The loss weighed heavily on Emberhold. Owen's absence was felt by all—he had been one of their strongest warriors, a man people had looked to for reassurance in dark times. His death, along with the others lost in the failed raid, was a blow the settlement hadn't experienced before.
For the first time, fear crept into the eyes of those who had once felt untouchable.
Alexander sat in his hut, his left shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages. The wound wasn't deep enough to kill, but it burned with every movement, a constant reminder of his mistake.
Tyrell sat across from him, silent for once, sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes. Elias leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Marcus stood near the fire, staring into the flames.
No one spoke for a long time.
Then Gareth entered, his face hard. "They're waiting for you."
Alexander exhaled slowly. He knew this was coming. The people wanted answers. They wanted to know why their loved ones weren't coming home.
He rose, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and stepped out into the open.
The entire village was gathered near the bonfire, their faces a mix of grief, anger, and uncertainty. Clara and Jacob stood among them, their eyes searching Alexander for something—anything—that would make sense of what had happened.
Silas was the first to speak. "We lost good men."
Alexander nodded. "I know."
Clara took a hesitant step forward. "We trusted you, Alexander. We followed you. But this… this was a massacre."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Alexander clenched his fists. He had to be careful here. If the people lost faith in him, Emberhold would fall apart.
He took a deep breath, then spoke.
"We were reckless," he admitted. "I was reckless." He let his gaze sweep over the gathered faces. "The Baron isn't some incompetent noble playing at war. He's a predator, and he set a trap that we walked straight into."
More murmurs. Some of agreement, some of doubt.
"But I will not let their deaths be in vain," Alexander continued, his voice strong despite the pain. "I will not let Emberhold fall because of my mistakes. We will not fight the Baron like this anymore. No more reckless raids. No more acting like we're invincible. From now on, we fight smarter."
Marcus stepped forward, eyes burning with frustration. "And how do we do that, Alexander? Because right now, we're sitting here, waiting for the Baron to crush us."
Alexander met his gaze. "We stop thinking like raiders. We start thinking like soldiers."
A silence fell over the crowd.
Elias smirked slightly. "You're talking about a real army."
Alexander nodded. "Yes. We've been fighting with half-trained men and scavenged weapons. That's not enough anymore." He looked toward Gareth. "We need better weapons, better armor. Can you do it?"
Gareth scratched his beard, then sighed. "Given enough time, yes. But we need more iron, more tools. We'll have to start mining properly."
Alexander turned to Elias and Tyrell. "We need discipline. We can't just rely on instinct in battle. We train every day, no exceptions."
Tyrell rolled his shoulders. "Then I hope you're ready to break these men, because right now, half of them wouldn't last in a real war."
Alexander nodded grimly. "Then we start tomorrow."
A Shift in Strategy
Over the next few days, Emberhold changed.
The people were still grieving, but they channeled that grief into action. Training drills became part of their daily routine. Weapons were no longer just tools—they were part of their survival.
Elias and Marcus ran the combat drills, forcing the settlers to endure brutal training regimens. Those who had once only known farming now learned how to hold a shield, how to march in formation, how to fight as one.
Gareth's forge became the heart of the village. With new forges built and a steady supply of iron coming in, the first sets of proper weapons and armor were being crafted.
Even Silas, always the strategist, began drawing up defensive plans, preparing Emberhold not just to withstand another attack but to make the Baron bleed when he came for them.
The Baron's Plans
Far to the south, Baron Lucius Valtor sat in his grand war tent, watching the latest reports come in.
"They've stopped raiding," Darius informed him. "No movement in the last week. We sent scouts—Emberhold is fortifying."
The Baron leaned back in his chair, a smile playing at his lips. "Good. They're scared."
Darius hesitated. "Or they're preparing."
The Baron's smirk faded. He wasn't foolish enough to underestimate Alexander again. The man had survived too much to crumble that easily.
He turned to his gathered officers. "Then we don't give them time to prepare."
Darius raised an eyebrow. "Are we marching?"
The Baron shook his head. "Not yet. We let them sweat a little longer. But we increase pressure—send more scouts, disrupt their hunting grounds, intercept any traders or messengers. If they're trying to rebuild, we make them starve first."
Darius smirked. "Starve the rat out of its hole."
The Baron nodded. "Exactly."
The Cost of Survival
Back in Emberhold, Alexander stood at the edge of the settlement, watching his people train. They weren't warriors yet, but they were getting there. Faster, stronger, more disciplined.
Silas approached him, arms crossed. "You know what the Baron is doing, right?"
Alexander nodded. "He's trying to starve us out."
Silas glanced back at the people. "Do we have enough supplies to last?"
Alexander exhaled. "Not forever. We need another way."
Silas hesitated. "And if there is no other way?"
Alexander's jaw tightened. "Then we take what we need."
Silas sighed, shaking his head. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
But deep down, Alexander knew it would. The Baron wasn't going to let them grow unchecked.
Another battle was coming.
And this time, they wouldn't just be defending.