Next step

Argon could almost feel the frustration radiating off Isolde as they walked away. But, as was his nature, he chose to ignore it. He had more important things to worry about. The soldiers, the newly purchased slaves, the state of his territory– these were the things that held his attention.

Argon and Brolan strolled towards the barracks with the manor house behind them. A light gust of wind rustled the trees, sending a cool shiver through the warm afternoon air.

Brolan glanced at Argon, a wry grin on his face. "Your new wife is stirring quite the fuss, hahah," he chuckled, his voice brimming with amusement.

Argon merely grunted in response, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "She just lacks discipline," he remarked flatly. "I'll make her stay comfortable here, but beyond that, she should learn to hold her tongue."

As the barracks came into view, Argon mulled over Isolde's behaviour. "Then again," he mused, more to himself than to Brolan, "she's been exceedingly useful with information."

His brows furrowed in thought, considering the complexities that his new wife presented. She was an asset, certainly, but also a potential source of conflict.

"Hmm," Argon finally concluded, "I may have to put her in her place every now and then, remind her of her position."

Argon stopped in his tracks, sweeping his gaze over the barracks and then to the manor house in the distance. The sight of his territory, humble as it was, filled him with a peculiar sense of accomplishment. He turned to Brolan, his features hard, but his eyes revealing a hint of reminiscence.

"Look at where I've risen, Brolan," he began, his voice lower than usual. "I'm a sewer rat with nothing to my name. No noble title, no powerful family members. Hell, I don't even have a family. I don't even know how the fuck I came into this world."

His gaze lowered to the ground, lost in the memories of a past life. "All I remember was waking up in the slums of Duskhaven, scrounging for food like a sewer rat."

Lifting his gaze, Argon's eyes sparked with an untamed fire. He lifted his hand, gesturing to the land around them. "Now, I'm a knight and the husband to the Baron's daughter."

The corners of Brolan's mouth turned upward in a smug grin. "Hahah, your good luck started when you met me," he teased, his tone light.

Argon chuckled in response, his eyes gleaming with amusement and appreciation. "True, true," he replied. "I hope our good luck doesn't run out." His gaze turned severe, an underlying intensity taking hold.

"Do you remember the ruins my... wife mentioned?" Argon asked, using the term 'wife' loosely.

Brolan's face darkened in realisation. "Ye, the ones next to Lake Serendis? The ones that kill those who enter?"

Argon nodded, confirming his friend's words. "Yes. We're going," he declared with a certainty that left no room for doubt. Brolan's eyebrows shot up in surprise but quickly masked it with an accepting nod.

"Tell nobody and prepare for the trip," Argon instructed, his eyes conveying the importance of secrecy.

Brolan's exasperation hung in the air, his voice laced with disbelief and a tinge of fear. "I knew everything was too good to last. Why'd you want to go throw our lives away? Everything's looking dandy right now," he argued, gesturing in frustration.

"Let's get old and fat, fuck many girls, and die with 40 sons," he added, his face filled with an earnest longing for a peaceful life filled with earthly pleasures.

"The coming war puts us in a bad position," Argon reasoned, his face a mask of determination.

Brolan threw his hands up in disbelief; his face contorted in frustration. "Oh no, no, no. Don't tell me you believe that fucking rubbish. There hasn't been a war in years. Eldridge is probably just spouting nonsense," he spat, brushing off the baron's predictions as mere paranoia.

Argon met Brolan's frustrated gaze with unwavering resolve, his eyes shining with a resolute gleam. "I think Eldridge is a lot of things but an idiot is not one of them. Even if he's wrong, I want more in this life, more power," he announced, his voice ringing with a deep-seated ambition.

Argon's gaze softened slightly as he added, "Besides, I'll go into the ruins alone. You just make camp outside."

Brolan exhaled a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Well, thanks for not sending me to death as well. But if you die, I'm screwed too. My wagon is hitched to your horse," he grumbled, a grimace on his face.

"But whatever, it's clear there's no changing your mind," he concluded, his tone laced with a resigned acceptance of Argon's stubborn determination.

A wave of sound and energy hit them as they pushed open the heavy doors to the barracks. The interior of the barracks was alive with activity, with every corner buzzing with activity. Rows of simple, utilitarian beds filled the space, each occupied by a soldier or a new slave. In one corner, soldiers were diligently polishing their armour and sharpening their swords, their movements synchronised and meticulous.

At the far end of the room, Brom was barking orders at the recently acquired slaves, his face set in a fierce scowl and his voice carrying over the rest of the noise in the room. The slaves looked distinctly worse for wear, their faces pale and drawn as they struggled to keep up with the demands on them.

Every pair of eyes in the room flicked towards the door as Argon and Brolan entered, an immediate hush falling over the barracks as the men straightened up, showing respect for their lord and his right hand.

With a swift and excited motion, Edrik detached himself from the crowd, stepping forward to greet Argon. His face was bright with a smile, and his eyes gleamed with respect. "My lord, you've returned! What wonderful news indeed," he exclaimed. "I've heard rumours of your wife's arrival. They say she is a true beauty."

Argon rolled his eyes at the brown-nosing. He wasn't one for pleasantries or small talk. "Enough ass kissing, Edrik," he cut in bluntly, his voice a steel-hard command reverberating through the room. He stared at his loyal man, the intensity in his gaze ensuring his seriousness was not lost.

"I'm not here to play house," he continued a determined edge to his voice that left no room for misinterpretation. "I want to destroy my enemies, see them driven before me, and hear the lamentations of their women." His voice echoed through the barracks, sending a palpable wave of energy through the room. The soldiers were silent momentarily, absorbing the raw power of their lord's ambition.

Edrik blinked at the fervour in Argon's voice, a smile spreading across his face in response to the lord's declaration. "Aye, my lord," he said, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "Your wishes are our command. We are ready to follow you to the end of the world to face any enemy that stands in your way. The lamentations of their women will be sweet music to our ears."

A murmur of agreement spread through the crowd at Edrik's words, the soldiers in the room standing taller, their eyes filled with a fiery determination mirrored their lord's. Even the slaves, huddled in the corner of the room, seemed to catch the infectious energy, their eyes flickering with newfound resolve. The air in the barracks seemed to crackle with anticipation; everyone present was ready to embark on this new journey with their formidable lord.

"During your absence, the blacksmith completed the warhammers you requested," Edrik declared, promptly moving towards a hidden corner of the room. He lifted a worn piece of canvas, revealing two massive warhammers leaning against the wooden wall.

The craftsmanship was exceptional - these weapons were not only functional but works of deadly art. Entirely forged from iron, the warhammers were imposing monstrosities of menacing design.

Their long, firm handles, devoid of ornamentation, led up to gargantuan heads. Instead of the typical rounded ends, the heads of these hammers culminated in deadly points, a ruthless twist to their traditional design. Adding to their intimidation, cryptic runes were inscribed into the iron surface, their faint shimmer standing out against the otherwise stern metallic facade.

Despite their formidable size, Edrik hoisted the hammers with a grunt. Their sheer weight and scale were a testament to their destructive potential. As Argon laid his eyes on these new weapons, the room seemed to hold its collective breath. The blacksmith had outdone himself, delivering weapons of unmatched power and resilience.

Both Argon and Brolan each reached out to grab a hammer from Edrik.

Argon reaches out to grasp one of the formidable hammers. The cold metal handle meets his grip, the substantial weight of the weapon instantly apparent. The maul is heavy yet superbly balanced, a deadly tool honed to perfection.

Brolan was first to break the silence, "Nice," he exclaimed, his voice filled with appreciation. He swung the hammer a few times, clearly enjoying its power.

Argon swings the maul, the air whistling as the lethal weapon slices through it. A certain satisfaction fills him, an appreciation for the lethal elegance in his grasp. "These will do just fine," he declares, his voice filled with unspoken approval.

Suddenly, a mischievous idea flickers across his mind. Turning towards the recruits, he hoists the hammer up, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Now, perhaps a test," he drawls, his voice low yet carrying a ring of command.

The room stiffens, men holding their breath, their faces paling as the potential for destruction becomes all too real. However, Argon's eyes gleam with wicked amusement, and he lowers his hammer, laughter escaping his lips. "Hahah, only joking."

As the men let out a sigh of relief, Argon revels in the raw power that the weapon, and his new status, grants him.

"Edrik, has anything of significance happened in my absence?" Argon asked, his gaze scanning the busy activity in the barracks, but his attention was clearly on the answer to his question.

Edrik's gaze fell upon Argon, an earnest look of the report in his eyes. "The mine has been fruitful beyond our initial estimates. The smithy is working tirelessly, but the ore is being unearthed faster than we can smelt it. For now, we've been stockpiling it in a secure location."

He briefly shifted his gaze over Argon's shoulder, then continued, "We had a bit of a run-in with a troll near the wall. It seemed to have been agitated by something but was quickly taken down from a distance. Thankfully, no one was injured."

His gaze returned to Argon's, an evident respect radiating from him. "Other than that, all is in order. Everyone is working hard, and morale is high. The land is bountiful, and the people are eager to contribute to its prosperity." His voice was steady and confident as he delivered the report, a testament to his dedication and loyalty to his lord.

"Ah, there's also more to report on the mining front, my lord," Edrik said. "Our men found a couple of additional ore deposits around the original site. We'll be steadily extending our operations to include these new finds."

He motioned with his hand as if drawing a map in the air. "I set up a quick defensive perimeter around the mine and its access paths. We've had some minor encounters with beasts, nothing our guards couldn't handle, just mole rats and the occasional wolf."

He shifted on his feet slightly, looking at Argon directly, "We also had a few traders come through yesterday. Melvin's been handling that. We've managed to secure some tools and additional supplies."

Edrik paused momentarily, "On a more serious note, there have been rumours of increased bandit activity nearby. Nothing concrete yet, but I thought it best to keep you informed. We've increased the patrols, and everyone is on high alert."

He paused, checking to see if there was anything else he needed to mention. Satisfied, he concluded, "Overall, we've maintained a steady pace. Morale is high, my lord. Blackwood is proving to be fruitful. With the new men we are well on our way to becoming a formidable force."