The Way of Knight
Chapter 33 – War Council at Eisenwald Hall
The wooden hall of Eisenwald was bathed in torchlight, the damp scent of the surrounding marsh drifting in with the night breeze. On long benches sat the village heads, militia captains, and the core family of Eisenwald itself.
Fenrir, now seventeen years of age, sat upon the simple baron's chair. His back was straight, his crimson gaze sharp as fire. Beside him sat his father, Celdric, frail and aged but still carrying the dignity of the former baron. His mother, Elena, stood close by, her face taut with worry—the worry of a mother who knew that a storm was about to descend.
On the table before them lay the rolled parchment, still exuding the arrogance of Baron Klausen's words.
"Seven days to surrender… or your swamp will burn."
The hall erupted into furious noise.
"Madness!" one village head slammed his fist on the table. "We cannot face Klausen! His host outnumbers our militia three to one!"
"Better to yield Mülheim now," another argued, pale-faced. "It is but a single village. Better that than our whole land destroyed."
"Cowards!" barked Captain Orwin, leader of the militia. He shot to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt. "If we bow once, Klausen will demand more. Today Mülheim, tomorrow Eisenwald itself!"
Voices clashed, fear and anger tangling into chaos.
---
Fenrir raised his hand. Silence did not come immediately, but it rolled across the chamber like a wave, pressed down by the sheer force of his presence.
"Listen to me." His voice was low, steady, but heavy with authority.
"For four years, we have labored to turn this swamp into something greater. We sowed rice, carved canals, built militia with our own hands. Will you throw all of it away because of the threats of a greedy old wolf?"
Shame flickered in the eyes of the village heads. Some lowered their gaze.
Fenrir rose to his feet. Slowly, the crimson aura around him unfurled—dense, heavy, molten like lava bubbling beneath the earth. The air grew hotter, pressing upon every chest in the room.
"I, Fenrir Eisenwald, will not surrender. If Klausen marches with a thousand men, then this swamp will swallow a thousand corpses. If he seeks to burn our fields, then we will bury his fire along with his body."
---
Fenrir strode to the rough map of Eisenwald sprawled across the table. With one finger, he traced the lines of the canals carved in the past years.
"Klausen has numbers, yes. But we have the marsh. His heavy infantry will sink. His cavalry will stumble. We will build traps, seal pathways, strike swift and vanish back into the mist."
His eyes swept the hall.
"This will not be a battle of who has more soldiers. This will be a battle of endurance. War of attrition. And in these swamps, we alone decide the cost."
Orwin nodded firmly. "With submerged spear traps, we can force them into choke points."
One village elder added, "Our fishermen can spread nets across the waters, cut off their advance."
A murmur of agreement followed. Slowly, the fear that had hung heavy began to shift, transformed into determination.
---
Celdric, though his body trembled with age and sickness, looked at his son with a pride that cut deep.
"Fenrir… you are no longer just my son. You are a true baron."
Elena's eyes glistened as she stepped closer. "If you must go to war, return alive, Fenrir. Do not forget—you are not only their leader… you are my son."
Fenrir bowed his head. "I swear it, Mother."
---
Fenrir faced them all again, his aura smoldering brighter.
"From this night forward, Eisenwald prepares. Every man who can bear arms will gather. We will raise earthen fortifications, dig new canals, and store food for a month."
"And when Klausen comes…" his voice deepened, his crimson aura flaring like molten fire, "...we will show all of Luminaria that Eisenwald is not a wretched swamp—it is a graveyard for those who dare to scorn it."
A roar rose from the hall.
"For Eisenwald!"
"For our baron!"
"For the swamp!"
Fenrir clenched his fist as the shouts thundered against the wooden walls. His people's voices were no longer those of fearful farmers—they were soldiers ready to defend their land.
---
Fenrir stood at the center of them, crimson aura flickering amidst the torchlight.
Baron Klausen… you lit the fire. I will make sure this marsh becomes your grave.
And outside the hall, black birds scattered into the night sky, as if heralding the blood soon to soak the marshlands of Eisenwald.
---
#wanD48