The people who wanted to join Thornefang had increased, from knight aspirants, mages, mercenaries, healers, and cooks. Of course, the current Thornefang needed all of them since they were fewer than fifty members.
Unfortunately, due to the limits of his budget and the idea that there were assassins and spies mixed in made Lucen hesitated on who to bring under his flag. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn novèlfire.net
There were now so many people coming to Ironhold that all the taverns were full. Outside Ironhold's gates looked less like a fortress and more like a marketplace. Rows of tents cropped up overnight, smoke from cooking fires curling into the pale winter sky.
Banners from mercenary bands flapped beside the robes of wandering mages. Children carried training swords, while grizzled veterans sharpened theirs on whetstones.
They all had one reason for being here: to stand under Thornefang's banner. Most of them were influenced by the play The Man of a Thousand Quests; others were here for the rumored steady pay with housing.
Lucen stood on the battlements, arms crossed, watching the sea of hopefuls below. He could pick out the shapes even from afar, a white-robed cleric with a weathered face, a loud merchant promising to fund supplies, even a group of cooks banging pots as if they were war drums.
Beside him was his Father, Duke Vardon. He was also looking at the many tents outside the Ironhold.
"Most of them have some experience in battle, so a few monsters wouldn't be a problem," Vardon said at last. "For now, they're able to sustain themselves through hunting, but that won't last long. Have you figured out a way to remove the toxins in monster meat?"
"Robert and I have some progress," Lucen answered carefully. "Those with a strong enough physique and a bit of mana or aura can take a little and not be poisoned."
"That would mean it's not ready for consumption. The people down there will eventually run out of food and might resort to thievery. You must do something before that happens. If you don't, I will be forced to take action myself. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father." Lucen was already making plans on how to recruit the people he wanted.
Outside the walls of Ironhold, many people came together to talk about how they could get the attention of Lucen Thornehart, so that they could join the ranks of Thornefang.
Among them was a former blacksmith, Erwin Krun. Like countless others, he had been stirred by the tale of The Man of a Thousand Quests.
Erwin was already in his thirties, his broad hands scarred from years at the forge. He had made weapons and armor for mercenaries, knight aspirants, and even a few wandering nobles. When orders slowed, he shaped farm tools and wagon parts, working until the calluses of his palms had hardened into leather.
For years, he thought that was enough. Listening to warriors boast of their deeds while his creations bore the marks of battle, he convinced himself he was part of their adventures in some small way.
Until he heard a story, the cook who won the first trivia contest had said something that resonated deeply within him. About chasing dreams without fear of failure and death.
He, too, had once dreamed of adventure, before the anvil, before responsibility, before age crept into his bones. That dream had been smothered beneath soot and hammer blows. But now, he could no longer ignore it.
So Erwin forged one last set of armor, a blade not meant for a customer but for himself. With it, he set out for Ironhold.
He arrived to find the fortress gates surrounded by tents and fires, voices loud with purpose. And like the others, he was here for one reason: to stand beneath Lucen Thornehart's banner.
Many of the people present were like him, people who stopped chasing their dreams and were inspired to do so again.
There were also the young men who had just started their first adventure. They were the most inexperienced in the group. Some of them had heavily decorated weapons, and their armor was shiny with no dents or cracks.
They had bright, shining expressions on their faces, despite the weather being very cold, and the food they were eating was barely cooked. They were still, truly excited to be here.
There were, of course, true veterans of the field present too. The mercenaries, the healers, and even the mages were there.
Unlike the young blood, these people had a solemn look on their faces. Their armor was full of dents and cracks, patched and mended countless times. Their eyes were steady, not bright. Some bore scars across cheeks and brow, others walked with limps hidden poorly beneath their cloaks. They had seen the cost of every coin of glory, and still, they had come.
The camp was alive with sound, pots clanging from the cooks who tried to lift spirits, steel ringing as youths sparred too eagerly, low chants from a circle of clerics praying against the chill. Somewhere, a cough rattled through the smoke, harsh and lingering.
The old dreamers came here to finally fulfill their youthful dreams, wanting to see were that road would take them.
The youngster came here to find fame and glory. They felt like Lucen, who was near their age and growing in fame, would help them achieve their goals.
The veterans came here seeking stability. Most of them were mercenaries who had seen many battlefields and knew that fortune came and went like the seasons. They had heard rumors of how Lucen treated his men, with steady pay and even giving them a place to live. They wanted that for themselves.
Hope and hardship mingled in the air. To some, this was the beginning of a dream. To others, it was a last gamble before winter claimed them.
From the battlements, Lucen studied them all, the dreamers with bright eyes, the youths with shining steel, the veterans with weary scars. Each had come seeking something different, but all looked to him for an answer.
If he chose wrongly, Thornefang would gain not comrades but dead weight... Or enemies in disguise.
'This is going to be hard, but I'd better act fast. I guess, for the first half of the recruitment test, I can use that monster, that little girl's style of recruitment.'
The memory of a small, blonde officer from his past life flickered across his mind. A devil in a child's body, who could strip men down to their bones with nothing but words.
A few days later, Lucen, accompanied by the members of Thornefang as well as a few knights handed to him by his Father, stood in front of the camp of outsiders.
The entire camp that was once noisy became quiet as they looked at Lucen Thornehart. This was the person they wanted ot serve under. Even though he was young and shorter than those present, his presence was quite strong.
They then noticed the people accompanying him, who were wearing uniformed armor and cloaks, and carrying an unknown weapon, which they guessed was the one from the rumors. Also, there were knights emitting powerful auras.
Some people couldn't help but gulp dryly, some were clenching their fists nervously, while others became excited that their chance had finally arrived.
Now, standing in the cold among strangers, Erwin felt his hammer hand twitch as though reaching for a forge that wasn't there. For the first time in years, the fire in his chest burned hotter than the frost biting his beard.
While everyone was waiting in silence, Lucen finally spoke. His voice was enhanced using a simple spell cast by Risa, one of the mages of Thornefang.
"Good day." Those two simple words echoed in the campsite. Lucen then scanned the area and continued.
"I know many of you came here because you heard stories. Some of you were moved by a play. Others were lured by coin. A few came for glory."
As Lucen spoke, everyone listened intently to his every word.
"Dreams are cheap... Loyalty is not. I don't care for your speeches about honor or your boasts about skill. Words mean nothing. What matters is whether you have the resolve to stand, bleed, and obey when reality crushes your fantasies."
It was then that there were quite a few who lowered their heads, trying not to be overwhelmed by Lucen's presence.
"Look around you. Food will run out. Here in the North, the snow does not care about your ambition. Monsters will not go easy on you; they will rip you apart at the slightest show of weakness. If you think joining Thornefang means comfort, go home now. If you think following me is an easy path, you are already dead."
Hearing what Lucen said, some were already wavering, while others became even more determined.
A few shifted uneasily. One youth bit his lip until it bled. Another quietly gathered his pack and slipped toward the edge of the crowd.
"Those who remain will be tested. You will prove that your reason for standing here is stronger than hunger, fear, and death itself. Only then will you have the right to carry my banner. Joining Thornefang is not a right. It is a burden. One that most of you will not survive. If that frightens you... leave, now!"
A silence fell, broken only by the crunch of boots. Three more turned and walked away. Yet those who stayed straightened, their resolve burning hotter than the cold wind.
There were some who unconsciously took a step back. They were now unsure if they wanted to continue or not.
"Yes, under this banner, there may be glory, but it will be paid for with blood, yours and your enemies alike. There will be coin, but only through toil and endurance. I know most of you came here for your dreams, but I will show you a grander dream than you could have ever imagined... But only if you live long enough to see it. So I will ask you only once... Are you willing to bet everything, your lives, and your future, to march beneath the banner of Thornefang? Then prove it!"