Chapter 86 – The Wounds That Remain
A Quiet Morning in the Marsh
After weeks of blood and chaos, Eisenwald awoke to silence. Mist hung low over the wetlands, birds sang as though nothing had happened, as if the war beyond their lands was only a nightmare. Yet within the fortress walls, the quiet was pierced by groans of the wounded, the stench of herbs, and the sobbing of families who had lost everything.
Fenrir walked slowly between rows of cots where the surviving soldiers lay. Some had missing limbs, some bore scars across their faces and torsos, but their eyes burned with pride when they saw their young lord approach.
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"Baron… you came in person," whispered one soldier, pale and drenched in sweat, his shoulder bound in bloodied cloth.
Fenrir knelt beside him, pouring water into a crude cup. "You returned with honor. That is enough."
He did not simply speak—he acted. He tightened bandages, brought water, and even helped grind herbs. To his men, it was not just a gesture but a declaration: their lord was not above their suffering. He shared it.
From a distance, Viktor Redmane watched with his arms folded. His scarred lips curled faintly. Not many nobles would do this. He truly is different.
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Days later, the villagers gathered in the square before the large stone monument newly erected in Eisenwald. Families of the fallen stood in front, eyes swollen with grief.
Fenrir mounted the wooden podium. Behind him, the black-and-red banner of the Crimson Wolf snapped in the cold breeze. His voice rang out like steel.
"Those who fell did not die in vain. They fell as wolves who defended this land. Their names are carved on this stone, and on our hearts. And as your baron, I swear—their families will never be abandoned."
Tears streamed down the faces of widows and children. Yet mingled with grief came pride. They had lost, but their dead were honored, not forgotten.
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Fenrir kept his word. From Eisenwald's coffers he ordered compensation that astonished even his commanders:
For every family of the fallen: a plot of farmland, plus exemption from taxes for three years.
For every severely wounded soldier: a permanent post in the village garrison, or a lifetime stipend from the treasury.
For orphans: free education under Eisenwald's administrators, trained either for future governance or the military.
Elena, who stood quietly near the monument, whispered to Viktor, "My son… he is not merely raising an army. He is building a home for his people."
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The villagers prostrated themselves—not out of fear, but genuine loyalty. Many wept as they received land deeds, rights, and relief from their burdens. Those who once doubted the young baron now called his name with pride.
"Crimson Wolf… he is not just a warlord. He is our leader."
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That evening, Fenrir convened with his closest commanders in the manor's strategy room.
"This policy," Viktor said bluntly, "will bind the soldiers' loyalty forever. They will march into hell for you without hesitation."
Selene leaned against the wall, bow in hand. "But you've spent a vast amount of the treasury. We must keep Falkenrath's mines and the new trade routes running, or we will bleed resources."
Fenrir nodded. "True. But this is the greatest investment. Weapons can be reforged, gold can be earned again. But the trust of our people—once lost, it never returns."
The room fell silent. Each commander understood.
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That night, Fenrir climbed the watchtower of his manor. The marsh stretched out beneath him, silver under the moonlight. The wind smelled of damp soil and smoke, remnants of war.
His crimson aura flickered faintly around him, responding to his burning resolve.
"This war showed me how small we are… but also how strong we can become. From blood and tears, Eisenwald will rise. And I, the Crimson Wolf, will make sure no sacrifice is ever wasted."
The night carried his vow across the land, like a wolf's howl echoing through the dark.
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