Chapter 84: Great Progress
Week after week, Redwood thrummed with the steady pulse of progress. The once-quiet Ivory Hills were now alive with the clang of hammers, the scrape of stone, and the steady rumble of carts moving to and from the work sites. Hundreds of men were dispatched daily to Ivory Hill’s quarry, where their backs strained under the weight of raw limestone blocks.
Sweat glistened on their brows as they hauled the stone down to the basin, where teams of skilled masons waited, chiseling each piece into perfect, even shapes for construction.
Elsewhere, dozens toiled in the mine. At first, the work had been slow, hampered by a lack of proper tools. But as days turned into weeks, more pickaxes and shovels were forged, and the number of miners swelled until nearly a hundred men worked the dark, echoing tunnels, their efforts feeding Redwood’s growing hunger for stone and ore.
The town itself was transforming. Construction of homes came to its final stages, and before long, every family could claim a roof over their heads. The military was expanding as well, two hundred men eagerly volunteered for the Guardsmen, while a hundred and twenty joined the ranks of the Bloodstone Archers. The first hundred archers were personally upgraded to Purebloods by Kaelor, and Soren himself rose to the rare rank of Trueblood.
Beyond the town walls, the hunt for direwolves continued relentlessly. Teams scoured the plains and valleys until all two hundred Guardsmen had been fused with direwolves, their newfound power making them both feared and revered.
It was on one such bright morning that the sharp whoosh of a blade slicing through the air reached Mildred’s ears. Following the sound, she stepped into the backyard and stopped.
There stood Kaelor, shirtless, swinging Keranous in a steady, fluid rhythm. The sunlight poured over him, gilding his skin in a warm glow, each ripple of muscle catching the light. Sweat ran down his chest and back, tracing the lines of a body honed by both battle and discipline.
The yard bore the evidence of his training, deep cuts scored into the packed earth, and even the stone walls carried fresh scars from his strikes.
A gentle smile spread across Mildred’s face as she leaned against the doorframe, content to watch. His focus was absolute; his eyes were closed, yet each stance, each swing, flowed with flawless precision. Even without the eye of a weapons master, she could see his form was impeccable.
"My Lord... you’ve grown fond of the sword," she mused softly, her voice almost lost to the steady hiss of the blade. There was something magnetic about the determination radiating from him.
Her gaze softened, and for a moment, her mind drifted. ’Your mother would have been proud to see you become such an admirable lord.’ The memory of Lady Dravion flickered behind her eyes, kind, strong, and radiant in her own way. Mildred’s pupils trembled slightly as she remembered her own days as a young girl, serving at her lady’s side, never imagining the boy she once saw running through the halls of the Duke’s castle, ignored by the members of the Duke’s court, would grow into this man before her.
"Sorry to interrupt, My Lord, but Commander Hound, Osric, and Benjamin are here to see you."
Kaelor’s next strike swept through the air in a clean, horizontal cut. The movement ended with a faint hum of steel before he lowered the longsword and drew in a deep, steady breath. Slowly, his eyes opened, revealing the calm, unassuming brown gaze that masked the fire and will within.
Mildred approached with Keranous’ sheath in hand. Without a word, Kaelor accepted it, running a cloth along the blade’s gleaming edge before sliding it home into its scabbard.
"I’ve prepared your bath," she said softly, her tone carrying the quiet satisfaction of duty well done.
After bathing, Kaelor dressed in a fresh black long-sleeved tunic, its rope-fastened wrists drawn snug for a tailored fit. Black leather trousers, expertly made by one of Redwood’s newly freed tailors, completed the ensemble. His wardrobe had grown rich in such garments, gifts from grateful craftsmen whose skills had found new life under his rule.
Entering the Lord’s Hall, Kaelor found Hound, Osric, and Benjamin already in position. The chamber’s small windows allowed little sunlight to pour in. Hound stood to the left at a rectangular table, one hand planted firmly over a spread map.
Osric and Benjamin were on either side of another table, where a model of considerable craftsmanship rested.
At the sight of him, all three men bowed deeply.
"Your Lordship!"
Kaelor gave a measured nod, settling into his chair. One leg crossed over the other, and he leaned slightly left, an unspoken signal for them to begin.
Hound cleared his throat. "My Lord, we have searched extensively, from the basin to Ivory Hills, even as far as the Titan River. There are no more direwolves in those regions. Only the Eastern Forest remains, a far denser and wilder expanse than the open grasslands we’ve encountered thus far. Without more direwolves, the Guardsmen’s growth may stall when the next wave of freed slaves arrives."
Kaelor replied softly, "We were fortunate before, finding several packs allowed two hundred recruits to complete their transformation into full Guardsmen. But beyond the Eastern Forest lies Scarface’s domain as you told us."
His gaze was steady. "We will lead an expedition into the forest, but not until you’ve fully recovered." His tone carried finality.
The Guardsmen’s patrols had already swept the length of the ten-kilometre basin, combed every cave, and traced the riverbanks, yet they had left the Eastern Forest untouched for good reason; it belonged to a beast even Hound was apprehensive about.
"Also," Kaelor added, "visit Vulcanus. He has a new set of sabers for you."
Hound bowed once more and departed, leaving Kaelor to approach the second table. His eyes swept over the miniature with an appraising focus.
"Is this it?" he asked.
The model before him depicted a fortified city in intricate, almost lifelike detail. High stone walls ringed the settlement, crowned with battlements and watchtowers spaced with military precision. Corner keeps anchored the fortifications, their round towers capped with conical roofs, while others bore flat, crenellated tops. The walls were dotted with miniature archers, their stances frozen in eternal vigilance.
A massive gatehouse dominated one side, its portcullis framed by iron-banded doors and flanked by defensive towers. Inside the walls, winding cobblestone streets twisted between rows of tightly packed half-timbered houses, their steep shingled roofs painted in earthy browns and deep reds.
Above the clustered homes, taller stone towers rose like silent sentinels, some slender and crowned with spires, others broad and martial, built to endure siege and time alike. In the open spaces, miniature market stalls displayed goods, while carts laden with barrels and crates were frozen mid-delivery.
Kaelor noticed this city had two stark parts, the inner walls separated the castle from the other part of the city where the market and houses were. Looking closely, he saw the workplace for the metal workers within the castle walls.
It was ready, all that remained were the materials and Whitestone would be born!