Chapter 124 – Three Baronies Under the Crimson Banner
The fortress of Hohenberg, once a proud seat of defiance, had fallen silent. The banners of its old lord lay trampled in the mud, replaced by the crimson wolf of Eisenwald that now fluttered from every tower.
Inside the grand hall, a heavy oak table was crowded with scrolls, maps, and ledgers. Farmers' harvest records, lists of miners, notes on supply routes—all spread before the young baron who had become master of three conquered lands. Fenrir sat at the head of the table, his crimson eyes glinting under the torchlight.
"The battles are over," he said, his voice low but sharp. "But if we cannot bind these lands, the embers will ignite again. Order must be forged before unrest festers."
Darius Holt, scarred veteran of countless campaigns, bowed his head. "Steel held the lines, but now law must hold the people. If left unchecked, fear will turn into rebellion."
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Fenrir turned his gaze toward the administrators he had carefully chosen after past wars—men of trade, numbers, and stone. Now, they would become the hands that shaped his rule.
Ulric Denholm, a former metal trader, was entrusted with taxation and grain trade in Hohenberg.
Seraphis Koldwyn, a young scholar of logistics, was given authority over Drachenfels' iron mines.
Gregor Stein, an old miner with decades of experience, was placed in charge of Falkenhain's deep shafts and distribution networks.
"You are not merely clerks," Fenrir told them. "You are Eisenwald's reach. Fail, and you invite rebellion. Succeed, and you anchor our future."
The three men bowed deeply, the weight of their task clear in their pale faces.
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Kael Morgenstern stepped forward, his black cloak brushing the floor. "The Crimson Knights will be stationed at every stronghold and crossroads. The people must wake to see Eisenwald's banners, and sleep knowing resistance is futile."
Fenrir nodded. "Be firm, but do not bleed the people dry. Justice must be harsher for traitors than for peasants. Mercy for the obedient, steel for the defiant."
Garrik Stormhoof rumbled, "The cavalry will patrol the main routes. Trade and communication will not falter."
Lyra Nightshade smirked faintly. "My scouts are already among the villages. If whispers of revolt arise, we will hear them before the words leave their tongues."
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At first, fear ruled the streets. Doors shut when crimson banners passed. Farmers bent low, children hid behind carts, merchants muttered under their breath.
But shifts began to emerge. Selene Aestra personally led her archers to cut down a band of raiders harassing the markets of Drachenfels. That same day, villagers offered bread and wine to her soldiers.
"They may be conquerors," whispered an old man in the square, "but at least they guard the roads. Our old barons never cared."
Still, not all bent so easily. In Falkenhain, three noble families attempted to flee under cover of night, swords at their sides. They were captured before dawn. Their bodies swung from the gates by morning, a grim warning beneath the crimson flag.
"This is the price of defiance," Kael declared coldly, his voice carrying across the square.
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Reports piled quickly.
"Drachenfels' iron mines can yield half again as much if stabilized," said Seraphis.
"Falkenhain's deeper veins need new workers," Gregor noted. "But the ore is rich—worth guarding with lives."
"Hohenberg's plains are fertile," Ulric added. "Enough grain to feed two baronies, with surplus for Eisenwald's stores."
Fenrir tapped the table. "Recruit labor from Eisenwald and the villages. Pay them, but watch them. Food feeds loyalty. Steel enforces it."
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When night fell, Fenrir stood alone by the battlements, the wind tugging at his cloak. Below, the fires of three conquered towns burned in the distance—not with rebellion, but with the signs of life bending to a new master.
"Three baronies down," he murmured. "Eisenwald is no longer a borderland name. It is a banner to be feared."
Yet even as triumph settled in his chest, he knew these victories would echo far beyond the border. The empire would not fail to notice. Marquis would whisper. And perhaps, in the distant capital, even the Emperor himself had already heard of the Crimson Wolf.
Fenrir clenched his fist on the cold stone. "Let them hear. Let them all come. Eisenwald will not break."
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