The sun rose over Windsor County like a banner of fire, casting long shadows over the training grounds behind Castle Windsor. Half a month had passed since Aldric introduced muskets to his veteran soldiers. In that time, much had changed.
The dwarves had worked day and night, their hammers ringing through the valley as they refined the original musket design. The newer models had sturdier stocks, slightly improved firing mechanisms, and tighter barrels for better accuracy. Each weapon bore a simple mark: the sigil of Windsor County burned into the wood near the trigger.
Windsor had regulated almost two thousand soldiers as border pratol and guards to guard the trade route of the county, which kept the trade flowing and only kept the force of 500 veterans as the main force.
Now, all five hundred muskets stood ready, stacked in racks beneath watchful eyes. Powder was stored safely in reinforced sheds. Lead balls were packed by the thousands, and the saltpeter mine Aldric had rediscovered now supplied a steady stream of materials for the growing war machine.
On the field, soldiers drilled with clockwork precision. At first, they had been hesitant—but now they no longer flinched at the sound of gunfire. They reloaded with practiced speed, lined in rows, their formation tight. Shouts echoed across the training grounds as various captains barked commands.
"First line—fire!"
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
"Reload! Second line—fire!"
Aldric stood atop a wooden platform built for observation, watching with arms crossed. Beside him, Ronald gave a satisfied nod.
"They are ready," he said.
Aldric exhaled slowly. "Not just them. The people, too. Morale in the towns has never been this high. Farmers offer their carts, blacksmiths forge spare parts, even children deliver meals to the troops."
"They believe in you," Ronald said. "The soldiers... they speak of you like a figure from legend. A hero sent by the gods to protect them."
Aldric shook his head, though his expression was thoughtful. "I am just a man. But if belief gives them strength, I will not take it from them."
Below, a section of the training field had been set aside for the Steelheart Order. The fifty knights trained separately from the rest of the army, their drills centered on swordplay, cavalry charges, and shield formations. They had yet to formally join the musket-bearing army.
Even so, they watched with interest. A few had begun to test the muskets in private. Though impressed, the knights understood the weapon's limits.
Sir Cooper, the Order's second-in-command, approached Ronald with a musket slung over his shoulder. "These weapons are useful," he said. "But they will not pierce the armor of an advanced aura user. Against elite foot soldiers and common brigands, yes. But the moment we face a true powerhouse these muskets alone will not win the day."
Ronald nodded. "I know. That is why your Order must remain strong. When steel and shot are combined, we may stand a chance."
Sir Cooper glanced back at his knights, locked in formation. "We will be ready, my lord, please use us to full extent."
Aldric understood the caution. While the musket was a breakthrough, it was still a new weapon loud, slow to reload, and less effective against heavy plate. It gave his army an edge, but not an overwhelming one. Not yet.
It was not just preparation within Windsor. Scouts had returned with troubling news. Pirate ships had been spotted near the coast, larger and better-armed than before. Two villages had fallen silently in the night. Smoke no longer rose from their chimneys. Survivors had fled inland, whispering tales of black flags and foreign tongues.
"They move faster than expected," Aldric said during the evening war council. "They are preparing a full invasion."
A map lay on the table, marked with red pins where pirates had landed. Gale, Aldric's butler and now acting quartermaster, stood nearby taking notes.
"If they gain a foothold here," Ronald said, pointing to a coastal pass, "they will march straight to Velmora. We must meet them before they reach any other villages."
Aldric nodded. "Then we will march in three days."
The room fell silent.
Three days. After all the months of preparation, the waiting was over.
In the days that followed, final touches were made. Extra rations were packed. Armor was checked. The dwarves distributed their last crates of black powder. Families came to say goodbye to their sons, brothers, and fathers.
Thorne, the grizzled veteran who had once doubted muskets, now stood taller than ever. He had been given the title of squad leader and trained a group of twenty marksmen.
"Keep your lines straight," he told them. "Fire when told. Reload fast if you don't want to die. The pirates are ruthless in war."
Joric, his old comrade, leaned on his musket nearby. "Can you believe it? Just a few weeks ago we were tired old dogs waiting for the end. Now we carry thunder in our hands."
"Aye," Thorne said. "We carry hope."
The soldiers spoke in hushed tones at night, sharing rumors and fears. But above all, there was belief.
"I heard Lord Aldric found the recipe for black powder in some ancient book," one soldier whispered.
"They say he sees the future," another said. "Knows what the pirates will do before they act."
"He was chosen," someone murmured. "The gods sent him here. That is why we have a chance."
The night before the march, Aldric stood alone in the castle courtyard. The moonlight touched the stones beneath his boots, and in the distance, he could still hear the faint rhythm of soldiers chanting.
He looked up at the stars. This was the first time we ever went on a war which he lead.
Gale appeared quietly beside him, carrying a lantern. "You need to get some sleep, my lord. Tomorrow will be a long day."
Aldric nodded. "Tomorrow, it begins."
At dawn, the gates of Castle Windsor opened.
Almost two thousand soldiers marches following behind them another five hundred soldiers marched, muskets slung across their backs, uniforms freshly cleaned, boots pounding the earth in unison. The Steelheart Order remained behind, continuing their separate training watching silently as the army passed.
Behind the marching soldiers followed supply carts, powder wagons, and messengers. Villagers gathered by the roadside, cheering and throwing flowers. Children waved wooden rifles, imitating the soldiers.
"For Windsor!" they cried. "For Lord Aldric!"
Aldric rode at the front on horseback, Ronald beside him in full armor, his greatsword strapped to his back.
"I never thought I would see this," Ronald said.
"Neither did I," Aldric replied. "But we have no choice. If we do not fight now, there will be nothing left to protect."
And so, with the sun rising behind them, the army marched.
Toward the coastal village Dalmore.