Dante emerged from the cellar, wiping a speck of blood from his cuff.
The courtyard was busy. Under Elara's supervision, the survivors had stacked the stripped armor and weapons of the Red Vipers into a pile near the blast furnace. The heat was intense, melting the mismatched iron and steel into glowing liquid, which was then poured into simple ingot molds.
"It is done, my Lord," Elara said, stepping back as the metal cooled. "Fifty ingots of mixed steel. But... we have no smiths to re-forge them. It will take weeks to hammer this into anything useful."
Dante looked at the stack of grey bars. He looked at his shivering, ragtag peasants holding their primitive guns.
"We won't need weeks," Dante said, his voice calm as he stepped past her. "Just watch."
He stepped forward and placed his hand on the stack of ingots.
[System Interface: Industrial Replication][Raw Material Detected: 500kg Recycled Steel.][Funds Available: 0 Gold.]
Dante frowned. He had the materials, but having zero liquid funds was unacceptable. He looked at the loot from the dead knights.
"System," he subvocalized. "Liquidate all non-essential loot. Saddles, silk cloaks, decorative jewelry."
[Assets Liquidated.][Current Funds: 250 Gold Coins.]
"Good. Now, fabrication."
Dante selected a new blueprint he had mentally drafted earlier. It wasn't a knight's heavy plate—that was too heavy and restricted movement. He chose a design based on modern riot gear, adapted for medieval materials: Standardized Breastplate (Mass Production Model) and Tactical Helmets.
[Order Confirmed.][Cost: 20kg Steel OR 50 Gold per unit.][Quantity: 20.][Fabricating using: Steel Ingots.]
To the peasants, it looked like a miracle.
Blue digital lines erupted from Dante's hand, wrapping around the stack of steel ingots. The metal didn't melt; it dissolved into pixels of light, reshaping itself in mid-air.
Hummmmm.
In the span of a heartbeat, the pile of ingots vanished.
In its place stood twenty neat stacks of equipment. Identical black-steel breastplates, matte-finish helmets with faceguards, and short combat blades.
Elara gasped, dropping her tongs. Kaelen fell to his knees.
"Gods above..." Kaelen whispered. "Creation magic?"
"Something like that," Dante said with a grin. "Equip them. I want everyone in uniform. If you fight for me, I ensure nothing can harm you."
Ironhold Keep (Baron Voss's Stronghold)Six Hours Later.
The sun was setting as Dante's small force arrived at the gates of Ironhold.
It was a stark contrast to Blackcrag. Ironhold was a sturdy fortress with high stone walls, patrolling guards, and a bustling town outside the gate.
When Dante marched up the main road, the townspeople froze.
They didn't see a ragged band of survivors. They saw a column of soldiers marching in perfect lockstep, wearing identical black armor that seemed to swallow the light. On their shoulders, they carried strange iron tubes.
At the front rode Dante, atop the Baron's own black warhorse.
"Halt!"
A lieutenant on the castle wall shouted down. He wore the crimson cloak of the Red Vipers. "Who goes there? Where is Baron Voss?"
Dante pulled on the reins, stopping his horse just outside arrow range.
"Your Baron is dead," Dante announced. His voice wasn't loud, but in the silence of the dusk, it carried. "He attacked my land. He failed."
Murmurs erupted among the guards on the wall.
"Liar!" the Lieutenant shouted, gripping his bow. "The Baron took fifty knights and a Mage! You think a cripple like you could—"
Dante raised a hand.
Behind him, ten soldiers raised their Arquebuses.
"I am Dante Von Valtoria. By the rights of conquest, I claim this Keep and all its assets."
Dante looked at the Lieutenant.
"Open the gate, and keep your rank. Refuse, and I will destroy you."
The Lieutenant sneered. "Archers! Nock arrows! Kill this pretender!"
A dozen bows were drawn on the wall.
Dante didn't flinch. "Fire."
BOOM.
It wasn't a volley of ten. It was one single, precise shot.
Elara, who had the steadiest hands, had aimed not at the crowd, but at the Lieutenant.
The lead ball struck the Lieutenant in the throat.
He didn't even have time to give the order to loose. He spun around, gargling blood, and toppled off the wall, landing with a wet thud in the snow in front of the gate.
The archers on the wall froze. They looked at their dead commander. They looked at the smoking barrels below. They remembered the rumors of the "Thunder" that had echoed through the mountains the night before.
"Data point," Dante called out calmly. "My weapons range is 100 meters while your bows are effective at 60."
He waited.
"I will count to three. 3..."
The sound of a heavy wooden bar being lifted echoed from inside.
The huge iron gates of Ironhold groaned open.
The guards inside threw down their weapons and knelt. They weren't loyal to Voss. They were loyal to the person who paid them—and the person who didn't kill them instantly.
Dante rode into the courtyard of his new base.
"Secure the armory," Dante ordered Elara. "Kaelen, seize the grain stores. Feed our people."
"Yes, Lord!"
Dante dismounted and walked straight into the Keep. He didn't care about the throne room. He didn't care about the servants cowering in the halls.
He went straight to the Baron's study.
He found the loose floorboard under the desk. He punched in the code Voss had screamed: 4-4-9.
Click.
A hidden compartment popped open.
Dante peered inside. It wasn't just gold.
There were stacks of gold coins—at least 5,000. Enough to fund his army for a year. But beneath the gold was a rolled-up parchment.
Dante unfurled it.
It was the map of the region. But there was a large section of the Northern Mountains—right near a massive iron vein—that was circled in deep red ink.
Scrawled in heavy, panicked ink were the words: "DO NOT ENTER. THE OLD ONES SLEEP HERE. - Voss"
Dante traced the red circle.
[System Scan][Anomaly Detected in Map Region.][High Concentration of Mana... and Radiation.]
Dante paused. Radiation?
In a fantasy world, 'Old Ones' usually meant Dragons or Demons. But if the System was detecting Radiation...
Dante smiled.
"Uranium," he whispered.
He grabbed the gold and the map. He had come for iron. He had found the key to the atomic age.