Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 14: The Strange Caravan

When Berion finished speaking, six soldiers stepped forward with their heads lowered. Berion fixed them with a piercing gaze. “Did you enjoy the meat stew and roasted fish tonight?”

The six hung their heads even lower, but Berion had no intention of letting them off. He barked angrily, “Did you enjoy it? Raise your heads and answer me!”

Trembling, the six lifted their heads and replied, “Yes, sir. It was delicious.”

“Because the food was good, you forgot your duties at your posts?” Berion pressed on.

At this, one of the six stepped forward, saluted Berion, and said, “My lord, we are ashamed. Tonight, we were indeed negligent. Please punish us as you see fit, as long as you do not drive us out of Norland Keep. We will accept any punishment.”

Berion stared at him for a while. He was a young man with red hair, of medium height and a lean build. Berion asked, “What is your name?”

“My lord, my name is Goba. Everyone calls me Red-haired Goba,” he replied.

“Tell me, Red-haired Goba, why is it that you can accept any punishment except being expelled?” Berion was curious why they feared being sent away from his lands.

“It’s because, under your leadership, we have enough to eat, warm clothes, heated beds, and we’re paid for training. We’re rewarded for merit. You never beat or curse us at will; you treat us as human beings. Life here gives us hope for the future and makes us feel like people,” Goba said sincerely.

A warm current rose in Berion’s heart as he listened. Indeed, if you treat people with sincerity, those who repay kindness with enmity are few. These men, who once starved and froze, now lived a life they hadn’t dared to dream of, thanks to Berion. Their gratitude was only natural.

After a moment’s silence, Berion looked at them and asked, “Is this how you all feel?”

The soldiers replied in unison, “Yes, my lord.”

Berion nodded. “Good. I am gratified that you know you can live well under my rule. But you must also understand: with merit comes reward; with mistakes comes punishment. These six neglected their duties while on watch, nearly causing disaster. That cannot go unpunished.”

He ordered the six to kneel, drew his treasured sword, and declared, “I, Berion Tuck, lord of Norland Keep and direct inspector of the county, hereby sentence you each to twenty lashes!”

Then Berion smiled. “Of course, you may atone by meritorious service. Starting tomorrow, you will join Baring’s team in tracking the wolf pack. If you help the hunters kill at least five wolves, I will pardon you.”

Hearing this, the six, who had just looked so wretched, immediately brightened. Kneeling, they said in unison, “Rest assured, sir, we will wipe out the entire pack.”

Berion sheathed his sword and told them to rise. Then he said, “Beth, Baring, from tomorrow, halt all training. Everyone will help reinforce the wooden walls and pursue the wolves. We’ll split into two teams: Beth and I will stay with fifteen soldiers to reinforce the walls; Iome, Baring, and Barrett, you three will take three hunters and fifteen soldiers to hunt the wolves. That pack must be destroyed, or they’ll continue to menace us.” After the orders, everyone set about their tasks, and Berion, who had been up half the night, finally returned to his quarters to rest.

The repairs to the wooden walls were completed quickly. After lunch the next day, the work was done in short order. But there was still no news from the wolf-hunting party. After a rest, Berion began to worry. Although Iome’s group was well-manned and equipped, wolves were cunning and capable of ambushes. What if Iome, Baring, and the others suffered a setback? On reflection, Berion found himself almost amused: a man from another world, doubting the abilities of a team of seasoned hunters whose very livelihood depended on such skills. Since he had entrusted them with the task, he ought to have confidence in them.

At that moment, Berion became aware of his own shortcomings: he had not yet made the mental shift from a doer to a leader. In his previous life, whether as a soldier or a liquor salesman, he had excelled at carrying out tasks, but had not managed teams. Here, in this new world, he was lord of a land, responsible for nearly a hundred lives. He had to change his mindset, to become a capable manager and leader. He recalled a saying from a company leader in his past life: “Those who use their minds govern people; those who use their bodies are governed by others.” If he kept his head down and just did the work, he would never rise above. Leadership required thought and strategy.

Berion clenched his fist and knocked it lightly against a wall embrasure. Looking out, he saw the winter sunset sinking slowly, the cold light echoing over the black plains. In that moment, it seemed as if the steppe embraced the dying sun—a scene of grand desolation.

As Berion mused, he suddenly spotted a rider approaching Norland Keep. The figure, seeing the keep, spurred his horse to a gallop, as if something urgent pressed him.

The rider was Grove, vice-captain of the Second Company of the Free Lancers—the very mercenary company Berion had hired to garrison Norland Keep. Grove’s haste was not due to a major emergency, but because their company had been delayed two days on the road by unforeseen events. Now, twenty-one days had passed since they parted from Berion, and they had yet to arrive. Grove feared his employer would see this as a breach and terminate their agreement. So he rode ahead to inform Berion that his company would arrive by sundown tomorrow, and, as a gesture of good faith, would extend their garrison by three days without pay.

In the lord’s hall, after Grove explained the situation, Berion poured him another mug of ale and said with a smile, “Grove, with your honest attitude, I have not the slightest worry about entrusting my lands to you.”

They clinked their mugs. “In this freezing weather, a day or two’s delay is understandable. As long as you arrive tomorrow and inform me, there’s no need to push yourself so hard.”

Grove managed a wry smile. “Sir Berion, there are few lords as reasonable as yourself. Most don’t treat us mercenaries as men, and as soon as we’re late, they’re eager to dock our pay.”

Berion smiled knowingly—he was well aware of such things.

Grove continued, “Money’s important to mercenaries, but so is keeping our word. If we take someone’s coin, we must do the job—that’s the foundation of our trade. If a company can’t manage that, it will never thrive.”

Hearing Grove speak of the spirit of contract, Berion was struck by the thought that these medieval men were more scrupulous about their word than many modern folk. These mercenaries, who lived by the sword and could die at any moment, still held fast to their promises. In his past life as a salesman, Berion had often seen deals where agreements were made only to be broken, contracts signed only to be renegotiated or reneged upon. Clearly, personal integrity and societal advancement did not always go hand in hand.

“With officers like you who value contracts, the Free Lancers are bound to prosper,” Berion praised him. “Since you’re here tonight, perhaps you’ll join us for a feast of wolf meat!”

“Wolf meat feast?” Grove was a little bewildered.

Berion chuckled and explained the situation. When Grove heard Berion had sent men to hunt the wolves, he looked at Berion with newfound respect. “Sir Berion, you’re a fine lord. I’ve fought for countless lords, but most refuse to clear the wolves from their domains, wanting to hunt them again next year, never mind the danger to ordinary folk from vengeful packs.”

Just then, shouts came from the walls: “They’re back! They killed a lot of wolves!”

Berion and Grove exchanged smiles. Berion said, “Come, my friend, let’s see for ourselves.”

As soon as they left the hall, Iome, Baring, and their party entered the keep. Most were splattered with blood, some bore wounds, but all were in high spirits.

Iome reported to Berion: they had set out in the morning and searched for a long time before finding the wolf den. Some of the wolves that had escaped the previous night were wounded but cunningly covered their tracks, leaving misleading traces. This made tracking difficult, but in their haste, the wolves had left a trail of blood, which Baring and his men followed to the den.

The den was not deep in the forest, but nestled in a small hollow near the Karl River. After the carnage of the previous night, only twelve adult wolves and six pups remained. Once found, Iome had men block the hollow’s two exits, then ordered two volleys of arrows. Finally, the remaining five wolves, the alpha, and the pups were driven into their cave. The wolves refused to emerge, and Iome’s men dared not enter recklessly. After confirming there was no other exit, Baring and the others piled brush at the entrance and smoked the wolves out.

In their death throes, the wolves leapt through the flames, but were swiftly cut down—though three men were scratched in the process. Fortunately, Berion had prioritized armor for the hunting party, so their wounds were light, mere scratches that could be cleansed and bandaged.

They brought back twelve adult wolves, though three pelts were ruined by spears and axes. The six pups, smoked to death in the cave, had perfect pelts, which would fetch a good price.

Berion was satisfied with the results. According to Baring and the others, with this pack destroyed, there should be no other wolf packs within fifty rym of the keep. Not only had they removed a threat to the domain, but they had also gained valuable resources.

That evening, to celebrate the successful hunt and welcome Grove’s arrival, they held a bonfire feast in Norland Keep. The main course was roasted wolf—tough and lean, not as fine as pork or beef, but hearty enough. Everyone drank ale, ate meat, and sang around the fires, passing a joyful winter night.

The next morning, before Berion could assign tasks, everyone except the hunters and wounded set about their usual work—fishing, training. After battling the wolves, the soldiers were more enthusiastic about training, having seen its benefits firsthand.

Berion drank a bowl of leftover stew for breakfast, then climbed the wooden wall to inspect the sentries. Ever since the wolf attack, he had taken the matter of the watch seriously, making frequent rounds to set an example and remind everyone of the importance of vigilance.

After a round of inspection, Grove joined him on the wall. The burly mercenary, still a bit hungover from the night before, stood beside Berion watching the soldiers drill below, occasionally exchanging tips on training and combat.

As they spoke, a small party appeared on the edge of the woods—a pair of wagons, seven or eight people, slowly approaching Norland Keep. Berion was curious. At this time of year, the northern climate was harsh; most caravans had suspended travel. How bold for a small merchant party to pass openly through the bandit-ridden Stagwood.

The caravan reached the gate. Berion and Grove descended to meet them. The leader was a man in his thirties, wearing a black hood and simple clothes—a sturdy figure, unlike the usually plump, finely dressed merchant chiefs Berion had seen before.

Upon learning Berion’s identity, the merchant respectfully bowed. “Honored Sir Berion, I am Larr, a peddler from Youngwickshaw. We are delivering two wagons of ale to Highcastle and wish to rest inside your keep, as the weather is bitterly cold. We would also like to purchase some hot food, and of course, we will pay the entry fee.”

He took out a purse, pulled a silver coin, and asked, “Will one dinar suffice, Lord Berion?”

Berion smiled. “My friend, you are the first merchant to visit Norland Keep since I became its lord. The fee is on me. In the future, come often and bring us good, affordable goods.”

Larr was delighted. “May the Fire God bless you, honorable Lord Berion.”