Tale of Conquerors

Day 16

The rhythmic creak of the waterwheel filled the air as Alexander walked along the irrigation trenches. Behind him, the camp was alive with activity.

By midday, the group gathered in the central clearing. Alexander unrolled a crude map he had drawn, its rough outline showing the camp and its immediate surroundings.

"We've made progress," Alexander began, gesturing to the farm and waterwheel. "But we're still vulnerable. If we want this place to last, we need to grow. That means expanding the camp, bringing in more people, and building infrastructure that can support us long-term."

Victor leaned forward, his expression serious. "You're talking about more people. We can barely handle what we've got now."

"Exactly," Alexander replied. "We need more hands to build, farm, and defend. But that means preparing for them now—starting with a smithy."

A Smithy for Progress

The group's chatter fell silent as Alexander sketched a rough design for a smithy in the dirt.

"A smithy?" Elias asked, raising an eyebrow. "You know how to forge weapons now, boss?"

"Not yet," Alexander admitted. "But it's not about perfection. A basic forge will let us craft tools and weapons that are better than what we have now. Iron weapons will mean we don't have to rely on the village for supplies—or for defense."

Markus smirked, leaning back against a log. "Alright, I'll bite. What do we need for this smithy of yours?"

Alexander gestured to the list of materials. "Wood, stone, and processed iron. A lot of it. Markus and I will head to the village tomorrow to trade for iron fittings and tools. The rest, we'll gather ourselves."

Victor nodded, his broad shoulders tense. "It's a good plan, but the baron's going to hear about this eventually. The more we build, the more attention we draw."

Alexander met his gaze, his tone firm. "Let him hear. If we're strong enough, he'll think twice before coming here."

A Return to the Village

The next morning, Alexander and Markus set out for the village. The road was familiar now, its winding path bordered by fields and clusters of trees.

The village square was bustling with activity. Farmers hauled wagons of produce, merchants hawked their wares, and laborers worked in the forges and workshops that surrounded the plaza.

Alexander and Markus approached the blacksmith, the heat from the forge washing over them as they stepped inside.

"I need iron," Alexander said, placing a bundle of leather and dried meat on the counter while telling the blacksmith his order in detail.

The blacksmith, his soot-streaked face gleaming with sweat, studied the goods carefully. "That's a tall order. Got enough for trade?"

Alexander nodded, adding a pouch of flint to the pile. "This, plus a promise of future trade."

The blacksmith raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Fine. Come back tomorrow, and I'll have what you need."

A Warning from a Stranger

As Alexander turned to leave the forge, a trader standing nearby approached. His weathered face and sharp eyes gave him the air of someone who'd seen plenty in his time.

"You're the one building out in the wilds," the trader said, his voice low.

Alexander nodded cautiously. "I am."

The trader glanced around before stepping closer. "Word's spreading fast. People are talking about your camp—and not all of it's friendly. The baron's men have been asking questions."

Alexander's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone calm. "Thanks for the warning. What's your name?"

"Call me Alden," the trader replied. "And watch your back, stranger. The baron doesn't take kindly to people setting up shop without his blessing."

Alden disappeared into the crowd before Alexander could reply, his parting words lingering in Alexander's mind.

Recruiting New Settlers

With their trade handled, Alexander and Markus turned their attention to finding new settlers.

They approached a small group of men sitting near the edge of the square, their weathered faces marked by years of labor.

"You look like men who know how to work," Alexander said, his tone calm but direct.

One of the men, older and stockier than the rest, looked up with a faint scowl. "And you look like someone who wants something."

"I do," Alexander replied simply. "I'm building something new—a place where hard work pays off, and no one answers to a lord or landowner."

The men exchanged glances, their expressions wary.

"Sounds too good to be true," one of them muttered.

"It's not easy," Alexander admitted. "The work is hard, and the risks are real. But if you're tired of living under someone else's thumb, this is your chance to change that."

The stocky man leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Name's Grant. I'll hear you out."

A New Direction

By the time Alexander and Markus returned to the camp, they had convinced two men to join them. Grant, the older laborer, and his younger companion, a wiry man named Tyrell, brought a fresh energy to the camp.

The system chimed softly, marking their arrival.

[New Settlers: Grant, Tyrell]

Population: 7.

Worker Assignments Expanded: Additional tasks can now be delegated for improved efficiency.

As the group settled in, Alexander called a meeting by the fire.

"Grant, Tyrell, welcome," Alexander said, his tone steady. "This place isn't much yet, but it's ours. Everyone here works hard, and everyone benefits. That's the deal."

Grant nodded, his broad shoulders tense. "Fair enough. What's first?"

"We're building a smithy," Alexander replied. "It'll take time, but it's the next step toward independence."

Elias smirked, leaning back against a log. "Let me guess—more wood and stone?"

"Exactly," Alexander said, smirking faintly. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start gathering."

Reflection and Resolve

As Alexander sat by the fire that evening, his thoughts turned inward, the trader's warning echoing in his mind. The baron's men have been asking questions.

It wasn't the first time someone had brought up the baron. First the villager, then the trader, and now Alden. Three separate people, three separate warnings. That wasn't a coincidence.

He stared into the flames, his dark eyes reflecting their flickering light. If the baron does come, what then?

The truth was simple: they couldn't fight him. Not yet. With fewer than ten people and no trained soldiers, the camp was no match for a seasoned force of hundreds.

But that didn't mean he was defenseless.

Buy time. Delay him. Make him think we're not a threat.

The terrain around the camp was dense and treacherous—a natural barrier he could exploit. Traps, chokepoints, and ambushes could make every step into his territory a costly one.

And if that wasn't enough, he'd consider diplomacy. The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth—bowing to the baron would mean sacrificing independence—but it might give him the time he needed to grow stronger.

Still, Alexander couldn't shake the feeling that diplomacy wouldn't be enough. Men like the baron respected power, and power alone.

We need more people. More weapons. More defenses.

He glanced around the campfire, at the faces of those who had chosen to follow him. They trusted him to lead, to protect, to build something better. That trust wasn't something he could take lightly.

No matter what comes, we'll be ready.