Day 175. The Temple of Waste.
Three days had passed since the lighting of the Blue Flame.
The Livestock District, once the most avoided part of the city due to the smell, had transformed into a pilgrimage site.
Rian stood on the roof of the stables, looking down.
Even though the wind bit with its usual ferocity, the square around the Bioreactor Mound was crowded. People weren't just coming to get soup from Madam Poma's kitchen; they were coming to be near the "Eternal Fire."
Garet, the Stable Master, had taken his role as the "Guardian" seriously. He had erected a small fence around the copper nozzle to prevent children from burning themselves. He stood there, chest puffed out, explaining to a group of wide-eyed refugees how the "Earth Spirit" lived inside the brick egg.
"It never sleeps," Garet preached, pointing to the steady, hissing blue cone. "It eats the filth and gives back the sun. As long as we feed it, we will never freeze."
Rian adjusted his gloves.
Fanaticism, he thought calmly. It is a more potent fuel than coal.
He turned to Varg, who was standing behind him, looking uneasy.
"They look at you like you hung the moon, Boss," Varg muttered. "It's... unsettling. If you told them to jump off the wall, I think half of them would do it."
"Good," Rian said, turning away from the adoring crowd. "Because I need them to do something much harder than jumping off a wall."
"We are going to the Silent Reach."
The War Room
An hour later, inside the Keep.
Rian unrolled the large map of the Western Territories on the oak table.
He placed a heavy iron weight on the corner to keep it flat.
The Silent Reach.
It was a large, blank area on the map, marked with skull icons by the Imperial Cartographers.
"This is 400 miles West," Rian traced the path. "Through the jagged peaks, across the Glacial Plain, into the valley."
The Council of Ten sat around the table.
Olaf (Head Miner) looked at the map and frowned. "My Lord... that is the 'Dead Land'. The legends say the ground is poison. Birds don't fly there. Nothing grows."
"The ground isn't poison, Olaf," Rian corrected. "It is Oil. The earth is soaked in it. That is why plants die. The fumes kill the roots."
"Oil?" Silas (the Glassblower) asked. "Like whale oil?"
"Better," Rian said. "Black blood. Thick, sticky, and burnable. If we get it, we don't just light lamps. We power machines that can move mountains."
"But," Rian looked at Varg. "We can't just walk there. The route is infested with Snow Stalkers and Ice Bears. And the weather... the wind there can strip skin from bone."
"I need an Expedition Force," Rian announced. "Not just soldiers. I need Miners to drill. Masons to build a refinery. Teamsters to drive the sleds."
"I need 200 men to march into the Dead Land."
The room went silent.
200 men. To march 400 miles into a cursed wasteland for "Black Blood" they had never seen?
Usually, a Lord would have to whip his serfs to make them go. Or pay mercenaries a fortune.
"Who will go?" Martha (the Warden) whispered. "The people are warm here. They have soup. Why would they leave paradise to go to hell?"
"Because," Rian stood up, his eyes hard. "I will ask them."
The Call
Noon.
The Great Bell rang.
The citizens of Blackiron City gathered in the central square. The gas lamps flickered in the midday gloom.
Rian stood on the raised platform. He didn't shout. He let the silence stretch until the wind was the only sound.
"Citizens of Blackiron," Rian began.
"You have seen the Blue Fire. You have felt the heat of the concrete. You have eaten the meat of the beast."
He gestured to the city around them.
"We are safe here. We are fed."
He paused.
"But safety is a cage."
He pointed West.
"Beyond the mountains, there is a sleeping giant. Bigger than the Boars. Bigger than the Bioreactor. There is a river of black fire deep under the ice."
"If we wake it... we will never fear the Empire again. We will build chariots of iron. We will build walls of steel."
"But the journey is hard," Rian's voice dropped lower. "The wind is cruel. The monsters are hungry."
"I am not ordering you to go."
He looked at the faces in the crowd.
"I am asking for Volunteers."
"I need 200 men and women. Not to serve me. But to claim the fire for your children."
He stepped back.
"If you trust me... step forward."
The Step
For a moment, nobody moved.
The wind howled. The fear of the "Dead Land" was deep in their bones.
Then, a heavy boot crunched in the snow.
Olaf, the giant miner.
He walked to the front of the platform. He slammed his pickaxe into the ground.
"The Lord gave me heat," Olaf rumbled. "If he says the black blood is there, I will dig it out with my teeth."
Then Jonas, the refugee who had dug the biogas pit.
"I dug the shit-pit!" Jonas shouted. "And it made fire! I'll dig the next one!"
Then a young woman from the Wolf Cavalry.
Then a mason.
Then a cook.
One by one, then ten by ten.
The crowd surged.
"Take me!"
"I can carry a pack!"
"For Lord Rian!"
They weren't mercenaries checking the pay. They were believers. They had seen the miracles, and they wanted to be part of the next one.
Within minutes, five hundred hands were raised.
Rian looked at Varg.
Varg shook his head in disbelief. "They are fighting to go to the wasteland, Boss. You could march on the Capital tomorrow."
"Not the Capital," Rian whispered. "Just the Oil."
The Iron Sleds
Day 176.
The selection was ruthless. Rian took only the strongest.
Now, the preparations began.
This wasn't a trade caravan. This was a mobile industrial base.
Rian stood in the workshop, inspecting the vehicles.
They weren't wheeled wagons (wheels sank in snow). They were Heavy Cargo Sleds.
Built from the Ironwood of the nearby forest, reinforced with the scrap steel from the Orc armor.
"The runners must be wide," Rian instructed the carpenters. "Five inches. If they are narrow, the weight of the drill will bury them."
He walked to the main attraction.
The Drill Rig.
It was disassembled into three heavy sleds.
The Tower: A tripod of steel beams.
The Bit: A vicious, spiral screw made of the hardest Manganese Steel, tipped with the industrial diamonds Mina had flagged as "low quality" for jewelry but "high hardness" for boring.
The Power: A massive manual crank system. Since they didn't have a steam engine yet, twenty men would have to turn the capstan to drive the drill into the earth.
"Pack the wool," Rian ordered Lara, who was checking the inventory.
"Every man gets two cloaks. Dried meat rations for 40 days. And Lamp Oil."
"Lamp oil?" Lara asked.
"We are going to the land of darkness," Rian said. "We bring our own light."
The Farewell
Day 180.
The column formed at the West Gate.
200 picked men and women. 50 Wolf Riders for protection. 30 heavy cargo sleds pulled by teams of oxen and the remaining tamed boars.
Rian mounted Storm-Wing, the Titan-Hawk. He wasn't riding a sled. He needed to scout from the air.
He looked down at the city.
He was leaving it in the hands of the Council.
Martha would manage the food.
Garet would manage the Biogas.
Silas would manage the Glass.
"Varg," Rian signaled to his commander on the ground. "You have the lead."
Varg raised his sword.
"Forward! To the Silent Reach!"
The massive wooden gates groaned open.
The wind from the West hit them immediately—a wall of white frost.
But the column didn't flinch.
They marched out, singing a low, rhythmic chant that Olaf had started. A song about digging deep and finding the sun.
Rian launched into the air.
From high above, the column looked like a thin black thread stretching into an endless white void.
They were leaving civilization behind.
Ahead of them lay 400 miles of monsters, frozen peaks, and the ancient secret that would finally allow Rian to build his engines.
[Ding! Expedition Launched]
[Objective: Establish Oil Outpost]
[Risk: Extreme]
[Success Chance: 40%]
Rian narrowed his eyes against the wind.
"40 percent," he muttered. "Better odds than I started with."
End of Chapter 57