Gregor had spent the past week overseeing the factory and organizing his craftsmen. Even with Count Collin Winchester's support—providing materials, craftsmen, and security—he knew that resources were finite. Most of the wealth he had seized from the Red Scorpion gang had already been spent building his home, installing plumbing, and constructing the first steam engines. The remaining gold was barely enough to fund any additional large-scale project. It was a harsh reminder that ambition was costly, and ingenuity required alliances.
The Count, having inspected the factory personally, had finally agreed to Gregor's industrialization plan. The agreement was straightforward: Count Winchester would provide craftsmen, raw materials, and protection, while Gregor would provide blueprints and methods. Profits from the production of steam engines would be split 65:35 in favor of the Count, a concession Gregor accepted without complaint. Money mattered far less to him than infrastructure, influence, and the ability to reshape the world.
Once the first team of skilled blacksmiths arrived, Gregor immediately set them up in a production line. Every worker was placed in charge of a single component—one team for boiler plates, another for gears, another for pipes. This division of labor was alien to them at first; the craftsmen were used to creating complete pieces themselves, proud of their artistry. But Gregor showed them how specialization, precision, and uniformity could produce more reliable engines, faster, and without leaks. Within days, the first operational steam engines rolled out of the factory, the rhythmic clanging of hammer on metal echoing across the city. Arbadeen, once stagnant under its medieval reliance on magic, was poised to take its first step into an industrial age.
But Gregor knew that technology alone would not be enough. He needed people—loyal, disciplined, and ruthless when necessary. Not ordinary soldiers or mercenaries, but a shadow organization capable of operating across the city and beyond, protecting his projects, gathering information, and enforcing his vision. He imagined a group structured like the Yakuza or Russian mob, business-minded, loyal, and feared. It would not be a gang in the traditional sense. It would be The Black Dread.
The first potential member appeared almost by chance. Tobias Whale was a baker in a small district of Arbadeen, tall and broad, though heavyset, with a round face and hands calloused from kneading dough. Gregor had heard about him through whispers and local gossip—the man was distraught, broken by a tragedy few dared speak about. Tobias had recently married, but his wife had been brutally murdered. The perpetrator was none other than Klovick Wellington, second son of Earl Wellington, a powerful noble. The story was as revolting as it was simple: Tobias's wife had refused Klovick's advances, and in retaliation, he had taken her life. Tobias, a man of no magic and no combat training, had no means of vengeance. His grief had left him hollow, wandering the streets like a shadow of his former self.
Gregor found him one evening in the ruins of his bakery, staring at the cold hearth where Tobias had once kneaded dough with his wife by his side. The air smelled faintly of burnt bread and smoke. Tobias didn't notice Gregor at first, too consumed with his grief.
"I hear you've had a difficult time," Gregor said softly, stepping into the room. Tobias looked up, his green eyes swollen and red-rimmed.
"I… I have no justice," he muttered, voice cracking. "No magic, no skill, no sword. Nothing. He took everything from me… and the law cannot touch him."
Gregor studied him quietly, sensing the pain and raw potential beneath the despair. "Revenge can be taken," he said carefully. "But not today. Not now. Today, you have a choice. You can waste yourself on grief and impotent anger… or you can learn to build a world where men like Klovick Wellington cannot strike without consequence. Where the weak are no longer powerless. Where injustice is temporary, and the strong are deliberate."
Tobias's eyes narrowed, suspicion and hope warring within him. "And what would you have me do?"
"Train," Gregor replied, voice low and firm. "Learn discipline. Learn strategy. Learn to use your body and mind, even if you do not have magic. I will teach you. We will teach you. You will not be powerless again. And one day, Klovick Wellington will face the consequences of his crimes—not because of a whim, but because the world itself has been prepared to prevent such things from happening again."
Something in Tobias stirred—pride, anger, and the faintest glimmer of purpose. It was a promise of agency, of justice, and perhaps, of eventual vengeance. He nodded slowly. "And what am I to call this… endeavor of yours?"
Gregor smiled slightly. "The Black Dread. It will be feared, respected, and invisible to those who refuse to see it coming. You will be the first of many. Your role is not revenge. That comes later. First, you learn. First, we build."
Tobias swallowed hard, the weight of grief slowly transforming into determination. "I… I will join you."
"Good," Gregor said, placing a firm hand on Tobias's shoulder. "You are the first. The foundation. From here, we grow. And the world… the world will never be the same."
In the following days, Gregor began training Tobias in basic discipline, endurance, and situational awareness. Even without combat experience, the baker's large frame made him surprisingly resilient, and his natural strength, honed from years of kneading and lifting heavy sacks of flour, allowed him to pick up physical techniques faster than most novices. Gregor also introduced Tobias to the rudimentary concepts of strategy, observation, and logistics, the groundwork for what would eventually be The Black Dread's operational protocols. Tobias learned to move quietly, to anticipate threats, and to think several steps ahead.
Meanwhile, the factory continued humming. Engines rolled off the line with ever-increasing efficiency, workers growing accustomed to the precision Gregor demanded. Each steam engine represented more than technological progress—it was proof that discipline, structure, and human ingenuity could rival magic itself. Tobias, standing among the blacksmiths, began to see the vision for what it truly was: a world where power was not solely dictated by bloodlines, noble titles, or magical ability, but by skill, preparation, and unity.
By the end of the month, Tobias was no longer just a grieving baker. He was a student of Gregor, the first member of The Black Dread, and a living testament to what could be achieved when the powerless were given a path.
Gregor watched him one evening as Tobias inspected a freshly forged engine. He didn't yet have the ruthlessness of his mentor, but the spark was there—the hunger for agency, the drive to shape his own destiny. It was enough. The first step had been taken. The first stone laid. And from here, Gregor's plan would grow, quietly, invisibly, until The Black Dread became more than a name—it would become a force no noble, no corrupt official, and no magical tyrant could ignore.
And somewhere in the shadows of Arbadeen, Klovick Wellington's future awaited, a distant storm growing from the seeds of a baker's grief, now transformed into a disciplined, relentless instrument of Gregor's vision.
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