CHAPTER 177

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CHAPTER 177

293 AC

POV THIRD PERSON

The men were utterly exhausted after enduring several weeks of intensive army drills. These drills had focused on building their stamina, fostering teamwork, and teaching them to think effectively under relentless pressure. Recognizing the need to balance discipline with rewards, Aermir decided to treat them to a well-deserved feast. After two days of revelry and recuperation, the training resumed, gradually intensifying as they continued to hone their skills.

...

The night unfolded with crystal clarity, bathed in the silvery radiance of the moon that cast an ethereal glow upon the military camp and the surrounding forest. Aermir's soldiers, draped in the solemn ambiance of the night, readied themselves for the impending mock battle. Tension hung thick in the air, for both teams understood the high stakes of this encounter. The losing side would be condemned to undertake twice the usual amount of grueling army drills.

On one side, Spymaster Kegan assumed the mantle of leadership, commanding the infiltrators who were tasked with the mission. On the opposing front, Ser Harlik stood as the commander of the defending team, flanked by his loyal soldiers. However, the brightness of the moon presented an obstacle; Kegan and his infiltrators needed a moonless night, a shroud of darkness, to conceal their movements.

Gathering his soldiers around him, Kegan delivered a hushed but resolute briefing. His voice carried the weight of their mission and the importance of stealth.

"Remember, our objective is to strike swiftly and silently. Our mission: eliminate the enemy commander, dismantle their siege engines, and cripple their supplies. Surprise is our greatest advantage, but we have only one opportunity. Timing is everything."

Under the moon's watchful gaze, the infiltrators dissolved into the tapestry of the night, their movements a testament to the stealth they had cultivated through rigorous training. Each step was a ballet of control and subtlety, and their communication was hand signals and knowing nods, ensuring their every action remained veiled in complete silence.

As days turned into weeks, the infiltrators became the shadowy specters of the night, gathering invaluable intelligence on the enemy's routines, vulnerabilities, and watchful patterns. Among the information they gleaned, a critical weakness emerged—an Achilles' heel that would lead them past the enemy's formidable defenses. They had three weeks to infiltrate, or Harlik's team would win; the time was running out, and all they needed was a moonless night.

On this night, they planned to assault. The Ravenguard moved with the precision of a well-oiled machine. At the helm was Kegan, their mastery of the terrain and impeccable navigation skills serving as their guide through the thick foliage without making any sound. Through the labyrinthine paths and inky darkness, they advanced toward their objectives. The surrounding of the camp was filled with wooden walls and torches.

Kegan divided his team into three distinct groups, each entrusted with a specific mission critical to the success of their covert operation. One faction embarked on a mission to dismantle the siege engines, while another ventured forth to disrupt the enemy's supply lines. Kegan's own group was on a singular mission: to eliminate Harlik.

In perfect synchrony, the infiltrators launched their assault, their every movement meticulously orchestrated for maximum impact. Yet, as they converged on their designated point of attack, they found no vulnerability awaiting them. Harlik stood there, a formidable presence, fully encased in armor and wielding a wooden padded mace. Aermir had been wise in his decision, for an ordinary wooden weapon in Harlik's hands could have resulted in accidental fatalities. In essence, Harlik wielded a pugil-stick, ready to defend his post.

While the covert missions to disable the siege engines and sabotage the enemy's supplies went off without a hitch, the infiltrators met fierce resistance. Within the confines of the tent, a ferocious struggle unfolded as Kegan and his team confronted the formidable iron goliath that was Harlik. Kegan unleashed every ounce of his skill and determination, yet despite their best efforts, they struggled to subdue the indomitable Harlik.

As the intense fight continued, Aermir's voice boomed with anger and disappointment as he addressed his soldiers,

"STOP!!! This was a great disappointment. Kegan, you managed to infiltrate and destroy 2 of the objectives, but the 3rd one was there for you to give up. You had to give up on one of the objectives to win this, but in your arrogance, you let all your men die. Do we not need those men at another time? Do I train them so they can be disposed of after one battle? You forgot your responsibility to your men. If you choose to attack two targets, at least 70% of your men could get out."

Kegan hung his head in shame, burdened by the weight of his failure. He had not only failed his Lord but had also failed his comrades, who had paid the price for his mistakes. Aermir then turned his attention to Harlik, his voice still carrying a note of frustration,

"Harlik, you run a tight camp, but what was that weak point? You would have won if you had stood in your tent with at least ten men. You are not a front-line soldier anymore; you can't just go by yourself to battle!"

The words hung heavily in the air, emphasizing the gravity of the mistakes made during the training exercise.

...

In the heart of the North, where the Temple of the Old Gods stood tall amidst the lush forest, Aermir was determined to safeguard this sacred place from any who might seek to exploit its power. Leveraging his arcane knowledge and Druidic heritage, he devised intricate fog rituals that would enshroud the forest in both mystery and danger, all while transforming the area surrounding the temple into a mystical and vibrant sanctuary.

On a night when the full moon bathed the land in its silvery glow, Aermir embarked on the first of these fog rituals. His voice, rich with ancient incantations, cut through the tranquil night air. As the words left his lips, a mystical mist began to rise from the forest floor, its tendrils dancing and twirling around the slender trunks of young trees. The once-familiar forest, under the influence of Aermir's potent magic, was now veiled in an ethereal and enigmatic aura. This transformation served as a potent deterrent to any outsider who might entertain the thought of intruding upon the sacred grounds of the temple.

Following the initial ritual, Aermir replicated the fog ceremony three more times, each aligned with a cardinal direction. Once the mystical rites were complete, he carefully buried the focal points of these rituals deep within the forest's earthy embrace.

Visitors to the Temple, now limited to approaching via stone-paved roads, faced an intriguing enchantment should they stray from the designated paths. The arcane power inherent in the mist would weave its influence, leading to hallucinations and a profound sense of disorientation, ultimately compelling trespassers to retreat from the forest's depths.

However, once pilgrims successfully navigated the eerie and shadowy atmosphere of the Veil of Mist, they would emerge into a realm that was nothing short of ethereal and vibrant—a land seemingly touched by the divine. It was an interpretation embraced by many, who saw it as a clear testament to the Old Gods' vigilant protection and benevolent favor over the temple.

...

As Moat Cailin gradually rekindled its vitality under Aermir's pioneering methods, the region blossomed with newfound prosperity, and its inhabitants celebrated the upswing in their fortunes. Nevertheless, maintaining such advancement demanded additional financial resources. Driven by this need, Aermir delved into his recollections from his past life, scouring for simple invention ideas that could offer the much-craved financial support.

Back in high school, he had often dismissed the knowledge gained from home economics and crafts classes as trivial and irrelevant. However, now, these once-disregarded lessons seemed incredibly valuable. Although he couldn't recall the intricacies of soap-making, the information seamlessly returned to his mind when he employed the Authenticate spell. He remembered every step and everything needed to make every kind of soap.

Creating basic soap turned out to be a straightforward process. Aermir mixed together natural oils and fats with lye, a substance derived from ash. The resulting soap not only elevated the hygiene standards for the people of Moat Cailin but also evolved into a prized trade commodity.

Recognizing the potential of this newfound industry, Aermir constructed a dedicated workshop for soap production and enlisted the services of twenty individuals who pledged their loyalty. The workshop received constant protection from the castle's guards, and its inner sanctum was strictly off-limits to anyone else. News of the high-quality soap quickly spread, attracting eager merchants from neighboring lands who sought to acquire this precious product. Their demand further swelled the castle's coffers.