The Embers of War Had Cooled
The embers of war had cooled, but Alexander knew peace was an illusion. The mercenary threat had been dealt with, yet a greater danger had revealed itself—an unknown noble, working from the shadows, pulling strings to stifle Emberhold's growth. The battlefield had been cleared, the dead buried or burned, but war lingered in the air like the scent of blood-soaked earth.
A new conflict was brewing, one fought not just with steel, but with politics, strategy, and control.
The Captured Letters
Inside the war tent, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and ink. Alexander stood over the war table, a sealed letter spread open before him, its broken wax seal bearing a crest unfamiliar to him. Silas and Elias flanked him, their expressions unreadable as they examined the message recovered from the mercenary leader's belongings.
Silas ran a finger over the parchment, studying the broken seal. "The wax is cracked, but the crest is distinct. This belongs to a noble house."
Elias scoffed, arms crossed. "Not the Baron's?"
Silas shook his head. "No. This is someone else entirely."
Alexander scanned the contents again. The message was brief, yet it carried dangerous implications.
"Ensure that the settlement does not grow further. Emberhold must remain weak, or it will become a problem."
"Your payment has been sent. Do not fail."
There were no names. No indication of who had written it. Just clear, calculated instructions meant to suppress them.
Silas exhaled. "Whoever sent this wasn't interested in destroying us outright—just keeping us small and insignificant."
Alexander's fingers tightened around the parchment. That plan had already failed. Emberhold was no longer some fragile settlement on the fringes of civilization.
"Start gathering information," he ordered. "Find out which nobles operate in this region. If someone sees us as a problem, we need to know who they are before they make their next move."
Silas smirked, his gaze sharp. "Already ahead of you."
A Village Seeks Protection
By midday, a delegation from a nearby village arrived at Emberhold's gates. A group of ten villagers, led by an older man with a weathered face and calloused hands, stood before the growing settlement. They carried no weapons, only the weight of a decision that could determine their future.
Alexander met them in the courtyard, the villagers bowing slightly—not in submission, but in recognition of the power Emberhold now represented.
"Lord Alexander," the elder spoke cautiously, his voice steady despite the uncertainty in his eyes. "Our village has been caught between warring factions for too long. The Baron's men ignore us, the mercenaries raided us, and now the roads are unsafe. We seek your protection."
Alexander studied them. These were not desperate refugees looking for shelter. These were people who had weighed their choices and decided Emberhold was their best hope.
"What do you offer in return?" Silas asked smoothly, stepping forward.
The elder squared his shoulders. "We have farmland—what little can still grow in this region. We can provide food, labor, and trade. All we ask is protection from those who would take what little we have."
Elias muttered under his breath. "Sounds like they know we're their best bet."
Alexander nodded. This was the first step toward something greater.
"Your village is under Emberhold's protection," he declared. "But you follow our laws. If we fight for you, you fight for us."
The elder bowed again, this time deeper. "We understand. Thank you."
As the villagers departed, Silas leaned in. "That's one village. Others will follow."
Alexander smirked. "Then we prepare for them."
The Housing & Infrastructure Problem Grows
By evening, Emberhold was bustling with activity. More people meant more problems.
Owen met with Alexander near the half-built structures on the outskirts of the settlement, frustration clear in his expression. "We've built more houses, but it's not enough. More people are coming in than we can house."
Alexander exhaled, surveying the wooden framework of new homes being constructed. Emberhold was growing faster than expected. What had once been a collection of rough shelters was now transforming into something far larger.
"We need a long-term plan," he said. "Expand beyond individual houses. Start constructing proper buildings—larger housing barracks for workers, better defenses, and a more organized layout."
Silas added, "The faster we expand, the more we attract attention. If a noble already saw us as a threat before, this will only make it worse."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. The noble who had sought to keep them weak had already failed once. Now, they had a bigger problem.
"Let them watch," he said. "We're not stopping."
The First Move Against Emberhold
The night was clear, the moon casting its pale glow over Emberhold's walls. The air was cool, carrying the distant rustling of the forests beyond. It should have been a quiet night.
Instead, a scout rode in at full gallop, his face grim as he dismounted near the war tent.
Alexander met him at the entrance. "Report."
The scout took a steadying breath. "One of our supply caravans was ambushed on the northern road. The guards were killed. The wagons were taken."
Alexander's grip tightened on the parchment still resting on his war table.
This wasn't a bandit raid.
This was planned.
The noble behind the mercenaries was no longer content to work from the shadows. They had failed to keep Emberhold weak through hired swords, so now they were taking a more direct approach.
This was the first move in a new conflict.
And Emberhold would answer.