Fallout:Blood and the Bull

The next day after reading the book, everything had changed. For some reason I couldn't explain, I felt more confident, calmer, yet filled with determination. The doubts that had once consumed me were no longer there. A purpose had begun to take shape in my mind, a clarity I had never known before.

It didn't take long for me to think about what needed to be done. My family's situation was clear, even before I gained this new perspective. We were at our limit.

The orcs and goblins were close to our lands. The constant incursions from the dungeons had stirred them, and it was only a matter of time before they attempted a minor attack like the one my brother Alaric had recently faced. We couldn't ignore that threat, but we also couldn't confront them with the force we had. The militia was poorly equipped, most of the peasants were too weak to be effective in combat, and the weapons we had barely sufficed to defend our walls.

The fortress itself was a worn refuge, a symbol of better times. But resources were scarce. Even now, in the middle of winter, we were rationing food, and it showed in the plates that arrived at the table. Portions were small, and the faces of the servants and peasants we saw in the fortress were marked by hunger and fatigue.

The problems didn't stop there. The mines, once our greatest source of wealth, were completely lost. They had once been a symbol of our house's power, one of the few sources of iron in the entire empire, a resource more valuable than gold in these times. But now those mines were infested. Goblins and orc clans had taken control, and there was no way to drive them out with the resources we had. Without iron, we couldn't forge better weapons or trade with the few allies we had left.

As for industry... it didn't exist. What little remained were rudimentary workshops that could barely repair basic tools. It was as if we were regressing in time, trapped in an age of bronze while the remnants of the empire slowly withered around us.

But there was still something of value. Something that, though unpleasant, could be sold to the south, where nobles and merchants could still afford exotic luxuries.

Slaves.

It wasn't something I was proud of, but it was a reality of this world. In the south, the slave markets were still a thriving business, and buyers were always looking for something exotic, something different. Captured goblins, hybrids born of forced relations with orcs, or even elves that could be hunted on the borders were highly valued.

My mind began working, sketching a plan that I would have once considered unthinkable. But now I saw it with a strategic coldness that wasn't entirely mine. Caesar's pragmatism pulsed through my thoughts.

It wouldn't be easy, but if I could form a force organized enough, we could attempt to expel the weaker goblins and orcs from one of the mines. Not only would we regain access to iron, but we could also capture prisoners who could then be sold. With that income, we could buy supplies, strengthen our defenses, and prepare for the inevitable: a larger conflict.

But there was a problem. To do it, I needed men. And those men had to be motivated, well-organized, and better equipped. The current militia was insufficient. The peasants could barely stand after the rations. All I had was a name, a sword, and now a clarity of purpose I couldn't afford to ignore.

I approached my father calmly, trying to make my posture and tone reflect the confidence I now felt within me. The fire burned in the hearth of the main hall, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls and highlighting the etched lines on his face. He was seated in his high-backed chair, a goblet of wine in hand and his bronze sword resting beside him, as always.

When he looked up to see me, his hard, evaluating eyes made me feel the weight of tradition and our family's expectations. I couldn't fail.

"What are you doing here, Konrad?" he asked, his tone dry and direct.

I took a deep breath, controlling my voice so it wouldn't tremble. I couldn't show nervousness.

"Father," I began, inclining my head slightly—enough to show respect but not submission. "I have been reflecting on our situation... on our house."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt, which I took as a sign to continue.

"I know I am not like my brothers," I said, choosing my words carefully. "They are natural warriors, leaders who inspire on the battlefield. But I..."

I paused for a moment, not out of doubt but to give weight to my words.

"I want to honor our family name in another way. I want to prove that I can be useful. That I can be worthy of carrying the sword you gave me."

For a moment, silence was all that surrounded us, interrupted only by the crackling fire. My father stared at me, his face like an impenetrable mask. Finally, he spoke.

"And how do you plan to do that?" he asked, his tone not entirely hostile but not warm either.

"I want to help in the defense of our lands," I replied firmly. "I am not a veteran commander, but I can learn. I can lead the men who are willing to follow me. All I ask is that you allow me to try."

My father set the goblet down on the table beside him, his gaze never leaving mine.

"What exactly are you suggesting, Konrad?"

"Men," I said bluntly. "Give me a group. Enough to patrol, to reinforce our defenses. I know I cannot ask for the soldiers already assigned to the north, but you could assign me some of the local hunters. Men who know the forests well and could be valuable in defense tasks."

My father snorted, as if considering what I was saying.

"And what would you do with them?"

This was the most delicate part. I couldn't reveal my full plans yet. I knew that if I did, I risked him dismissing them as impractical or unnecessary. So I kept the answer simple and direct.

"Patrols, observation. Making our presence known in the places where we know the orcs and goblins have started to prowl. If I can prove that I'm capable, then we can think about more."

His gaze was cold, as if he were trying to unravel every word I had said, searching for doubts or lies. But he wouldn't find any. What I had told him was true, though incomplete.

The following day, my father's words still echoed in my mind as I walked to the fortress courtyard to meet with Günther, as instructed. With my father's authorization, I was allowed to recruit the local hunters who, as part of their labor tax, were required to serve temporarily under my command. These hunters already enjoyed the privilege of hunting in the surrounding forests—a concession vital for their families for generations—but now, in the dead of winter, it meant they were far from enthusiastic about serving instead of hunting.

When Günther handed them the order, their reactions were immediate.

"Service? Now, in the middle of winter?" protested one of the hunters, Heinrich, a burly man with a thick beard as wild as the forests he roamed. "And who's going to put food on our tables while we follow the youngest son's orders?"

"It's part of your labor tax," Günther replied firmly before I could speak. "And if you want to keep hunting come spring, you'd do well to remember those forests still belong to Falkenstein."

The group muttered amongst themselves, visibly displeased. I knew earning their respect would not be easy, but I also knew I couldn't show weakness at this moment. I stepped forward, addressing them directly.

"I understand what I'm asking," I said, my voice loud enough to silence their complaints. "I know leaving your families in winter isn't easy. But without this service, those very forests you value so much won't be safe for anyone."

Heinrich looked at me with suspicion but said nothing as I continued.

"This isn't a whim. The goblins and orcs don't rest just because there's snow on the ground. If we do nothing, sooner or later those forests will be theirs, and there won't be any game left for anyone."

My words seemed to resonate, albeit slowly. In the end, five hunters agreed to join me, though it was clear they did so more out of obligation than willingness. Their faces showed distrust, and a few still muttered under their breath as they gathered for instructions.

The peasants, on the other hand, were a different matter. With winter halting most agricultural work, most men had little to do other than wait for the snow to melt. Günther assembled a group of fifteen men, who presented themselves wearing heavy clothes and tired expressions. They were strong, accustomed to working the land, but they lacked any military experience.

To these men, we gave sharpened sticks as weapons. There were no spears or blades to hand out, but at least a stick with an improvised point gave them something to defend themselves with. Though it didn't seem like much, some of the peasants appeared more willing than the hunters; hunger and the need to protect their homes made them accept any chance to improve their situation.

In the courtyard of the fortress, I finally gathered my small group. The hunters, hardened by years of experience in the forests, stood to one side, observing with a mixture of resignation and skepticism. The peasants, more numerous, formed an uneven line, clutching their sticks awkwardly and glancing around nervously.

"Heinrich, isn't it? This is a map of the area we're heading to. It's old, from when we still controlled these hills and mines," I said as I unrolled a worn map over the wooden table at the center of the courtyard. Its edges were torn, and some parts were blurred, but it still showed enough to orient us. "Tell me, have you noticed any changes we should know about?"

Heinrich, leaning against a column with his arms crossed, slowly stepped forward. The man had an air of disinterest, but when his eyes fell on the map, his expression shifted. It was clear he was evaluating every detail with the attention of someone who knew those forests like the back of his hand.

"A hill collapse… here," he finally said, pointing a calloused finger at one of the areas marked near the map's edge. "It's gone now. That part caved in years ago. Also, the river… here," he added, sliding his finger to a watercourse that no longer matched the map. "It changed direction because of the land. It veered south. It doesn't cross near this area anymore."

His hand stopped at a specific point.

"And this," he continued, tapping softly on a mark that indicated an abandoned copper mine. "This isn't just an empty mine anymore. It's a goblin nest now. They've been there for at least two winters. Not many of them, but enough to cause trouble if left unchecked."

I nodded slowly, taking note of every detail he mentioned. The river's shift was critical, especially if we planned to use it as a reference point or escape route. But the most concerning part was the copper mine. A goblin nest meant not only a potential enemy but also a risk for any movements near the area.

"Do you know how many there are in that nest?" I asked, not looking up from the map.

Heinrich shrugged.

"I haven't counted, but there aren't enough to form an army… yet. Goblins usually stay in small numbers at first. Maybe twenty or thirty, maybe less. But if they've got a shaman or a strong leader, they'll attract more."

That information was valuable. If we waited too long, that nest could become a much greater threat. On the other hand, attacking now meant risking everything with what little we had.

"Good," I said, lifting my gaze toward him. "Thank you, Heinrich. This gives us something to work with."