Chapter 137 – Mass Recruitment
The skies over Eisenwald glowed faintly silver as the sun broke through the morning clouds. A vast training field stretched before the citadel walls, filled with the restless murmurs of thousands of men and women who had gathered to test their worth.
The air was heavy with sweat, dust, and the faint metallic scent of sharpened blades. The Crimson Wolf had called—and the people had answered.
More than nine thousand men and women had come.
Some wore the coarse tunics of farmers, hands calloused from plows rather than swords.
Others carried scars across their arms, weathered mercenaries seeking a banner worth following.
A few were strangers—skin darker, accents foreign—who had traveled from beyond Luminaria's borders, drawn by the legend of the Crimson Wolf.
Fenrir Eisenwald stood upon a wooden dais, the crimson banner of Eisenwald fluttering behind him. Kael Morgenstern and twenty of the Crimson Knights flanked him, their armor black-red and gleaming in the morning light. Their very presence radiated pressure.
Fenrir's voice carried over the field like a blade through silence.
> "Eisenwald is no longer a forgotten corner of the empire. It is a home, a rising power. If you stand here, it is not just to fight wars—it is to build something that will last beyond your lives. If you seek glory without resolve, leave now."
No one moved. Only the wind stirred.
The first trial was merciless: endurance.
Each applicant was ordered to carry sandbags across their backs and run the length of the outer field, a grueling course that tested lungs and legs alike.
Within the first hour, more than 1,200 collapsed.
Some panted on the dirt, begging for water.
Others fainted outright, dragged aside by Eisenwald veterans.
The drillmasters barked curses, snapping whips against the ground.
> "If you cannot endure this, how will you endure war?"
Fenrir observed silently, arms crossed. He knew numbers alone meant nothing. Eisenwald needed soldiers who would not falter under the weight of hunger, exhaustion, or blood.
Next came weapons tests.
Applicants were divided by their chosen arms: swords, spears, bows, and mounts.
Darius Holt, commander of the infantry, examined spear users and shield-bearers.
Selene Aestra judged archers, her eyes sharp as she watched each arrow fly.
Garrik Stormhoof tested riders, their clumsy hands on reins quickly disqualifying many.
Lyra Nightshade prowled the edges, quietly observing those who claimed to be scouts.
Roland Ironarm stood beside a ballista, making men sweat as they struggled to load and release the weapon under his glare.
Of the 7,800 remaining, nearly 1,800 failed here. Clumsy sword swings, arrows that missed targets by yards, riders thrown from horses—all were cut mercilessly from the ranks.
Only 6,000 advanced.
By evening, the final test began: resolve.
The 6,000 stood in silence as Kael Morgenstern walked before them. His black aura did not flare visibly, but the weight of his gaze was enough to press against their spirits.
> "Eisenwald is not for cowards," Kael said, voice low and cold. "You will face hunger, wounds, and fear. If you cannot hold my eyes for ten breaths, you are unworthy."
Men and women alike flinched as his gaze swept them. Dozens broke, fleeing the line in panic. The rest clenched their jaws and endured.
Fenrir watched, and for the first time that day, a faint smile touched his lips.
When the final line was set, Fenrir stepped forward, his sword drawn. The blade caught the fire of torches now lit along the field.
> "I do not promise you wealth," Fenrir declared. "I promise you struggle. Blood, pain, and death. But also honor—honor to protect this land, to guard its people, and to stand as the shield of Eisenwald. If you accept this fate, swear it now."
As one, 6,000 voices roared their pledge, their knees pressed to the ground. The echo of their oath rolled across the field, a sound that seemed to shake even the stones of the citadel.
By the day's end:
Old Eisenwald forces: ~8,200 veterans.
New recruits accepted: ~6,000.
Total strength: ~14,200 soldiers.
The number was vast—greater than what Eisenwald had ever held before—but Fenrir knew this was only the beginning. Training, integration, and command restructuring awaited. The foundation for future armies was laid, but it was not yet complete.
That night, bonfires were lit across the training ground. Veterans and new recruits shared bread, meat, and stories. Some laughed, some sat in silence, but all glanced toward the crimson banner above, fluttering in the night wind.
Fenrir stood at the dais, Kael beside him, and whispered under his breath:
> "Fourteen thousand strong… this is only the first step. Eisenwald will grow sharper, harder, until no enemy can stand before us."
The firelight reflected in his eyes, red as if echoing the aura that earned him his name.
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