Hern wasted no time after dropping his negotiation bombshell. He immediately ordered one of the guards to send request for parley with the fortress. The poor guy looked like he'd rather eat nails than march up to that death trap with a white flag, but off he went, no questions asked.

Then Bameball - yes, that was his name, which... let’s just say it didn’t exactly inspire fear - stepped forward. He was the one with the heavy accent, beard and the manbun. As soon as he opened his mouth, that thick robotic dialect hit me like a microwave.

"Alright people, here is the situation." Bameball said, his voice flat and almost mechanical. Like he was reading off a list rather than briefing us on a siege. No inflection, no emotion. Just... words. It was like listening to a boulder trying to recite poetry. I glanced at Rheka, who gave me a look that said: This should be good.

Bameball didn’t seem to notice, or care, about the skepticism hanging in the air. He just bulldozed right through the room with his debrief.

"Provisions are running low. We’ve got enough to last maybe two more weeks, and that is if we are lucky." His brow furrowed like he was doing some complicated mental math. "Water supply is fine, though, since we’re not far from the river. But that won’t matter much if our bellies are empty, right?"

Oh great, starving and hydrated. That’s a winning combo.

“And the men.” Bameball continued. “We have about three thousand fighting men. Most of them are Golthian levy and some bannermen from the northern parts. Silverplates... With what Hern brought in we have two hundred in total."

I looked around the tent, noting the varying reactions to Bameball's dry delivery. Some of the officers scribbled notes, others stared at the map with furrowed brows. One guy in particular seemed to be barely containing a yawn. Silverplates. It was a simple but fitting name. But two hundred? Back at the house there must have been about two thousand of them. Where the hell... is the rest?

“So. That is our our force.” Bameball went on. “We’re holding steady for now, but the tension is... well. The men are getting restless. We have been camped here for days, and morale is dropping fast. If this drags on, we might be forced to cut down our own people sooner or later."

I nodded, trying to wrap my head around the whole “cutting down our own people” thing. Not exactly the kind of thing that boosts morale.

“Any siege engines?” I asked, trying my best to keep the tone neutral. I pretended as if the possibility didn’t really concern me.

Bameball, Fulur and a couple of the others shot me surprised looks. Apparently, they weren’t expecting me to chime in. Bameball’s eyes widened a bit, but he quickly snapped back to business.

“Nothing that would make a dent in those walls, my... lord."

My lord? Promoted already. I'm rising through the ranks quick this time of year.

Fulur, who had remained unusually quiet until now, stepped forward with a gleam in his eye that suggested he’d been waiting for this moment.

“The usual tactics won’t cut it here.” Fulur said, almost more to himself than anyone else. “But what if we… adjusted our approach?”

Fulur unrolled a large piece of parchment on the command table, revealing a sketch of what looked like a wooden giant on wheels. It was so colossal, it made the other siege equipment look like mere toys.

“This.” Fulur declared, barely containing his excitement. “Is the Iron Titan!”

The entire room leaned in to get a better look. The Iron Titan was essentially a massive siege tower on steroids. It stood several stories high and was mounted on enormous, iron-bound wheels. The top was covered with a roof of overlapping metal plates, designed to withstand anything the defenders could throw at it. Inside, it was practically a fortress unto itself.

Fulur’s eyes sparkled as he pointed to the drawing. “Alright, here’s the idea. The lower level is equipped with a massive battering ram, reinforced with iron bands. We’ve got catapults on the second level for hurling stones and debris, and - wait for it - the top level is where the real magic happens.”

He gestured dramatically to the top level, which had an array of long, pivoting beams. “Up here, we’ve rigged it with heavy beams that can be lowered to batter the walls. And look at this: we’ve also got platforms for archers and spellcasters to provide cover while we’re close.”

Fulur was practically buzzing with excitement. “The Iron Titan is built to be a rolling fortress. It’ll roll right up to their walls, and we’ll use the battering ram and catapults to make a serious dent in their defenses. And once we’re in close, those beams and platforms will give us a solid advantage.”

Rheka was standing by the table, her messy hair bouncing as she peered at the sketch with wide eyes. She looked like she was on the edge of her seat, taking in every detail like it was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.

Fulur’s enthusiasm was kind of infectious. The Iron Titan might be over-the-top, but it sounded like it might be just what we needed.

“That’s... incredible.” I said. To be honest, I was genuinely impressed. “You really think it’ll do the trick?”

Fulur’s grin widened to a near-maniacal level. “Absolutely! It’s a gamble, but it’s our best shot. The Iron Titan is designed to withstand everything they can throw at us while we smash through their defenses. If it works as planned, we’ll have a mobile fortress right at their walls, and that’s going to give us the edge we need.”

The room was filled with a mix of awe and skepticism. It was a bold plan, and while some were clearly worried, the sheer audacity of it made it hard not to get excited.

Hern, ever the pragmatist, cut through the excitement with his usual directness. “Alright, Fulur. And how long will it take until the Iron Titan is ready?”

"About two to three." Fulur said. I could see the pride in his eyes.

"Two to three what." I chimed in.

"Weeks."

Hern flinched. "Weeks? That is a luxury we do not have. We’re on a tight schedule with those reinforcements on the way.”

Fulur’s grin wavered, but he quickly regained his composure. “I get it, mylord. We’ll do everything we can to speed things up. This Iron Titan is our best shot at breaking through their defenses.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"See what you can do. If you can, make it happen. And everyone, remember, we’re working with borrowed time. If the parley fails, we need to be ready to roll out the Iron Titan as soon as possible.”

Rheka, still hanging out by the table, looked up at Fulur like he’d just shown her the formula to a working pyramid scheme. She might be young, but she was definitely catching on to how big a deal this was.

For the next few hours, the camp was a whirlwind. Fulur and his team were hard at work, getting that contraption ready. There were people running around, carts rolling by, and the constant clang of metal. Rheka was nearby, watching the hustle with a mix of curiosity and concentration. Somehow I just knew, that she wanted to sit up on that thing and roll right into battle. If it got done in time, anyways.

As the sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the camp, Hern called us over, already sitting atop his horse.

“Alright, we’re heading out to negotiate.” he said, giving me and Rheka a nod. “You both are coming with me.”

We what.

"To do what exactly?" I asked.

He smirked, but didn't give an answer. Instead he just rode ahead. One of the Silverplates - this one looking like he could bench-press a small horse - gestured for us to hop onto his horse. Rheka and I exchanged a quick glance, and then, with a shrug, climbed up behind him.

***

After a short ride we pulled up to the meeting point. Fort Felsvar was visible in the distance, its high walls and grim towers standing out like a white smudge against the horizon. It was clear we had a bit of time to kill, since the other side... was nowhere to be seen.

While we waited, Rheka, that bundle of energy, yanked at my tail. “Hey Argi, can I ride in the Iron Titan?” she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

Yeah, see? Need I say more?

I grinned at her enthusiasm. “Sure, but you might need to be a bit patient. That thing’s still being built, remember?”

Be patient. I was beginning to sound more and more like the old man with every bloody day that passed.

Rheka’s face lit up, and she bounced on her toes. “Awesome! I’ve never been in something like that before! You joining?”

"Uh. I think I'll pass. Thank you for the offer." The mere thought at the height of that metal behemoth made all four of my legs shake already.

“Aw, come on, Argi!” Rheka said, pouting a bit. “You're no fun!"

As the sun started setting, painting everything in warm orange and pink, the other side finally rolled up. Leading the group was a guy with bright red hair that seemed to flicker like flames. It was unlike Rheka's crimson red, more akin to the natural redheads I'd seen in my old world. He had this... commanding presence and a crew of about fifteen tough- almost generically norse-looking soldiers trailing behind him. They were all decked out in chainmail and looked ready for a fight.

Following them was another guy who, honestly, looked like a run-of-the-mill soldier. Not even that. He was dressed in standard leather gear, nothing too flashy. It seemed a bit as if he was trying hard to look like he was in charge.

Hern and I exchanged a glance as the red-haired leader strode up. He was playing with a few little flames in his hand like they were toys, probably to show us he wasn’t just about talk. Clearly, he was the main player here, and his fiery red hair only made him stand out more.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” the red-haired leader said, his voice dripping with confident sarcasm. He snapped a flame in his hand, showing off his fire manipulation skills.

Buddy, you'll need a bit more than that to impress us. Even the nine-year-old next to me can pull that off.

I threw a glance at Rheka. She had forced the most angry expression on her own face that she could've mustered up. It... didn't work. Rather, it was the face of someone whose cheeks you'd desperately want to pinch.

The average-looking soldier, looking a bit flustered, stepped forward. “I’ll be handling this. I’m the one in charge of-”

Hern cut him off with a raised eyebrow. “And who exactly are we talking to here? Is this your negotiation or his?”

The redhead flashed a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment. “Oh, you’re definitely talking to me. The name's Korrik. He’s just here to tag along. I’m the one you’ll need to impress if you want to get anything sorted.”

The other guy’s face turned red with irritation, but he stepped back, probably realizing he was outmatched. He crossed his arms, clearly annoyed but not willing to argue further.

Hern nodded. “Alright then. What are your terms?”

Korrik's grin widened. "You leave, we stay. Simple as that. Unless you'd like to be burned to a crisp."

As he spoke, I noticed he hadn't really been looking at anyone during this entire conversation. His eyes were just kind of staring off into space.

Is he...? No way.

That man was blind. He couldn't bloody see. Yet he still commanded the room - or rather, the open field - with his presence. Impressive, really.

"And if we do not?" Hern shot back. "How long exactly do you think your ragtag band of sellswords can hold this castle? Withstand the might of his majesty's force."

Korrik raised an eyebrow, though it was hard to tell if he was actually looking at Hern. "Then, where is your majesty's force? All I see here is a bunch of commonfolk about to be turned into ash."

All you see? You don't see anything, mate. You're blind as a bat!

"You'd be sorely mistaken to think that we'd openly allow rebels to hold one of the King's castles in perpetuity. Rathan rebels, no less." Hern said, calm as ever.

Korrik’s grin widened once again, a flicker of flame dancing between his fingers as if to underline his point. "Then go ahead. If you’re itching to walk into the flames, be my guest."

Despite his fiery bravado, the blank stare in Korrik’s eyes was unsettling. The man practically radiated confidence and power. He might not be able to see, but he sure had a way of making you feel like you were being watched.

But Hern wasn’t finished with Korrik just yet. He fixed him with that steady gaze of his, clearly trying to peel back the layers of the onion at hand. “You’re quite confident, considering the situation. How long do you think your sellswords can hold their ground?

Korrik’s grin didn’t waver. He twirled a small flame between his fingers. “Oh, we’ve got plans. But holding ground? That’s not really the issue. It’s more about making sure things stay... lively.”

Hern raised an eyebrow. “Lively? Would you care to be a bit more specific?”

Korrik chuckled. “Well, I hear my brother’s on the way. He’s got a knack for making things interesting. You know how it is.”

Now Hern’s interest was clearly piqued. “Your brother? How soon until he arrives?”

Korrik shrugged, a hint of mischief in his smile. “Could be soon. Could be a bit. He’s got his own way of making an entrance, but he’ll be here before you know it.”

Hern looked at me, then back at Korrik. "Speaking of entrance. As it turns out, we have a formidable asset of our own."

Huh?

"A dragon. He may appear small at the moment, but he has the ability to greatly augment his size if necessary - up to tenfold. Should it come to that, I would sooner have him raze the fortress to the ground than permit Rathan rebels to hold it for another day.” He said.

The average-looking soldier in leather looked at me in surprise. As if his whole face had just fallen from his head.

Rheka elbowed me with a smile as if to say "Look that's you! They're talking about you!"

Korrik’s blank eyes turned toward me - or at least in my direction. His grin turned into genuine interest.

What the hell man?

"Fantastic. Looks like we’re all set for some surprises then.” Korrik said with a chuckle.

Hern's face returned to its default state - expressionless. "I suppose the negotiations have concluded. Good talk." And with that he turned on his heel, heading straight for the horses.

What? He? We?

That's... it?