Dawn. Day 22.
The fog was thick, but the heavy footsteps of forty men crushed the silence.
One-Eye Varg, the bandit leader, stood before the gates of Fort Blackiron. He licked his lips. He had heard rumors that the exiled noble was digging up something valuable. Smoke was rising from the castle day and night. It had to be gold.
"Listen, dogs!" Varg shouted to his men. "Kill the men. Keep the women. Find the gold!"
But something was wrong.
The massive wooden gates of the fort were... Open.
Wide open.
There were no guards on the wall. No archers. Just an empty, dark courtyard welcoming them in.
"It's a trap, boss," a bandit whispered nervously.
"Trap?" Varg laughed, swinging his heavy axe. "They are cowards! They ran away and left the door open! Charge! The gold is ours!"
Varg roared and ran towards the open gate. His forty men followed, screaming for blood.
They crossed the bridge. They ran through the gate archway. They stepped onto the courtyard floor.
Slip.
"Whoa!"
Thud! Crack!
It wasn't magic. It was physics.
The night before, Rian had ordered the serfs to pour hundreds of buckets of water on the sloped entrance of the courtyard. At -40°C, the water didn't just freeze; it turned into Black Ice. It was invisible against the dark ground, but smoother than glass.
Varg tried to stop, but his momentum carried him forward. His heavy boots lost all grip. He flailed his arms like a drowning man before crashing hard onto his back.
Behind him, his men piled up like dominos. They couldn't stand. Every time they tried to get up, they slipped and fell again. The entrance had become a chaotic skating rink of cursing bandits.
"Now!" Rian's voice echoed from the shadows.
BOOM!
From the sides of the courtyard, lines of torches suddenly flared to life.
The bandits, still sprawling on the ice, looked up in horror.
They were surrounded.
Three rows of serfs stood on the dry ground, their Long Iron Spears lowered, forming a deadly wall of spikes pointing right at the bandits' throats.
"Hold!" Rian commanded.
He stood behind the spear wall, calm and cold.
Varg struggled to his knees, his face red with rage. "You... you trickster! Fight me like a man!"
Varg tried to lunge forward, raising his axe.
But he couldn't get footing on the ice.
Twang!
A single crossbow bolt flew through the air. It didn't hit Varg's heart. It went straight through his hand, pinning his axe handle to the ice.
"ARGHHH!" Varg screamed.
Rian lowered the crossbow Grom had fixed for him.
"Look around you, Varg," Rian said quietly. "You can't stand. You can't charge. And my men have forty spears pointing at your chests. If I give the order, you all turn into pincushions."
The bandits froze. They looked at their bleeding leader. They looked at the grim faces of the "weak peasants" holding the spears.
"You came for gold?" Rian asked, stepping forward onto the dry patch.
He kicked a pile of black rocks near the furnace.
"I have no gold. I have Coal. I have Iron. And I have hungry workers."
Rian looked at the terrified bandits.
"I am short on miners. The work is hard. The tunnels are dark. But..." Rian paused. "The soup is warm."
He pointed his sword at them.
"Choice A: You die here, on the ice, for a treasure that doesn't exist."
"Choice B: You drop your weapons, swear loyalty to me, and work in the mines. You bring your families here. You get food. You get protection."
Silence filled the courtyard.
The bandits were mercenaries. They didn't fight for honor; they fought to survive. Varg was defeated. The "Gold" was a lie.
One bandit dropped his sword. Clang.
"I... I have a wife in the forest camp," the bandit stammered. "She is starving."
"Then bring her," Rian said. "She can weave wool. You will dig coal."
Another sword dropped. Then another.
Even Varg, clutching his bleeding hand, realized he had lost. He bowed his head.
"We surrender," Varg grunted.
"Garrick," Rian ordered without sheathing his sword. "Gather the weapons. Grom, bring the shackles. They are not citizens yet. They are prisoners until they earn their trust."
Rian turned to his serfs—his "One-Day Army." They were shaking, but they were smiling. They hadn't run. They had won.
"Clear the ice," Rian commanded. "We have new mouths to feed."
[Ding! Battle Won: The Ice Gate Strategy]
[Casualties: 0]
[New Manpower Acquired: 40 Serfs (Former Bandits)]
[Population: 161]
Rian watched the former bandits being led away. He didn't see criminals. He saw the "Muscle" he desperately needed to pave the road.
End of Chapter 20