Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 44: Holly Cemetery

Aside from their weekly training, the militiamen took turns guarding the main gate of the stockade and patrolled the top floor at night to prevent sneak attacks. During the two months that Berion and his party were away, Gamlin had already taken the three hundred militiamen through seven training sessions—that is, fourteen days in total. Though they had not yet become a true fighting force, at the very least, they could defend the town, and, to put it another way, he had cultivated three hundred archers who could unleash several volleys on the battlefield.

After Gamlin finished reporting on the militia training, Berion expressed his appreciation for his work. With these three hundred militiamen, plus the two hundred able-bodied men, expanding the standing army to a hundred would be no problem. All these men had undergone about half a month of training, so discipline and organization were assured. Selecting some of the best performers to join the standing army and intensifying their formation, combat, and weapons training would quickly forge them into a capable force.

As Berion and Gamlin conversed, two militiamen escorted a ragged man over, seeking Gamlin’s instructions on dealing with this criminal—a refugee from elsewhere who had stolen food from Greenhill’s residents. Gamlin ordered the two militiamen to take him to the quarry for a month’s labor as punishment.

After the militiamen left, Gamlin explained the situation to Berion, scratching his head. "My lord, since the influx of refugees, order in Norlandburg has worsened—not violent crimes like robbery or murder, but petty thefts occur several times each week. There have also been drunken brawls. Steward Mark knows I used to serve in the city watch, and since I command the militia, he’s left these matters to me. I’ve been handling them, but I was waiting for your return to formally appoint someone to the role."

"I was so preoccupied with construction and the campaign lately that I overlooked this," Berion said warmly. "Thankfully you were here; otherwise, trouble might have brewed."

Gamlin, after all, was a newcomer and a streetwise man from the city. Hearing Berion’s words, he quickly replied, "My lord, this is my duty. Besides, with Steward Mark, Brother Beth, and the Free Company men around, nothing serious will happen."

Gamlin, not wanting Berion to think ill of Mark, Tull, or the others and risk offending them, hurried to cover for his colleagues.

Berion smiled at Gamlin’s response. "Gamlin, would you like to be Norlandburg’s constable?"

"Ah!" Gamlin was taken aback, never expecting Berion to entrust him with such a vital office. "My lord, I fear I’m not up to the task. There are others more capable than me."

Berion stepped closer and clapped him on the shoulder. "You’re a man of talent—don’t doubt yourself. Frankly, making you second-in-command of the militia was already beneath your abilities. Now, managing Norlandburg’s security is the perfect opportunity for you to shine. Besides, you’re the only one with experience in such matters. If you won’t do it, who will?"

Moved by Berion’s trust and the responsibility placed upon him, Gamlin’s eyes brimmed with tears. "My lord, I accept your orders. I will do my utmost to carry out your will."

Seeing Gamlin so overcome, Berion put an arm around his shoulder and laughed, "Come, my good Gamlin! Join us for a visit to Oak Village."

"Yes, my lord." Gamlin agreed, fetched a horse from his yard, and the group of five set off for Oak Village.

On the way, they passed a vast field of soybeans—three thousand acres, reclaimed by over a thousand refugees in just over a month, sown just in time for the June planting. Now, the beans had begun to pod. The fertility of newly broken land was high, and the soybeans thrived. With years of farming experience, Liano told Berion he expected at least one hundred and fifty pounds per acre, meaning 450,000 pounds from these fields—more than enough to feed everyone.

Hearing this, Bran made a face and muttered, "Uncle Liano, we can’t eat bean soup every meal."

"You brat, you should be grateful for bean soup. When my family fled last winter, bean soup was a holiday treat," Liano replied, using his own experiences to teach Bran a lesson.

Berion listened in silence, thinking of tofu, soy milk, bean curd skins, and dried tofu—he would have to "invent" these things soon. That way, even if beans became the staple in winter, people would not complain as much.

After all, in this world, soybeans were not a staple food. The common folk boiled them with gruel, while the nobility used them mainly as fodder for horses.

Noticing Berion’s silence, Gamlin asked, "My lord, what are you thinking?"

Berion smiled. "Nothing much—just that we needn’t worry about food this year. Last winter, we were eating fish and wolf meat!"

"That’s true," Tull said with feeling. "Wolf meat is awful, but it’s still meat."

"By the way, apart from the three thousand acres planted with soybeans, how much land have we reclaimed?" Berion was particularly concerned, since after autumn, they could sow wheat, and by next year, Norlandburg would have real grain production.

"About five thousand acres, I think. Steward Mark knows the exact figures," Gamlin replied.

The number delighted Berion. With at least five thousand acres, and a yield of two hundred pounds per acre, that meant a million pounds of grain—five hundred sheffers—enough to feed everyone for three to five years without fear of famine.

Thinking this, Berion dismounted, checked a soybean pod in the field—satisfied with its growth—then remounted, and they continued toward Oak Village. Oak Village was the same size as Greenhill, built to accommodate sixty families. Most of the courtyards were already finished; in about a month, people could move in.

These houses would be given to the newly arrived refugee and serf families. But they would not be given away for free—Berion, with the wisdom of two lifetimes, understood the harm in granting too much at once. Generosity should be measured, encouraging loyalty over time. He already had a plan for the distribution policy—he would soon call a meeting with Mark, Harma, Iomir, Beth, Liano, and the other key stewards to finalize it.

After inspecting the stockade at Oak Village, dusk had fallen. Berion led his party back to Norlandburg, where by the time they returned, the moon was already high and preparations were complete for a celebration feast.

Several long tables were set up in the central courtyard of the timber keep. The moonlight was bright, torches blazed, and though it was night, everything was clearly visible.

It was midsummer and hot, so Mark and the others had chilled beer in the deep well. When Berion took his seat and the feast began, the icy beer was poured and everyone drank heartily.

For a moment, Berion was transported back to his high school and university days—those years when he would gather with friends at night market stalls, drinking cold beer and eating skewers of meat, a carefree and pleasant life. But how many youths does one have in a lifetime?

The soldiers had endured much on this campaign, so the celebrations lasted several nights in a row, letting them rest and indulge. Berion attended the first night, but on the following evenings, he only made brief appearances. Though still young, he knew that drinking heavily was not good for his health, nor for a leader who needed a clear mind.

While the others enjoyed their holiday, Berion took Tull and Bran to a cabin by the forest lake. They fished by the shore, hunted in the woods, and at night, Berion wrote out his plans for Norlandburg’s development—spending a few leisurely, contented days.

That Sunday morning, unlike the previous days when he slept in, Berion rose early, dressed neatly, and after a simple breakfast, brought Tull and Bran to Greenhill Village.

The priest and his assistant from Amondine had arrived the day before, and Mark had received them in Berion’s stead. Now, Berion came to greet the priest and discuss the day’s arrangements.

In this world, religion was a powerful force, accompanying people from birth to death. Except for the Toba pirates who worshipped the sea gods and the barbarians of the Ashen Mountains, everyone believed in the Fire God.

In most fiefs, there was at least one church and a handful of clergy. Their status was high—provincial bishops and archbishops were greatly revered, sometimes even influencing the succession of kings.

Norlandburg, newly founded and still poor, had no resident priest or church. Yet the people were accustomed to Sunday worship. Births and burials also required the presence of a priest and church. So Berion often paid to invite the priest from Amondine, lest the people feel abandoned by the gods and lose faith in settling here.

Today, however, the priest’s visit was not only for worship but also for a significant matter: from the campaign against the Blood Wolf bandits to the recent battle for Mapleleaf Manor, six warriors had fallen. By tradition, Berion had their bodies cremated and the ashes collected in clay urns, awaiting burial.

After the return from Mapleleaf Manor, a burial site had been chosen. Today, Berion invited the priest to officiate the funeral, so that the heroic dead could rest in peace.

According to the customs of the Brik people, the funeral was held in the morning. All the folk of Norlandburg gathered at the holly grove about three rims south of Greenhill Village.

Berion had chosen this spot for the warriors’ graves, with holly trees standing sentry, symbolizing the eternal life of their souls. He named it Holly Cemetery.

The people of Norlandburg, clad in black mourning clothes, stood silently around the cemetery. The solemn, sorrowful atmosphere enveloped everyone, and grief was etched on their faces.

Through the heavy silence, the slow beat of drums sounded. A four-wheeled carriage rolled forward, flanked by six towering, armored warriors, their faces grave as they kept pace, escorting the fallen.

Behind the carriage walked the families of the dead. Only three of the warriors had family in Norlandburg, but their weeping and sorrow brought the grief of all to a peak.

Death itself may not deeply move the onlookers, but to witness the anguish of the bereaved is to feel that pain as one’s own. The cries of those who have lost their dearest strike like hammers upon one’s heart—breaking down the walls of indifference until sorrow floods forth in a torrent.

As the procession reached its climax, the carriage came to a halt. The six warriors solemnly placed the six urns, each with a name, in their prepared graves, then stepped aside.

Berion, dressed in black robes, approached the graves. He bowed deeply to the six fallen warriors, then addressed the assembly: "People of Norlandburg, these six brothers fell with honor on the battlefield. They died so that Norlandburg would not be overrun by bandits, so that we would not be enslaved by the Toba pirates. They fought bravely, giving their lives for our safety and peace. They were once our brothers—now, they are Norlandburg’s heroes!

"Today, as we lay these heroes to rest, we vow never to forget their names or their deeds. By the Fire God above, their spirits shall live on!"

"By the Fire God above, their spirits shall live on!" the crowd answered in unison.

Berion’s actions and stirring words moved many to tears. They wept not only for the fallen, but for the sincerity Berion showed to the dead and living alike. Reflecting on the hardships of the past months and their hopes for the future, their hearts swelled with emotion.

For more than half a year, they had survived on this wild land—through famine, wolves, and bandit attacks. Only through hardship had they achieved this present stability. Now, with no fear of hunger or homelessness, with strong stockades completed and more under construction, and with vast fields soon to be sown with wheat, they looked to the future with hope.

And all this, they owed to a lord not yet twenty years of age. Without him, most of them would still be living in want, without hope for the days ahead.