The Way of Knight Chapter 11 – The Price of Survival
The sky over Eisenwald was a dull shade of silver, heavy with clouds that seemed to shroud the land's unhealed wounds. The stench of dried blood still clung to the soil, mingling with the faint scent of burnt timber and drifting ash.
Fenrir stood on a small rise at the edge of the village, his eyes sweeping across the fields scarred with trenches and hastily dug pits. The grass lay trampled flat, dark patches of blood staining the earth.
In his mind, the clash of steel, the screams of men, and the hiss of arrows still rang vividly. It hadn't been just a battle. It had been hell—and worse still, it was a hell he himself had orchestrated.
"All of this…" he muttered softly, clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms, "…this is the price of the strategy I chose."
They had won. Eisenwald had survived. The bandits who threatened the village were annihilated. But victory had not come free. Twenty-five villagers lay dead, more than forty gravely wounded, and their families now bore the weight of grief.
Geralt approached, his shoulder bound in bandages, face pale but his stance unyielding.
"Fenrir, you can't keep blaming yourself."
Fenrir turned toward him. "I gave the orders. I put them on the front line."
Geralt's lips curled into a bitter smile. "And without your plan, we'd all be corpses. You didn't save twenty-five lives. You saved hundreds."
Silence fell between them. Fenrir's heart twisted. He knew well that warfare always demanded sacrifices. In his previous life, he had read The Art of War and the Thirty-Six Stratagems—all of them agreed: no victory came without cost. But now, those costs weren't numbers on a page. They were faces. People who had once called him Young Lord.
In the baron's modest hall, Cedric Eisenwald sat upon a wooden chair, his body wrapped in bandages. Internal wounds limited his movement, but his eyes were still sharp as steel.
"Fenrir," Cedric said, his voice hoarse yet firm. "I watched the battle from start to finish. You made choices even seasoned commanders would envy."
Fenrir lowered his head, voice trembling.
"But Father, their deaths are on me."
Cedric shook his head slowly.
"No, they fell to protect their home. You cannot control death. But you can ensure their sacrifice is never wasted."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
"Let these wounds shape you, Fenrir. The wounds of your people are the wounds of their lord. Never forget that."
Fenrir said nothing, but inside, the truth of those words seared into him like fire.
That night, when the village lay silent, Fenrir sat alone in his chamber. His sword leaned against the bedside, his body exhausted to the bone.
Then, the familiar mechanical voice resounded in his mind:
[Quest Completed: Defend Eisenwald]
Reward: +200 EXP, +50 Leadership, +10 Charisma, +1 Aura Control.
[Passive Trait Obtained: Wounds That Shape]
– Each time you witness or endure loss in war, mental resilience and strategic clarity slightly increase.
– Bonus: Trauma effects reduced by 10%.
Fenrir froze. Even wounds of the heart… can be strength?
His grip tightened around his sword. Then I'll embrace every wound. I'll turn them into the foundation that carries me to the throne.
The next morning, Fenrir gathered the surviving youths. Their bodies were bandaged, their faces weary, but their eyes burned with determination.
"You fought with courage," Fenrir declared. "You are no longer just farmers or shepherds. You are the wolves of Eisenwald. And from this day on, we will train as soldiers!"
A cheer erupted, faint but fiery. Despite their exhaustion, something new lit within them. Fenrir began drilling them in basic formations, spear handling, and discipline.
The system chimed again:
[Quest Unlocked: Establish Eisenwald Militia]
Objective: Train at least 50 villagers into reserve soldiers.
Reward: +500 EXP, Title Unlock: Wolf Cub Commander.
Fenrir's lips curled in a faint smile. This is the first step. From this small force, I'll build the army that will one day shake an empire.
But peace never lingered long. That very night, watchmen spotted strange figures in the forest. They moved with precision, armed and disciplined—no mere bandits.
Fenrir, patrolling alongside Geralt, narrowed his eyes.
"They're not common rabble," he said grimly. "Those are trained soldiers."
Geralt swallowed hard. "Does that mean…?"
"Yes," Fenrir replied coldly. "It means a far greater enemy has turned its gaze upon us."
🔻 [Fenrir's Status ] 🔻
Name: Fenrir Eisenwald
Title: Wolf Cub of Eisenwald
Level: 3
EXP: 1200 / 2000
Aura: 35
Stamina: 42
Strength: 28
Cunning: 52
Charisma: 40
Mental Fortitude: 45
Skills:
[Aura Control Lv.1] – Channels faint aura into blade. [Swordsmanship Lv.1] – Basic sword techniques. [Leadership Lv.2] – Grants +10% morale to small units. [Tactical Instinct Lv.1] – Quick, adaptive strategy sense. [Wounds That Shape](Trait) – Transforms war trauma into mental growth.
Active Quests:
Establish Eisenwald Militia (0/50). Navigate Noble Politics (Pending – Marquis' summons).
#wanD48