The morning had not yet reached its midpoint when the first refugees appeared on Kisor's northern horizon. At first mere specks in the distance, they soon became a human flood - broken, fearful people dragging their defeat behind them. Their pale faces, torn clothing, and terror-filled eyes told stories of war and desperate flight. They came from the north, from the conflict zones between Duke Friedrich and the Royal Duke, carrying with them the dust of battle and the groans of hunger.
The crowds gathered at Kisor's gates - thousands of men, women, children and elderly begging for shelter and safety. The scene was heartbreaking: hungry children crying, mothers weeping, despair in the men's eyes.
Zidan arrived at the gates accompanied by Javier and Sifara. Looking at the masses, his heart clenched. The neuralink chip flashed in his mind, reminding him of refugee tragedies from Earth and how nations had struggled with their burden. But here, in this primitive world, the responsibility fell solely on his shoulders.
"My Lord, what shall we do?" Javier asked, his face etched with deep concern. "There are at least seven thousand people here! We can't shelter them all within the town walls. Our resources... they barely suffice for ourselves."
"We won't let them die at our gates, Javier," Zidan said firmly, his eyes fixed on the crowd. "Open the gates. Let them in. We'll shelter them."
Javier and Sifara's eyes widened in shock. "Shelter them? My Lord, this is madness! It will place an enormous burden on Kisor!" Javier protested.
"These are our people, Javier. Victims of a war they didn't choose," Zidan replied. "If we don't help them, who will?"
Zidan ordered the soldiers to open the gates. The refugees streamed into Kisor, their eyes taking in the relatively clean streets and faces not marked by the hunger they'd grown accustomed to. Astonishment showed on their faces.
"Javier, I want you to establish large refugee camps right outside the castle walls," Zidan commanded. "Use all available space. We need tents, basic sanitation facilities, and food/water distribution points. Sifara, assign soldiers to help organize the camps and maintain security."
"As you command, my Lord," Javier said, beginning to realize Zidan was completely serious.
Work began immediately. Soldiers, assisted by Kisor volunteers, started erecting tents, digging primitive latrines, and setting up distribution points. The refugees, accustomed to neglect and cruelty, stared in wonder at this unexpected generosity.
"Is this real?" an old woman whispered to her son as she received a bowl of hot soup. "I've never seen a noble so generous in my life."
"He's different, mother," her son replied. "I heard he opened the castle stores to feed his people. He's a kind-hearted noble."
Stories of Zidan's generosity spread among the refugees like wildfire. They had arrived frightened and starving, but found shelter, food, and most importantly - dignity. Despair in their eyes gradually turned to hope and gratitude. "Long live Baron Zidan! Long live Baron Zidan!" chants rose from the camps, thousands of refugees who'd found sanctuary in Kisor.
A few days after settling the refugees, Zidan summoned Sifara to his study.
"Sifara, I've observed that these refugees, despite their suffering, have fighting spirit," Zidan said. "Many are strong young men who fled the war but haven't lost their will to fight for a just cause."
"Yes, my Lord. I've noticed that," Sifara agreed. "But they're exhausted and untrained."
"That's what we'll change," Zidan said, his eyes gleaming with determination. "I want to expand our army from 800 to 1,600 soldiers."
Sifara was stunned. "1,600? My Lord, that's double our current force! Where will we find so many soldiers?"
"From the refugees," Zidan explained. "We'll recruit strong young men among them. We'll offer food, shelter, training, and most importantly - a chance to defend themselves and Kisor. We'll divide the army into four infantry battalions of 400 each, each with its own commander, all trained in the modern methods we've begun implementing."
"This... this is extremely ambitious, my Lord," Sifara said, though he saw the potential. "But what about intelligence? In this war, we need eyes and ears everywhere."
"You're absolutely right, Sifara," Zidan said with a smile. "That's why I want to create a special intelligence unit. Covert, consisting of 80 of our smartest, most skilled soldiers. I'll call it the Special Infiltration Company."
"The Special Infiltration Company?" Sifara repeated, intrigued by the name.
"Yes. Their mission will be intelligence gathering, infiltration, sabotage, and assassinations if necessary," Zidan explained. "I want you to select our best 80 soldiers - those with sharp intellects, unconventional thinking, and absolute loyalty. Has anyone particularly stood out in recent training?"
Sifara thought for a moment. "Yes, my Lord. A young man named Marion. He's surpassed his peers in everything. Intelligent, quick-witted, with remarkable intuition. He has a razor-sharp mind."
"Marion then," Zidan decided. "I want him to lead this company. Begin recruiting and training the refugees. I'll personally train Marion and the Special Company."
As Sifara left, his mind buzzed with plans. Zidan was changing everything at an astonishing pace.
Two months passed relatively quietly in Kisor. The camps had stabilized, and refugees gradually integrated into town life. Young men flocked to recruitment centers, eager for food, training, and most importantly - belonging and hope. The army doubled in size, with new soldiers mastering modern formations under Sifara and his commanders. The Special Infiltration Company trained in complete secrecy under Zidan's personal supervision, learning stealth and intelligence gathering.
But the most dramatic change was in the fields.
Javier walked through farmland surrounding Kisor, his face showing utter disbelief. Crops grew in abundance he'd never witnessed. Fields once suffering drought and poor soil now flourished with strong, healthy plants.
"My Lord Baron! My Lord Baron!" Javier shouted as he hurried toward Zidan inspecting a field. "This... this is unbelievable! The crops... they're growing like never before!"
Zidan smiled. "I told you, Javier. Organic fertilizer and water pumps. These are the results."
"But... but the short-cycle crops!" Javier pointed at rows of large-leafed plants. "The sweet potatoes... they've already grown! The yield... it's increased five and a half times! It's a miracle! I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it!"
Javier's eyes shone with astonishment and newfound faith. He'd doubted Zidan's "waste and manure" fertilizer idea, but the results were undeniable. Zidan had been right all along.
"Didn't I tell you, Javier?" Zidan said. "Now do you fully believe in the fertilizer idea?"
Javier nodded vigorously. "Yes, my Lord! I believe completely! You... you're a genius! You've saved Kisor from starvation!"
This moment marked a small victory for Zidan. He'd proven to Javier - and himself - that his Earth ideas could make a real difference here.
But the peace wouldn't last.
That evening, shocking news arrived from the north. Exhausted messengers with terror-stricken faces brought bone-chilling reports.
"My Lord Baron! My Lord Baron!" a messenger cried as he knelt before Zidan in the palace hall. "Sirikan has fallen! Fallen!"
Zidan stiffened. Sirikan, the town 220 kilometers north of Kisor.
"What else?" Zidan asked, his voice eerily calm.
"Telimah has fallen too, my Lord! Only 212 kilometers away! And Duke Friedrich's army advances rapidly!"
The court gathered in the hall, faces showing terror. These had been strong fortresses. Their rapid fall was unbelievable.
"And... and the city of Siraji, my Lord," the messenger continued, barely whispering. "It's fallen too. Only 184 kilometers from here."
The news struck like lightning. Siraji! A major city and formidable fortress. Its fall meant the northern rebellion was expanding at terrifying speed, with danger now just days from Kisor.
News spread through the kingdom like wildfire - shock, terror and despair. Duke Friedrich's rebellion was growing, approaching the kingdom's heart. King Alexander was weak, the nobles divided.
But in Kisor, the mood differed. There was concern, yes, but also determination. Zidan had fed the hungry, built a strong army, fortified his castle, and increased food production. He'd prepared Kisor to weather the coming storm.
Zidan looked at the map before him, eyes measuring the distances. 184 kilometers. No more time remained for waiting. The time for fighting had come.