The roar of the new forge became the new soundtrack of Greylock.
It was a constant, hungry sound that spoke of relentless industry.
The rhythmic thump-thump of the water-powered bellows could be heard from every corner of the village, a mechanical heartbeat that drove a new era of productivity.
Borin was a man possessed. He had spent his entire life working with the scraps of iron that trickled into the barony.
Now, he had a seemingly endless supply of ore from the swamp and a forge that could turn it into pure, strong steel. He worked from dawn until dusk, his laughter often booming over the roar of the fire as he pulled another perfect ingot from the mold.
The forge became a production line.
One team of apprentices, under Borin's exacting eye, did nothing but smelt the bog iron into steel ingots.
Another team forged those ingots into the tools Greylock desperately needed.
The first priority was completing the set of ten new plows. They were finished within a week, their polished steel blades gleaming in the firelight.
Elspeth and her farming team received them with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. The tilling of the "Baron's Folly" accelerated dramatically.
After the plows, production shifted. Kaelen provided Borin with a new set of blueprints. Not for tools, but for something else entirely.
He had designed a simple, effective pipe boring drill.
"Pipes?" Borin had grumbled, looking at the strange design. "What in the blazes do we need pipes for?"
"For water," Kaelen had explained. "And for a project that requires very specific, very strong, hollowed-out steel tubes."
The blacksmith didn't understand, but he no longer questioned the Baron's strange requests. He simply built what was on the blueprint.
While the forge roared, Kaelen turned his attention back to the people. The "Greylock Glow-up" was real.
The combination of hard physical labor and a steady, nutritious diet from the castle kitchens was transforming his villagers. The men who worked the swamp and the construction projects were becoming broader, stronger.
But strength without discipline was just a mob.
He approached Seraphina. "It's time to expand the militia."
He wasn't talking about her five guards. He was talking about the dozens of able-bodied men who now had the physique of seasoned soldiers.
"They're strong," she admitted, watching a group of them haul timbers for a new house. "But they are not fighters."
"Then we will teach them," Kaelen said. "We can't afford to equip them all with swords. It's not cost-effective. We need a weapon that's cheap to produce and easy to learn."
He had already designed it: a simple, sturdy pike. A sixteen-foot-long pole of ash wood, tipped with a small, sharp steel spearhead from Borin's forge.
[A/N: a pike is a long thrusting spear used in European warfare from the Late Middle Ages through the early modern period]
"Individually, a man with a pike is weak," Kaelen explained to her, sketching in the dirt of the training yard.
"But in a disciplined formation, a wall of pikes is a meat grinder for a cavalry charge and can hold off swordsmen with ease. It relies on teamwork, not individual skill."
Seraphina, a master of single combat, looked at the crude drawing of a phalanx formation with skepticism.
It seemed clumsy, defensive. But she also saw the cold, brutal logic behind it. It was a system designed for the Unawakened, a way to turn farmers into a viable defensive force.
Under Kaelen's direction, she began training the new Greylock Militia.
✧✧✧
Every evening, after the day's labor was done, the training yard was filled with the sound of shuffling feet and Seraphina's sharp commands as she drilled the men in the basic movements of the pike formation.
It was awkward and clumsy at first, but slowly, a sense of unity and discipline began to take hold.
Kaelen's own training also continued.
His swordplay was still leagues behind Seraphina's, but he was no longer a complete novice. He had achieved a level of basic competence.
He could defend himself, and his stamina had improved to the point where he didn't collapse after ten minutes.
Their sessions became less about her teaching him the basics and more about him analyzing her movements, trying to understand the 'why' behind her flawless technique.
His mana meditation saw a breakthrough as well.
The single, faint spark he had felt had become a small, steady presence. He learned to find it faster each night.
He still couldn't control it, but he could focus on it. Following the vague instructions from the scroll, he tried to 'nurture' it, to draw the ambient energy of the world towards that tiny inner light.
One night, after a particularly grueling session of both sword practice and overseeing the forge, he sat down to meditate.
He was physically and mentally exhausted. But as he closed his eyes and reached for the spark, something different happened.
The spark flared.
It was no longer just a point of light. It was a tiny, swirling vortex of energy. He felt a wisp of the mana in the air, no longer silent, but responding to his focus. It was drawn, slowly and unsteadily, into his body, feeding the vortex.
He felt a subtle warmth spread from his center. His exhaustion seemed to lessen, replaced by a strange, vibrant energy.
He had done it. He had taken the first real step. He hadn't formed a full Mana Core yet, but he had created its foundation. He was officially, if barely, on the path to becoming Awakened.
He opened his eyes, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face.
It was then that he heard the sound.
A distant, urgent ringing of a bell from the watchtower at the edge of the barony.
It was the signal for an attack.
Kaelen shot to his feet, his brief moment of triumph vanishing, replaced by a cold dread. He grabbed the simple, unadorned sword he now kept by his bed and rushed out of his chambers.
He found Seraphina already in the bailey, strapping on her last pieces of armor, her face a grim mask.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"A rider from the watchtower," she said, her voice tight. "A raiding party. At least thirty of them. They're not flying the banner of any lord. Bandits."
Bandits. Thirty of them.
His militia was still green, barely knowing how to hold their pikes. His guards were only five strong. Seraphina was a single Knight.
"They're heading for the village," she continued, her gaze hard as steel. "They'll be here within the hour."
Kaelen's mind raced. His industrial projects, his agricultural plans, his personal training—all of it was for the future.
He wasn't ready for a threat now.