CHAPTER 69: BARON GARRICK’S VOW

As Kaelor purchased the blueprint, his fingers tightened around the leather scroll in his hand. The weight of its promise felt real, as if it radiated the potential of future legions clad in iron. But just then, something, someone, caught his eye.

A man strode through the market crowd, clad in full plate armour layered above chainmail and a black gambeson. It wasn’t just a display of wealth, it was war-forged prestige.

Every segment was in place: the polished cuirass that gleamed under the sun, broad pauldrons guarding his shoulders, rerebraces covering his upper arms, and articulated vambraces sheathing his forearms. Gauntlets of reinforced metal clasped his fingers in cold purpose. At his knees, partially hidden beneath the gambeson that ended at mid-thigh, glinted the ridged steel of poleyns, while his shins and feet were sealed in greeves and sabatons, perfectly crafted for mobility and protection.

Etched into each piece were runes, arcane inscriptions barely glowing with dormant power. Kaelor couldn’t read blacksmith runes, but even without translation, he could sense the resonance of strength and durability emanating from the plates. Custom work. Gold-ranked. The sword at the man’s waist, shaped for killing, matched the rank and quality.

Kaelor’s eyes rose to the man’s face.

His features were cut from stone, sharp, brutal, cold. A thin line of beard traced his jaw and chin, framing a clenched mouth. His eyes, however, held the most weight. Sharp as drawn steel, and steeped in open bloodlust.

The man drew closer, each step sending a ripple of tension through the air. He stopped a few feet away, his jaw visibly grinding.

"You killed my brother, didn’t you?" he said, voice low but edged with barely restrained fury.

Kaelor arched a brow. His silence said more than words.

Seeing Kaelor’s expression, casual, and a bit confused nearly pushed the man over the edge. His arm twitched, hand flying to the hilt of his sword, tremors dancing up his gauntlet. Rage radiated off him in waves.

"Edric. He was sent to your town over a month ago and never returned." The man’s voice cracked like a whip. "You killed him with your beast, didn’t you?"

Kaelor exhaled slowly. He could have lied. Could have played the fool. But the time for veils had long passed. The line between Redwood Town and the Baron had already been drawn and severed.

"There was no need for blood," Kaelor said at last, his voice calm, eyes unwavering. "I offered him a deal, one gold coin every month if he left and kept out of my affairs. But he wanted ten. When I refused, he drew steel on me. Tried to take my life. So I took his."

Eric, Baron Garrick’s bodyguard, growled as his sword slid an inch from its sheath, the glint of its edge catching the sunlight. Kaelor’s gaze narrowed. He could feel the threat, thick as iron between them.

Physically, Kaelor held the edge. He was a Swordmaster now, in raw strength, speed, and reflexes. But Eric was no ordinary opponent. A hardened Sword Expert clad in enchanted gold-ranked armour, his strength and durability were multiplied beyond the norm. And Kaelor still lacked a weapon that truly matched his might. If they clashed now, the fight wouldn’t favour him.

Unless he used his Trueblood powers.

With them, the playing field changed. He wouldn’t slice through that enchanted plate like butter, but he could damage it. Damage Eric.

Eric’s lips curled into a snarl. "I will come for you. I will cut your limbs and feed them to dogs."

Kaelor said nothing.

The man shoved past, shoulder brushing his with brute intent, before vanishing into the crowd like a dark omen.

Kaelor’s fingers flexed slightly. He hated being threatened. But he swallowed his pride, for now.

’Time will come,’ he thought.

He could feel it. He was close to a breakthrough, nearing the peak of Expert-level sword mastery. A proper longsword, one forged to suit his strength, would soon be his. And when that moment came...

Not even gold-ranked armour would save Eric.

A few swings would be all it took.

....

After a while, Kaelor left with a massive convoy behind him so large that it stretched like a scaled serpent of men, horses, and wagons, slithering along the winding, narrow path. The road itself was barely wide enough for the column to pass, more of a dirt trail than a true road. It only existed because of the seasonal rice transport that had quietly persisted long before Kaelor’s arrival. Without that steady, grinding routine, Redwood Town might have remained completely isolated.

Though the Red town folks occasionally visited Graystone, their infrequent journeys were never enough to carve a path on their own. The land here was stubborn and wild; nature always tried to reclaim what little the villagers had taken.

Watching them vanish into the distance, the mountain of a bodyguard, towering and broad-shouldered like a walking fortress, tilted his head slightly toward Grant. His thick brows furrowed behind his helm. "There’s something strange about that man... and the people he came with."

His eyes narrowed, flickering as his mind replayed a specific moment: when Mildred passed by him.

It had been brief, but something had caught his attention. Hidden well beneath her flowing hair, he could’ve sworn he saw something shift, something trying to emerge. It hadn’t looked like any ear he’d seen on a human before.

Not at all.

"A regular trade with him will boost my standing within the Guild. Once that happens, your salary will increase by another gold coin, and I’ll do my best to scavenge a written guide of a Sword Saint. Even a mere scratch from such a master should be enough to push you into the upper reaches of mid-level Master rank."

When Grant said that, his bodyguard went quiet.

He understood perfectly.

Whatever his instincts warned him about, whatever flicker of inhumanity he might’ve seen in that black-haired woman, none of it was enough to outweigh their hunger for coin and progress.

They had come too far, endured too much. Suspicion couldn’t buy bread, but Kaelor’s silver could fund their rise.

While that quiet exchange passed like smoke between them, Baron Garrick rode back to Graystone, his features carved in cold determination. His jaw was clenched. He couldn’t afford to let Redwood Town remain under Kaelor’s thumb.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became, Kaelor was already a threat. A true threat. With five thousand pounds of wrought iron and a growing force, the man wasn’t merely building a village. He was preparing for something more. Something dangerous.

As Garrick approached the Guild exit, he didn’t stop. He rode straight past them, flanked by Eric and ten Men-at-Arms, his best soldiers, handpicked and hardened by war. Their polished mail glinted beneath the dull sun, weapons strapped and eyes cold.

He made a vow then, one he didn’t speak aloud.

The next time he returned to this road, he wouldn’t be flanked by ten men.

He would bring an army.