"Hey, Old Locke, why are you in such a hurry to get home?" A loud voice called out from afar. It was Blues, a junior steward of the trade caravan, riding up on his horse with an easy swagger. "Come on, have a drink with me today!"
Old Locke recognized him immediately. Blues was one of those junior stewards who followed the trade caravan, different from the stewards directly managed by the baron or those backed by prominent families. These junior stewards handled minor tasks and often dabbled in small trading deals on the side. They had little real power, but no one in the caravan cared as long as they minded their own business. After all, these junior stewards usually had some sort of connection—a cousin of a captain, a nephew of a merchant—making them immune to oversight.
Blues wasn't without his own backing either. His uncle was Henry, the stout steward who had helped Caesar get Chassie into the military camp and promised to forge shields for him. Henry was a true steward of the trade caravan, and naturally, he wouldn't return to Kyle Territory with the retreating caravan. Right now, during the harvest of war, every second meant profit. After unloading goods in Peters Territory, Henry led the caravan straight back to the front lines, where chaos still reigned, but where opportunities gleamed like gold.
As for Blues, he had been sent home by Henry. Returning home meant safety and a chance to reunite with family, but for a merchant in a military caravan, the front lines were the true gold mine. Still, Blues wasn't in a position to refuse his uncle's orders.
Despite his young age and low rank, Blues was sharp and well-connected. He maintained relationships with people of all ranks in the caravan and was familiar with the families of small squad leaders across various towns. In fact, it was Blues who had brought the news of Caesar's promotion to squad leader to his family last year.
Looking at the young man who had brought them such good news last year, Old Locke smiled ingratiatingly, "Ah, Master Blues, you're back quite early this time."
And early it was indeed. Iron Mine Town, located deep in the mountains and difficult to reach, was usually the last stop for the caravan. But this time, it was only the second stop after Kyle Baron's castle—for good reason.
In the past, Blues could afford to act a bit superior in front of the relatives of a mere squad leader. But now he stood before the family of a platoon leader, and that demanded respect. If word got back to Caesar about any slight, Blues knew his uncle Henry wouldn't be able to protect him.
"Oh, Uncle Locke, you flatter me! I've brought good news for you today!" Blues said with a grin.
"Oh? What news?" Old Locke, Tia, and Leah all looked at him curiously. For them, Caesar being safe was already the best news they could hope for.
Blues raised his eyebrows proudly. "Your son, Lord Caesar, was promoted to platoon leader last month by the baron!"
"Platoon leader?!" The exclamation didn't come from Old Locke's family but from the townsfolk who had started gathering around. "Isn't that on the same level as the mayor?!" someone exclaimed, their voice tinged with envy.
"Absolutely," Blues said smugly.
Old Locke was stunned into silence, while Tia was overcome with emotion. She didn't care about the size of Caesar's rank; knowing her son was safe and had even been promoted filled her with pride and relief. Leah, though calmer, couldn't hide the spark of admiration in her eyes.
It was the town mayor, Old Billy, who stepped in to restore order. "Clear the road! Let the caravan pass!" The narrow mountain road was already crowded, and Old Billy, despite drinking heavily the night before, had risen early to welcome the caravan.
Old Billy had also heard Blues's announcement. Caesar, the son of Old Locke, had been promoted to platoon leader? At first, he thought he might still be dreaming. But reality set in, and he accepted it with joy. If this news had reached him twenty years ago, he might have felt jealousy. But now, at forty, he had little left to prove. All he felt was pride for his town.
He had good reason to be proud. There were only four platoon leaders in the baron's army, one for each of the baron's four towns. Normally, each town would produce two platoon leaders for balance and efficient management. With Caesar's promotion, Iron Mine Town might now have three platoon leaders—a point of pride that Old Billy would gladly flaunt to the other town mayors.
But to be sure, Old Billy discreetly pulled Blues aside. "Blues, tell me honestly, York and Karl are still fine, right?"
Blues grinned. "Don't worry, Uncle Billy. York and Karl are both in great shape. They even asked me to remind you to save them some of your best wine for when they return."
Old Billy laughed heartily. "You tell them not to worry! I've been saving wine for four years now, and when they return, I'll host a feast for the whole town!"
Blues smirked. "Then my uncle Henry and I will join the celebration too."
"Of course!" Old Billy said with a grand gesture.
That night, Iron Mine Town embraced another evening of celebration. While not as lively as the previous night, for some, it was an even more meaningful occasion.
For Old Locke's family, knowing Caesar was safe and had risen to such a prestigious rank was beyond their wildest hopes. Old Locke couldn't wait to visit his ancestors' graves on the mountain to share the good news.
But the townsfolk had other plans. Wealthy families and merchants swarmed Old Locke and Tia, some eager to curry favor, others even proposing marriage alliances with their daughters or sons.
But Old Locke and Tia were no fools. With Caesar's future so bright, they weren't going to rush into any decisions.
Meanwhile, Old Billy was busy too. He summoned his tax collector, sheriff, and other officials to discuss ways to support Caesar's family—perhaps reduced taxes, or even some extra hands to help with their farmland. Such gestures, though small, carried weight.
For two consecutive nights, Iron Mine Town had been alive with hope and celebration. For the first time in years, the people dared to dream that their sons, husbands, and brothers might not only return safely from war but return as heroes.
And far away, Caesar whipped his horse, urging it forward as his platoon marched steadily toward Bimor City. The banners flew high, and the mountains echoed with the sound of their footsteps. Their next stop awaited.