A knock came at Mark’s door as he rubbed between his eyes. “Come in.”

Mira opened the door and gestured for Erald to enter. “Go on, boy.”

“So?” Mark said, looking up from his desk.

“Tell the Imperator what you told me.”

Erald nodded at Mira and then stiffened into a salute, his lip trembling as he spoke. “I-it’s Acolyte C-Callum, Imperator.”

“I figured. Go on.”

“I-I-I t-told him a-about–”

“Calm down, take a deep breath and continue. I’m not going to hold you responsible for whatever stupid thing Acolyte Callum has decided to do, okay?”

Erald swallowed and nodded. And after a long pause, continued. “Acolyte Callum asked me about my meeting with Acolyte Erin–”

How did the boy know that I sent Erald to meet Erin? It really is impossible to keep anything a secret in this place, isn’t it?

“–he wanted to go looking for her, and I told him that he wouldn’t find her. And then–I-ah… it was just a joke. Like I didn’t think he would–”

“It’s fine, Acolyte Erald. Just tell me what happened.”

“Yes, right… well–umm,” Erald nodded. “Like I said, I was just joking. All I did was tell him how she brought a big feral into the fort. Everyone already knew that, anyway. And then, he–”

“He went looking for the feral, right?”

Erald nodded.

“You’re dismissed, Acolyte Erald. Take it easy, alright? Remember to breathe. You haven’t done anything wrong. A little stupid, maybe, but if I punished you for that, I’d have to punish every acolyte in this fort.”

“Thank you, sir,” Erald saluted and turned for the door.

“Imperator Atlas,” Mira saluted and smiled fondly as she caught Mark’s eyes before turning to follow Erald.

She doesn’t–no… Keep your thoughts straight, dumbass. You’ve got plenty of bullshit to worry about; no need to go barking up that tree.

***

Standing in the outer wall as ferals went about their business around him, Mark eyed the big man from a distance. He had grown several inches since taking Atlas’s body and filled out substantially, but even his new body felt small compared to that man.

Let’s get this over and done with.

“Hello,” Mark said, waving as he approached the working man. “I believe you’re the one they call Trayox.”

Trayox hammered a stake to hold up a log as he finished his small hut’s roofing. He leaned back as he finished, wiped his brow, and then turned to Mark. The feral eyed him curiously for a moment before replying. “I am. Yes.”

“Apparently, one of my acolytes came here earlier today. He was looking for a girl named Erin. You didn’t happen to talk to him, did you?”

Trayox nodded.

“And? Would you mind sharing the details with your Imperator?” Mark knew how he sounded. But now was a good opportunity to provide a reminder. Here, he was the law, and the ferals had better not forget that.

“I tell him cultists take Erin. Say go north.” Trayox said, moving past Mark to collect another log.

“That’s it?”

“Kid impatient. Gone now,” Trayox shrugged.

Better than nothing, I suppose.

“Right then. On your way,” Mark said, but his comment made little difference to Trayox, who had continued to work throughout the conversation.

***

“He’s gone. Heading north in search of Erin,” Mark said, marching back into the fort.

“What?” Henric said, standing by the entrance and following Mark as he passed.

“The stupid kid went chasing her. Apparently, the big feral thinks the cultists took her—heading north. Why do I always seem to be the last person to hear about these things?” Mark sighed. “These damn kids are going to give me a migraine.”

“Migraine?”

“It’s nothing. Just an Imperator thing.”

“Right..” Henric’s brow furrowed.

“Moving on. We need a plan. We can’t afford to lose two acolytes right now,” Mark said. Not that his conscience would allow him to forsake the kids regardless of their value to the fort.

“I feel like reminding you that it was your idea to send Acolyte Erin out of the fort, but I suppose that would be distasteful.”

“You’re not a funny man, Henric.”

“My mother told me the same thing every day. Thank you for reminding me of her bitter face, Imperator. But on a serious note, I’ll take a horse and ride north. With any luck, I’ll find at least one of them and bring them back.”

“See, you can be helpful without me having to ask. Thank you, Henric.”

“Maybe I just want you to understand what minding the acolyte’s day-to-day activities is like. There’s a lot you don’t see.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Right. Henric does plenty. He manages pretty much everything the acolytes do without me. Especially since I haven’t been providing many lessons, this might be harder than I had thought. Please, if you’re real, God-Lord, see to it that they return quickly. Mark felt weird praying to a foreign god he barely knew anything about. I’m becoming one of them.

***

The Arms-Master galloped out through the fort, crossbow hanging from his saddle and sword from his belt. It was a relief to see. From his glimpse into Atlas's memories, he knew the man to be a competent soldier. And more importantly, he knew how to ride a horse.

Wish I’d been born on a farm. How am I ever going to learn everything I need to survive here?

Mark turned his gaze to the half dozen acolytes watching Henric leave the fort. They’re only kids; you can do this. They’re just like interns. Nothing to worry about. It totally doesn’t matter that you’re from a different technological period and don’t have most of the skills you are expected to have… not at all.

Breaking his thought, two acolytes came from the outer wall, pulling a small wagon filled with sacks of processed rigar bark.

Mark nodded at the acolytes, and they saluted as they continued into the fort.

Right, we still need more meat for all this rigar bark we’re collecting… or at least something with flavor.

Turning back into the fort, he spotted an acolyte trying to make eye contact with him.

“Hello?” Mark curled a brow.

“Imperator,” the mousy girl saluted. Light brown–almost blonde hair hung down by her shoulders, and big blue eyes took up most of her little face.

“Can I help you, Acolyte Elowen? Thankfully, he remembered most of their names from Atlas’s memories.

“Imperator,” she barked with her hand against her forehead. “I’m informed you’re taking over Master Henric’s responsibilities.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” he groaned softly.

“Brilliant. I’m in need of assistance carrying out my duties.”

“Relax, Acolyte.”

Elowen dropped her hand, but her back remained perfectly straight.

“Better. So, what do you need exactly?”

“A lot of things. Managing the fort’s supplies has become increasingly daunting. Equipment and supply requests have become a daily occurrence.”

“Sorry, backpedal a moment. What’s changed?”

Elowen raised a brow at the unfamiliar saying but continued as if she knew it. “It’s the ferals, Imperator. Ever since they began building cabins within the walls, trade requests have come in constantly. No one else seems to want to deal with this. So they just drop it all on me.”

“Wait, why is this the first time I’ve heard about this?”

“It’s um,” Elowen twitched her nose.

“Henric?”

Chin held high, Elowen nodded.

“Don’t worry about Henric; I’ll talk to him later. Just try to explain what’s happening to the best of your abilities.”

“They keep coming at me. The ferals follow the acolytes around whenever they are walking around the outer wall. Asking for things—this, that, and the other. Then, when those acolytes return, they come and hassle me. But no. Henric says we don’t deal with ferals. But what am I supposed to do? I tell them the same thing every time. And guess what? The next day, they come telling me about trade offers again. Smoked fish, mushrooms, acorns? What God-Lord’s name would we do with acorns? Every day it’s the same. Some of them even offered me pig iron the other day. It has turned into a near-constant knocking at my door. I’ve tried telling the Master-At-Arms. But nothing changes.”

Of course, it hasn’t. Trade has been opened to the ferals at my own order. And Henric has gone behind my back. That man will answer for this… once I figure out how to do so tactfully.

“That doesn’t sound right. We’ve intentionally opened trade with the ferals. Perhaps Master Henric is confused.”

“As you say, Imperator.”

She doesn’t agree, but she’s too much of a stiff to say so.

“Do you have time to accompany me? Maybe we can fix this.”

“Of course, Imperator. Just give me the order.”

“Load up a cart. Grab some other acolytes to help you if you need them. Grab everything you’ve had ferals request to trade for. But nothing we’re going to need, okay? Just our excess.”

“Excess? That’s hard to say with winter coming, sir.”

“Right.” Of course. “Surely we could trim the top off of some of our supplies?”

“Yes. Most things. Salt, nails, soap, buttons, the list goes on. As long as we tighten our rations, we should be able to spare some of these items.”

“Good. We’ll take what we can. And when you get a chance, provide me with a detailed plan for our new rations.”

“Will do, sir!”

“Great. When you’re ready, meet me at the gate. We’ve got some trading to do.”

***

Ferals crowded around as the wagon rolled into a clearing between several huts. He hadn’t even said anything about trading yet.

And I thought they didn’t want to trade with us… at least not any more than they had to.

Mark and Elowen kicked blocks against the wagon’s wheels, bringing it to a halt and making it sway as they jumped atop it.

“Alright, you’ll all get your turn. Everyone take a step back,” Mark shouted above the chatter of three dozen poorly-mannered ferals. And when nobody responded, he made lightning crackle around his hand.

“That’s better,” he said as the crowd quieted. Catching the gaze of a nearby man, Mark pointed, “You, you’re up.”

“Me?” the feral grinned with a near-toothless smile as he pointed to his chest. “Look at me, boys. Ole’ Bligel never gets lucky.”

“Are you going to trade or keep yapping?”

“Sorry, Imperator,” the man bowed. “I’m ‘ere to trade. Promise.”

“Alright, what have you got, then?” Mark said.

“Mushrooms. Three bags worth,” eagerly nodded. “The old ball and chain is needin’ some salt. But what I could really do with, if ye got it, is some rum.”

“Elowen, we got salt to trade?”

“One moment,” Elowen replied, flicking through the pages of her ledger and running the butt of her pencil down them. “I’ve got three pounds of salt for trading. But it’s valuable, Imperator. Can’t get more without Imperial resupply.”

“You heard her. That means salt is rare. I’ll give you a coin pouch bag of salt for what you got.”

“Imperator,” Elowen hissed.

“Sorry, half a coin pouch of salt.”

Elowen nodded.

“Such a tiny little bag? And what ‘bout me rum?” the man licked his lips.

“No rum. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine. Gimme the salt,” the man tried to snatch the bag, but Mark moved it out of reach. “Alright, alright,” he grunted and handed Mark the sack of mushrooms.

Mark tied the pouch shut and tossed it to the Feral. “Alright, next up!”

***

By the time they had finished trading, Mark had filled the wagon with mushrooms, smoked fish, pig iron, and even acorns. The more food he collected from the ferals, the more they would gather, or at least that’s what he hoped. Starving ferals would not be ideal, and he still wasn’t sure if the stockpile would be large enough for the fort’s Imperials.

He had hesitated to buy acorns, but apparently, they were edible—they just needed a few hours of boiling. And thankfully, their firewood supplies were overflowing with all the trees Mark had been downing.

The pig iron was probably what he was most grateful for. It had cost him nails, salt, and even soap—which had come as a surprise. Nothing about the ferals had given Mark any impression they cared about cleaning themselves.

But thanks to that, he had well over a hundred pounds of the raw metal.

The fort possessed a small smithy. It wasn’t anything special, and they lacked an actual smith. But a couple of acolytes knew the basics. They only produced nails and horseshoes when needed. But how hard could a spearhead be? They just needed a sharp, pointy bit, right?

Mark smiled as he looked down at the haul. Three boys from the fort jogged down at his command and helped them haul the wagon back behind the walls.

Soon, he would be able to start building some weapons. And with that, arm the tribunes he had yet to select.

Not to mention, trade was important in and of itself. And while he was no historian, he knew that if they were going to be self-reliant through this winter, they would need to develop some kind of an economy.