Chapter 50

Castellan Brown stood in the center of the training yard, his presence commanding and fierce. His voice, rough and booming like a war drum, cut through the air as he barked orders at the troops. Dressed in a weathered leather coat that bore the marks of countless battles, he looked every bit the seasoned warrior. His grizzled face was framed by a mane of unkempt gray hair, and his piercing eyes scanned the ranks with an intensity that could wither even the bravest of souls.

"Hold your rifles steady! These ain't your grandpappy's muskets!" he roared, pacing up and down the line of soldiers. "Your enemy won't wait for you to fumble around with your weapon. You get one chance to make your shot count. You miss, you die. Simple as that."

The soldiers, many of whom had spent their lives mastering swords and spears, struggled to adapt to the new high-order weapons they now held. Automatic rifles were a luxury only Cincy's control over the Order fields could afford, and their advantages were undeniable. Yet, the unfamiliar weight and recoil of these modern marvels made them cumbersome to those unaccustomed to their use.

Brown stopped in front of a young soldier who was awkwardly adjusting his grip. "No, no, no!" he bellowed, grabbing the rifle from the soldier's hands. "You hold it like this. Firm grip, feet shoulder-width apart. Your rifle is an extension of your body. Treat it with respect, or it'll betray you when you need it most."

From the doorway of a nearby tavern, Kris and Jasper watched the scene unfold. Kris leaned against the frame, his eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Castellan Brown whipping the troops into shape.

"He's intense," Kris remarked, a touch of admiration in his voice. "But I guess you need to be when you're training soldiers to wield something as powerful as those ARs."

Jasper nodded, his gaze fixed on Brown. "Yeah, he's a hardass, but he knows his stuff. Cincy’s got the edge with those weapons, and Brown’s making damn sure these men know how to use them. It’s our best chance against the assault."

Brown continued his relentless drill, moving from one soldier to the next, correcting stances, adjusting grips, and shouting encouragements that sounded more like threats

. "Remember, those assaulting bastards don’t have the luxury you do. They’re stuck with low Order tech. You’ve got the power of Order on your side. Use it!"

As another soldier fumbled with his rifle, Brown snatched it away and demonstrated the correct firing position with practiced ease. "Like this, damn it! Breathe in, steady, squeeze the trigger. Let the weapon do the work."

Kris couldn’t help but feel a surge of determination as he watched. The sight of the troops learning to harness such powerful weapons under Brown’s watchful eye filled him with a sense of pride for his city. The ability to wield high-order weaponry was a privilege, and it was clear that Brown intended to make the most of it.

Kris leaned against the tavern doorframe, his eyes locked onto the relentless Castellan Brown drilling the troops. The clamor of the training yard was a cacophony of shouted orders and the sharp retort of rifles. He turned to Jasper, his expression serious.

"You ready if they call you up?" Kris asked, his voice tense with anticipation.

Jasper snorted, shaking his head. "There won't be any use for any of this. They're not going to assault. You'd be melting soldiers if you did. They'll just wait out there and try to starve us out."

Kris furrowed his brow, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on him. "I know that's how it normally works, but this is different. The Empire needs a win and it needs it fast. Nic told me we've got supplies for a long time. We can hold out for months, and with the river behind us, we might get resupplies. We could last for years. There won't be an Empire in years."

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Jasper tutted, shaking his head with a dismissive smirk. "The Empire has been around for more than two centuries, Kris. There's never been anything like that before. Pittsburgh, Dallas, Francisco—they reigned for decades, but nothing like the Empire. Don't be so sure something so huge and powerful can just come tumbling down when it suits Brightforge."

A somber silence fell between them, the weight of Cincy's plight pressing down. They both thought of Cincy's Sword, their leader, lying dead or dying from his wounds in the Tower. The gravity of their situation was stark, and Castellan Brown’s furious shout as he dismissed a soldier who couldn’t master the rifle only intensified the moment.

Kris broke the silence, his voice steady but insistent. "But are you ready?"

Jasper glanced at him, a sardonic glint in his eyes. "To stand on the walls and die like the rest of 'em? You must be crazy."

Kris was aghast, the words cutting deep. "What if they call you up?"

Jasper shrugged, his tone casual, almost indifferent. "I'm thinking it's time I got out of here."

Kris's eyes widened in shock. "What?"

"I could leave. I'm not from Cincy. I bet they'd leave me out. Merchant caravans have been departing all day," Jasper said, his voice tinged with a hint of rebellion.

Kris's voice rose in disbelief. "But Cincy raised you, trained you! Where would you go? How could you betray the city?"

Jasper’s eyes flashed with frustration. "I could try a Choosing somewhere else. Don't forget, Kris, Tiberius Bloodsword wasn't from Boston, and look what he did. And don’t start with that 'what I owe Cincy' bullshit again. They train us for Choosings because they need Griidlords. They trained me because there’s a chance a suit might choose me someday, and I'll be able to go out and fight for Orbs and make the fat-assed bastards that run this place even richer. You need to quit worrying about what you owe the city. The city is just a machine to make sure the nobles have plenty of Order, plenty of mead, and plenty of whores."

Kris glowered, his fists clenching at his sides. "Cincy stands for something. We're the first city to stand up to the Empire in decades. We could be the city that leads the rest into freedom."

Jasper snorted derisively. "What's freedom, Kris? The freedom to fight and die so some fat bastard in the Tower doesn’t have to send half of what the armies win off to the Empire? Get your head out of your ass. You should come with me."

Kris was horrified, his mind reeling from the suggestion.

Jasper leaned closer, his voice dropping to a persuasive whisper. "You've got talent. Griidlords run in your family. You can stay here and starve for who knows how long, living on turnips and moldy flour, or you could come with me and become a Griidlord somewhere else. Think about it—the riches, the women, the honor."

Kris’s voice was firm, unwavering. "There wouldn't be any honor."

Jasper recoiled slightly, gathering himself for a retort. Before he could speak, he caught Kris's eyes as something drew his attention. Turning, Jasper saw a grunt jogging towards them, the man's gaze fixed intently on Jasper.

The grunt stopped in front of them, slightly out of breath. "Jasper? Jasper Pyke?"

Jasper eyed him warily. "Who's asking?"

The man smirked. "Thought it was you. You talk like a Burgh-er."

Jasper's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

The man raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Take it easy, champ. You're not a Griidlord yet. It's not what I want."

Jasper's impatience flared. "What, then?"

The soldier took a deep breath. "You've been summoned."

Jasper's face twisted in irritation. "Oh, fuck that. I'm not getting up on that wall to die like the rest of the grunts."

The soldier shook his head. "Not for the wall. You've been summoned for an audience with Sword Brightforge."

Jasper's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Kris coughed, equally taken aback. "Brightforge is dead," Jasper said incredulously.

The soldier's expression softened slightly. "He's recovering in his pod. He mightn't get out of it for a while, but the priests say he'll be okay. More importantly, he wants to talk to you."

Jasper's confusion was palpable. "Why the hell would he want to talk to me?"

The soldier shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "That's for you to find out, champ. Best not keep him waiting."

Jasper turned to Kris, his earlier bravado momentarily shaken. Kris could see the conflict in his friend's eyes. Jasper's usual nonchalance had been replaced by a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

"Go," Kris urged. "Find out what he wants. This could be important."

Jasper hesitated for a moment longer, then squared his shoulders, determination settling over him like a cloak.

"Fine. Lead the way," he said to the soldier.