Chapter 7 – Shadows of the First Threat
The days following the road repair were filled with unusual energy. The villagers of Eisenwald spoke with renewed pride, whispering about the young baron who had dirtied his hands alongside them. Though their lives remained harsh and their land poor, a subtle change had taken root—a seed of hope.
Fenrir, though only seven years old, walked through the village with his head held high. Children followed him with admiring eyes, while adults gave him nods of respect they had never offered before. The System's rewards had made themselves felt: his words carried greater weight, his presence seemed more commanding, and when he spoke, people listened.
Yet with recognition came danger. And Fenrir knew it.
That evening, as twilight descended, Cedric returned from the nearby town. His boots were caked with mud, and his usually stoic expression was heavier than before. Elena noticed first. "Cedric, what is it? You look troubled."
Cedric sat heavily at the wooden table, unfastening his cloak. "News from the town. Bandits have been sighted near the northern woods. Small groups, but bold enough to raid supply wagons. They haven't reached Eisenwald yet… but it's only a matter of time."
Elena paled. "Bandits? Again? We barely survived the last famine."
Fenrir's eyes narrowed. So it begins. The first threat from beyond our lands.
His small fingers curled into fists under the table. Bandits were no mere nuisance in this world. Without strong guards or soldiers, villages could be reduced to ashes overnight.
Cedric rubbed his forehead wearily. "We don't have the men to defend the whole border. I'll send word to the city, but…" He trailed off, his silence saying what his pride would not: no one in the city cared about Eisenwald.
Elena placed a trembling hand on her husband's. "What if they come here?"
Cedric didn't answer.
It was Fenrir who broke the silence. "Then we prepare ourselves."
Both parents turned to him. Cedric frowned. "Prepare? You're still a child. This isn't a game."
Fenrir met his father's gaze calmly. "If we wait for help, the bandits will destroy us. But if we use what we have—our people, our land, our wits—we can turn Eisenwald into a trap. They'll regret ever stepping here."
Cedric's eyes widened slightly. For a moment, he saw not a boy but a commander, a spark of steel in his son's gaze.
That night, as Fenrir lay awake, the System responded to his thoughts.
[New Quest Unlocked – Shadows of the North]
Description: Bandits threaten Eisenwald. Prepare to defend your people.
Objectives:
– Train 5 villagers into basic militia (0/5)
– Design at least one defensive trap (0/1)
– Survive the first bandit attack.
Rewards: +3 Strength, Skill [Tactical Planning Lv.1]
Fenrir exhaled slowly, a wolfish grin tugging at his lips. Perfect. My first real test as a strategist.
The following morning, Fenrir gathered several youths he had worked with during the road repair. Geralt was among them, towering like a giant beside the other boys. Branik also came, still skeptical, but unable to ignore the stirrings of change in the village.
Fenrir stood before them, his voice steady. "Eisenwald is in danger. Bandits are near. If they come, they won't spare your families. We can't rely on outsiders to save us. We must save ourselves."
The young men shifted uneasily. Fear flickered in their eyes. But Fenrir's next words struck deeper.
"You saw what we achieved with the road. We worked together, and we succeeded. Now we must do it again—but this time, with our lives on the line. I will train with you. I will fight with you. And together, we will protect Eisenwald."
His words carried strange weight, sharper than his age allowed. The skill [Command Voice Lv.1] amplified every syllable, weaving confidence into the hearts of those who heard.
Geralt was the first to nod, his fists tightening. "If the young lord is with us, I'll fight."
One by one, the others agreed, some reluctantly, some with newfound resolve. Even Branik grunted. "Fine. But if this fails, the blame is yours."
Fenrir smiled faintly. Then I'll make sure it doesn't fail.
Training began in the barren fields. Wooden staves replaced swords, buckets filled with rocks became makeshift weights. Fenrir drilled them in simple formations he remembered from strategy books: shield walls, flanking maneuvers, coordinated retreats.
"Do not fight alone!" he barked, sweat dripping down his young face. "Fight as one! If one falls, another must cover him!"
Though his body was small, Fenrir threw himself into the drills. He stumbled, he fell, but he always rose again, his resolve unbroken. The villagers, seeing his determination, pushed harder than they thought possible.
Days passed, and slowly, a semblance of order emerged. They were not soldiers, not yet—but they were no longer helpless peasants either.
Meanwhile, Fenrir began preparing the land itself. He studied the terrain of the northern forest, mapping paths and choke points. He remembered every page of The Art of War, every strategy of ambush, deception, and terrain exploitation.
If the enemy is stronger, lure them into weakness. If they expect safety, greet them with chaos.
He instructed the villagers to dig shallow pits along the narrowest road. Wooden spikes were hidden under leaves. Traps were set with ropes to unseat horsemen. Even boiling water and stones were prepared in barrels, ready to be tipped from higher ground.
The work was grueling, but the people followed. Fenrir's presence, his strange aura of leadership, compelled them.
One evening, as the preparations neared completion, Cedric stood watching his son from a distance. The boy was directing villagers twice his size, his wooden sword tapping the ground as he explained formations. His voice carried authority, and the men obeyed.
Cedric's chest tightened. He had once dreamed of leading men like this, but his barony's decline had crushed those dreams. Now, his seven-year-old son carried them forward.
"Elena," he murmured to his wife beside him, "our son… he is not ordinary."
Elena smiled faintly, though her eyes shone with both pride and worry. "He grows too quickly, Cedric. I'm afraid the world will notice."
Cedric said nothing, but his hand tightened into a fist. If the world dares harm him, they'll face me first.
The night of reckoning came sooner than expected.
Scouts reported movement near the northern woods. Torches flickered in the darkness, voices rough and mocking. Bandits. At least twenty of them, armed with crude swords and bows.
The villagers gathered in silence, their faces pale but resolute. Fenrir stood at the front, his wooden sword in hand, his eyes calm.
This is it. My first battle. Not of theory, not of imagination—but of life and death.
The System chimed.
[Quest Update: Survive the First Bandit Attack]
The wind howled through the trees as the shadows approached.
And Fenrir, the reborn office worker turned baron's son, whispered to himself: "Tonight, the wolf bares his fangs."
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