Day 21.
The morning began with the rhythmic sound of Grom's hammer ringing against the anvil. The new Master Blacksmith was churning out iron spearheads at an incredible speed.
Rian stood on the ramparts, watching his 12 guards train. They were moving better now, their morale high after the wolf hunt. But they were still only twelve men.
Rian rubbed his temples. The peace was too quiet.
Ding!
The blue screen shattered the calm.
[Ding! Daily Intelligence Report - Day 20]
[1. Urgent Threat Warning]
A scouting party of the "Black-Skull Raiders" has spotted the smoke from your Blast Furnace.
Enemy Strength: 40 Bandits (Level 1-2 Warriors).
Leader: "One-Eye Varg" (Level 3 Berserker).
ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival): 24 Hours. They will attack at dawn.
Goal: They believe you are mining gold. They intend to kill everyone and seize the mine.
Rian's blood ran cold.
Forty bandits.
He had 12 guards. Even with Grom and himself, they were outnumbered 3 to 1. And these weren't wolves who ran on instinct; these were men who knew how to kill.
"Hance!" Rian shouted, his voice cracking like a whip. "Sound the bell. Gather everyone in the courtyard. Everyone!"
The Assembly
Ten minutes later, 121 people stood in the frozen mud of the courtyard.
The serfs, the 25 recovering slaves, the women, the old men—everyone was there. They looked terrified. The alarm bell usually meant one thing: Death.
Rian stood on a wooden crate so he could look down at them.
He didn't sugarcoat it.
"Tomorrow morning," Rian announced, his voice cold and hard, "Forty bandits will attack this fort."
A wave of panic swept through the crowd. Women clutched their children. Men looked at their feet, trembling.
"We are dead," a serf whispered. "We should run!"
"Run where?" Rian snapped. "Into the snow? To freeze? To be eaten by Orcs?"
He pointed to the warm Greenhouse, then to the kitchen where the smell of fish soup was wafting out.
"They are coming to take your food. They are coming to take your warm beds. They are coming to take the first home you have had in years."
Rian pulled out a newly forged Iron Spear. It was crude—just a sharp iron point on a long wooden pole.
"I cannot teach you to be knights in one day," Rian said, looking at the shivering crowd. "I cannot teach you to swing a sword like a hero."
He slammed the butt of the spear into the ground.
"But I can teach you to stand."
He turned to Garrick. "Divide the men. Every able-bodied male, from age 15 to 50. Step forward!"
Reluctantly, about 60 men stepped forward. They were thin, weak, and scared. Most had never held a weapon.
"Grom!" Rian called out. "Empty the armory. Give them the Long Spears."
The Crash Course
For the rest of the day, Fort Blackiron didn't build walls. It built courage.
Rian didn't teach them fancy moves. He taught them The Phalanx.
It was the ultimate formation for untrained peasants.
"Shoulder to shoulder!" Rian screamed, walking down the line. "Don't look at the enemy! Look at the back of the man in front of you!"
He arranged them in three rows behind the main gate.
Row 1: Kneel and brace the spear against the ground.
Row 2: Stand and aim at chest height.
Row 3: Stand and aim overhead.
It created a wall of iron spikes.
"If a bandit charges," Rian explained, "He doesn't fight one of you. He fights three spears at once. You don't need to be strong. You just need to hold the line. If you run, your neighbor dies. If you stand, we win."
"But My Lord," a young serf named Pod asked, his hands shaking as he held the heavy pike. "They are Level 2 warriors. They have armor. We are just... farmers."
Rian looked at Pod.
"Physics doesn't care about levels, Pod. An iron spike through the gut kills a Level 2 warrior just as dead as a Level 1."
Rian turned to the women and the elderly. He didn't let them sit idle.
"You are the Artillery," Rian commanded.
He pointed to the ramparts.
"Boil water. Gather heavy stones. When they hit the gate, make it rain hell."
Nightfall
The sun set, plunging the fort into darkness.
The training was over. The men were exhausted, their muscles aching from holding the heavy wooden poles.
They sat around the fire, eating their ration of fish and barley soup. The mood was somber. They were writing their wills in their heads.
Rian sat apart from them, sharpening his own sword. Grom walked over, holding a massive sledgehammer he intended to use as a weapon.
"They are scared, Lord," Grom grunted. "Half of them might piss themselves when the screaming starts."
"Fear is fuel," Rian replied, watching the flames. "They just need to survive the first clash. If they see the bandits bleed... they will realize that their 'monsters' are just men."
Rian looked at the closed gate.
The System said 24 hours. The clock was ticking.
He stood up and addressed his people one last time.
"Sleep now. Tomorrow, we don't build an empire," Rian whispered to the wind. "Tomorrow, we defend it."
End of Chapter 19