Outside of an open mine, Custodian’s drones laid out tracks and built cranes. There weren’t only drones present, there were also some very confused and curious Vyssians watching. One of the Vyssians was a tall red-headed man with a bear pelt wrapped around his shoulders, and standing next to him was a red-hooded drone.
“The mine is done, Lady Red?” the tall man asked.
“Indeed, Gerard. Please inform Lord Ecgbert that the mining operations will begin soon,” Red replied.
News about Varangian drones were starting to spread deeper into Vyssium, and there were some who were interested in their potential capabilities. Of course, many were still wary about the new arrivals, but to some, opportunities are something to catch on first sight.
“Ah, so this is my mine, hmm? You lots better remember that I get eighty-parts of the iron and gold you mine out!” a Vyssian nobleman shouted as he arrived on his horse. He took a quick glance at the mine and raised an eyebrow as he asked, “What are those contraptions all over the ground?”
“It’s some kind of Varangian invention, Lord Authulwing. They call it railways or whatever they’re trying to call it,” Gerard answered.
“Bah. As long as they work and I get my ore. If I don’t get my share, I’m directly pissing off to Ecgbert, ya hear?” the nobleman threatened.
Gerard laughed and assured, “No need to worry, Lord Authulwing! The Varangians are people of their word, I guarantee it!”
The nobleman glared then sighed. “The northman did take Castle Marcoir, so I suppose there are some merit in your words. I have better things to do than dawdle about here.”
With the nobleman gone and the mine operations completed, Red and Gerard began making their way back to their wagon.
“Is Lord Ecgbert doing well? He seems to get paler every time he meets us at the embassy,” Red asked.
“He gets paler because of the work he’s been getting lately. He’s the head of the Central Sea’ax families along with Old Man Wick, so he had to manage the affairs of the Central families. Now that Northwestern Rhankia was taken by us, it became part of his duties to manage that region,” Gerard explained.
“What about the Rhankian castles in the region? It’s been a few weeks since your last attempted attack,” Red asked.
“It’s not looking too good. We might really have to hold off attacking the last remaining strongholds and just dig in. I heard a Varangian army tried to attack Castle Kilothar?” Gerard asked.
Red waved her hand dismissively and replied, “It was another… warlord that initiated that. It’s not as if the leader of Vyssium has a hand in all of your affairs, right?”
The tall red-headed man nodded. “True, it might have been a warlord trying his luck.”
As the two arrived at their wagon, Gerard stopped to look at the fascinating vehicle. Unlike the older wagons invented by the drones, the new roofed wagons were much bigger since the new Steadfaster upgrades allowed them to carry heavier loads.
“Is something wrong, Gerard?” Red asked.
“I need to buy one of these Varangian wagons one day, maybe before I have to fight for my succession right,” Gerard said as he got onto the wagon. “I’ll need to travel around, and having one of these would probably make the journey more enjoyable.”
Following him from behind, Red took a seat on the opposite side and asked, “Succession right? What is that supposed to be?”
“Ecgbert’s old, and he thinks that it’s time he finds a successor to the Central Sea’ax families. And no, before you ask, Old Man Wick doesn’t want it. He said he’s too old and politics isn’t really his thing. Anyone influential enough, man or woman, could become the successor.”
“Successor? What is that supposed to do?”
“You know, the person who succeeds the head once they pass away. The person chosen to become a leader,” Gerard answered.
“Interesting. Like a princess? Princesses would become kings once the king dies, right?” Red asked.
Gerard laughed then explained, “Sort of. But, I think you misunderstand something, princesses don’t inherit the throne unless they’re the oldest and there aren’t any princes in the line.”
“What?” Red tilted her head.
“I’m sure you’re talking about the Kingdom of Rhankia, right? If I could remember, King Leosif has a son, called Prince Orwulf. If King Leosif dies, Orwulf would become king.”
“Then how could Princess Imma become king?”
“She can become a queen in another country through marriage, I suppose, or Orwulf could die in a horrible accident. It could happen.” Gerard shrugged.
“In that case, she becomes the successor to the Kingdom of Rhankia, yes?” Red leaned slightly forward with intense curiosity.
“Y-...” Gerard squinted his eyes then looked around. “Yes?”
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With her thirst for knowledge quenced, Red leaned back and nodded satisfyingly. “Ah, I see. That clears things up. We Varangians have to learn these things, you know?”
“Oh, yes. That’s true, I suppose,” Gerard commented.
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Sounds of hooves stomping the grass were followed by clanking metal steps. A caravan made its way down an old road, headed by Vyssians. At the back of the caravan were the drones with their ugly bull-like machine-beasts pulling wagons of goods. On each side of the caravan were armed warrior drones, intimidating even the birds in the forest.
It had been a few weeks since Otto’s caravan had embarked for Hetten, and they were only half-way to their destination. The vast plains of the Southern Vyssium showed either fields of green grass or yellow wheat, and the trees within the light forests were comparatively shorter than the ones in Varangia.
As Otto’s caravan made it way down a long dirt path, they crossed paths with a small band of armed Vyssian men.
“Ho, Vyssians,” Otto called out.
The leader at the front of the Vyssian warband raised his axe and waved it. “Sea’axian!”
“You’re a Veatfeared?” Otto asked when the two men got close enough.
“Aye. My warriors and I are heading back to our village. The raids are starting to reach their end,” the warlord said as he pointed at the wagon full of loot like linen and silverware.
“Veatfeared is pulling back?”
“Same to Kentfeared. You Sea’axfeared had better luck getting an entire region out of the Rhankish bastards, but you better start pulling back before the Royal Rhanks get to ya,” the warlord advised.
“Royal Rhanks?” Slayer interjected.
“Oooh! If it ain’t a northman! I heard you were the ‘uns who took Castle Marcoir,” the warlord praised while tapping his own chest with his axe.
“What do you mean by Royal Rhanks?” Slayer repeated his question.
“He probably meant the Royal Army led by the prince,” Otto guessed. “Prince Orwulf is already heading our way?”
The warlord shook his head then replied, “Nay, it’s our Hetten brethren. They’re eating Rhankish hooves at the moment. Us Vyssians won’t make the same mistake last year. Orwulf’s a wiley ‘un, and could be a match for Old Man Wick.”
Otto scratched his neck then sighed, “I suppose t’was good that I pulled out from the raid early. Anyway, would you fine gentlemen want to barter?”
As Otto and the Vyssian warlord conducted their business, Slayer decided to check out his surroundings. Flying drones had already surveyed the area from the air, but there weren’t much information from the ground yet. He went to the back of the caravan and opened one of the carriages.
Immediately, three spider drones jumped out and ran off into three different directions. Inside the carriage, there were crates filled with spider drones, waiting for their commands, as well as a Daedelus - Arcturus.
He had his beast-like hind legs rested on top of a crate, and he was studying a map in his head. Arcturus stopped when he realized that Slayer was looking inside the carriage.
“Are we at Hetten yet?” Arcturus asked.
“Negative. Estimates reports that our journey is only fifty percent completed,” Slayer answered.
“Should I scout ahead?” Arcturus offered as he started getting up from his seat. However, Slayer stopped him and pushed him back onto his seat.
“Negative. You’re staying here until we reach Hetten. If you are bored, I recommend you check up on the scout drones we’ve been dropping along the way,” Slayer suggested then closed the carriage.
“Oi, northman! We’re moving up!” Otto called up from the front. “We’ve still got a long journey ahead of us!”
“Yes, yes,” Slayer responded as he started making his way back to the front.
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At the foot of Mount Varangia, Custodian’s troglodyte village was slowly being developed by both the troglodytes and the drones. There were noticeably more wooden hovels than before, and there were also some big stone structures being erected, most of which were used as temples.
Inside the biggest stone temple, there were statues of crude humanoid figures trying to resemble the drones, as well as stone benches for mass worship. However, the stone temple wasn’t only used for religious purposes. There were also study rooms filled with tables, pens, and papers inside the temple.
The largest study room was converted into a lecture hall, and at the front, there was a peculiar looking drone drawing on a board. Using his two large arms attached on his back, he scribbled two different sentences. Once he was done, he turned to the hall full of high troglodytes and slapped the board.
Immediately, the high troglodyte began working their pens against their large papers. Other than the sound of pens inking the papers and the occasional croak, some troglodytes would raise a question.
“Lord Erudite, can you check if this rune is correct?” a troglodyte called out.
The Erudite snaked along the gaps between the tables and inspected the troglodyte’s paper. With a tap, he pointed out a mistake and wrote some corrections with his own pen.
“Thank you, Lord Erudite,” the troglodyte bowed his head low and continued writing.
The silence in the classroom returned until it was broken by a new arrival. He kicked open the lecture hall’s doors and loudly announced in drone speak, “It is me! Niner! The one and only! And my fleshy baby slave!”
The appearance of Niner and the iron-skinned baby troglodyte cradled around his arms caused the troglodytes to rise.
“Hail, Lord Niner! Hail, Lord Zilopohili!” the troglodytes praised in unison to which baby Zilopohili clapped his hands and laughed amusingly.
The Erudite snapped his hands loudly and motioned his hands downwards swiftly. The troglodytes obeyed his silent instruction and took their seats quietly.
“Still teaching the organics how to write? How very interesting! If I could remember, you also asked Master Custodian if you could teach them how to calculate. If I didn’t know any better, you might actually want to teach them how to fly!” Niner said as he approached The Erudite.
The Erudite shook his head and flashed a series of images into Niner’s mind directly through hivespeak.
“Experimenting? I suppose it’s worth a try if it would make our organics… more useful,” Niner said as he took a piece of paper off a troglodyte’s table and inspected its content. “Interesting. It’s a mix of the language we found in Mount Varangia and… is this Vyssian?”
Niner gave the piece of paper to the curious Zilopohili, and the baby troglodyte started glomping it in one go. The Erudite swiped whatever was left of the paper from Zilopohili’s mouth then wiped the saliva off it. “What… do you want?” Erudite spoke out in a series of pre-recorded voices from varying languages.
“I need more organic workers for the mines. We’ve managed to open up a new vein, and some mining drones are being transferred from Varangia to Vyssium. Apparently the idiotic humans don’t have knowledge of other minerals being present in their mines so we’re just stripping everything from those fools.”
The Erudite tapped his chin with one of his back-limbs then nodded.
“Other than that, I also have another request.” Niner raised Zilopohili up into the air and continued, “As you can see, this guy’s getting ridiculously big at an alarming rate. I’m going to need an organic caretaker and teacher for this guy.”