked like he could lift a horse with one arm, Kaelor supposed little might be accurate. Still, few would dare call their lord such a thing to his face.

'Vulcanus the Great…' Kaelor sighed inwardly and stepped forward as the blacksmith knelt, unwrapping the cloth with a dramatic sweep.

Inside lay ten sabers, dull silver, broad-bladed, with long handles wrapped in blackened cloth and thick circular pommels. Kaelor hadn't expected much, especially from melted-down scrap weapons, but the sabers radiated presence.

Not just weight or sharpness, but will.

A pressure that hinted they had already tasted battle, or that Vulcanus had branded something of himself into the metal.

"I call them Mountain Sabers," Vulcanus said proudly. "They'd have come out better if I didn't have to melt old blades, but as Iron-tier weapons, these should serve your wolf-men just fine."

Kaelor crouched, brushing a finger down the flat of one blade. "They'll do more than fine."

He picked one up, gripping the long handle with both hands. The saber was heavy, and his stance was far from practiced, but as he swung it down, a surge of power trembled along his arms. His expression sharpened.

"There are ten of these," he noted, counting aloud.

"Hound asked for a pair," Vulcanus explained. "I also forged two extras. In case you grow your guard."

Then, with a grin, Vulcanus unsheathed the sword at his waist. Kaelor hadn't noticed it earlier, overshadowed by the bulk he carried. But now, the blade gleamed, sleek and silver-bright, with a small ruby embedded in the pommel that pulsed faintly in the light.

"And this longsword…" Vulcanus held it out, the edge catching sunlight with a flash.

"...belongs to the Lord of Redwood Town. I named it Ignis."