“Dober, what are the numbers for thrower fuel? The Imperator needs an update," Elowen said, pacing the storeroom.

“It’s a-a—hmmm… twelve barrels,” Dober said, finger running down the ledger.

“Faster, farm boy,” Elowen snapped her fingers as she mechanically made her way through the room. “That won’t do. I’m going to have to request they make more.”

“Sounds like a lot to me. Have you seen the barrels?”

“Thankfully, I’m not coming to you for advice. Based on my calculations and the rate at which our tests pumped the stuff out, these twelve barrels are equivalent to… eight minutes of use. No, no, no, that can’t be right,” Elowen crunched the numbers again. “It-it is.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Our entire supply of fuel for those flamethrowers the Imperator has been building will only last for eight minutes. Divided by four, that’s a total of two minutes for each canon. Does that sound good? Because it doesn't sound good to me. I don’t know how long we’ll be forced to defend ourselves, but I have a feeling that it’ll be longer than two minutes.”

“Two minutes," Dober looked up thoughtfully. "No, that isn't long, is it? Maybe we should like to tell the Imperator or something?”

“Of course we should!” Elowen barked and bounded for the door.

"W-wait up," Dober shouted after her, but she had already disappeared out into the fort.

***

Catching up to her Imperator as he completed the last of his rounds since returning, Elowen skidded to a halt, panting.

“Acolyte Elowen?”

“Im-per-ator,” she said between pants. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Oh?”

“Two minutes. That’s all. The time we have fuel for.”

“Two minutes–fuel? Ah, the Greek fire," Mark nodded.

“Greek?” Elowen’s brow scrunched up.

“Sorry, ignore that. You’re talking about the flamethrowers, right?”

“Yes,” Elowen nodded urgently.

“Hmm, that could be better.”

“What do you mean, could be better?” Elowen snapped, confused at her Imperator’s apparent indifference.

“Calm down, Acolyte. We shouldn’t need to fire them nonstop. I always expected our fuel for the flamethrowers to be limited. We just don't have the time or manpower to build up massive reserves, and besides, we should be able to use them effectively in small bursts. However, that is a little less than I would like. I’ll request that more be created as a priority. Hopefully, we can get at least three minutes per thrower.”

“J-just three minutes?’

“Trust me, Elowen. It’ll be plenty if these weapons work as well as I believe they will. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It’s good to know that I’ve got someone reliable who is keeping an eye on all our resources.”

"You're welcome?" Elowen's brow twisted, unsure whether this was good or bad news.

**Erin**

“You’re back, and you don’t have that gross cough anymore,” Erin said, leaping up off her bunk as Callum entered their cabin.

“Yeah,” Callum replied, throwing his pack down on his bunk and pulling out his divider to change quickly. “Was quite the journey."

"That's it? Come on, you're not getting out of this that easily. I want details!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it. But not here, okay? I'm starving for some real food. Want to join me in the food hall, and I'll give you the rundown?”

“Gonna make me wait? Fine,” Erin huffed, sliding into her boots. “You better go into details. I don't want some boy story that glazes over anything actually interesting. I want meat and bones.”

"I'll try," Callum chuckled, pulling back the divider. "Ready."

Erin's eyes glimmered.

“Don't get your hopes up too high, though. I didn’t get much time for sightseeing. We were kinda in a rush to get back to you a lot.”

“Figures,” Erin sighed. “I'll take what I can get. And I suppose it's good that you don't look like you're about to die again for, like, the tenth time this year.”

“Ha, you got me there. It feels pretty good as well."

***

“Oh, I missed Imperial food,” Callum beamed, shoveling down some brown, gravy-covered meat and rigar mash.

“You went to some of the biggest cities in the world, and you missed this slop,” Erin said, staring at the viscous goop on her spoon.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Yep,” Callum said, gulping down a large mouthful. “We tried some spiced bags or something when we were in Deloise. I forget exactly what they were called. My tongue stung all night, and it made me sweat like you wouldn’t believe it. I have no idea how they can eat that stuff. No, thank you. I'll take this stuff any day.”

“And what about Manh? I used to bug the sailors back home when Dad dragged me to the taverns. They said the Domed City had the best food in the world.”

“Na uh, it's even worse. I mean, I was still sick when I was there, so maybe I'm biased. But they put all these weird flavors in their sausages. I dunno why they can’t just make it like normal people do.”

“They probably think you’re the weird one. I know I sure do.”

“Whatever,” Callum shook his head. “Nothing beats a good blood sausage and fried potatoes. They just like overcomplicating things. Keep it simple, I say.”

“None of you have an adventurous bone in your bodies,” Erin sighed. “It’s unfair that you get to go on adventures around the world while I’m stuck here.”

“Well, we did almost die.”

“Pffft—hey,” Erin perked. “What about Radic? How did you two fair together?”

“Well–umm,” Callum crooked his head. “Hard to say. He’s hardly my friend, but it could have gone worse. Think he’s still upset that I was given a sword and he wasn’t, but all things considered, he doesn’t seem as big of an asshole as he used to be.”

“Probably just scared,” Erin rolled her eyes. “Let’s see what he’s like after we survive what’s ahead… if we survive.”

“Yeah, right,” Callum nodded. "Probably will be back to his old ways."

“You’re not just going to forgive him after everything, are you?”

“Forgive? I’m not sure about that,” Callum said. “Forget might be a better answer. But you know what? I’m not sure it’s all bad. This scar,” he added, tapping his headband. “It’s pushing me to do better. I’m so worried about being labeled a heretic and made an outcast that I’ve improved more in the last couple of months than I did in the last few years before it. Maybe it’s for the best,” he shrugged.

“That’s mighty optimistic of you. Suppose that’s good you're in high spirits.”

"You kind of have to be, Erin. We're not just going to walk out of this without a few scratches. I've learned that now. I think I'm ready. Or at least, more ready than I was before."

"You got a point, I suppose. Still, if I were you, I'd want to cave that asshole's head in."

"You're a special one, Erin," Callum grinned.

"Oh, wait," Erin said, pointing her spoon at him. "You haven't told me about that strange skinny guy. What's his deal?"

"Oh, the priest, right?"

Erin nodded.

"Yeah, he's like an apprentice healer. I don't know much else, to be honest. But the bishop did a pretty good job of healing us up. He should be pretty valuable around here if he's half as good as that guy."

"A healer from Deloise? We really are being led by a heretic, aren't we?"

"Yeah..." Callum trailed off.

"You're okay with it then?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I've already been healed by one. There are plenty of people back home who will kill me just to find out about it. Looks like my scar isn't so far from the truth now," Callum shrugged. "But also... what choice do we have?"

"Right," Erin nodded and leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "Lots of people aren't going to be happy. But you know what? I don't care."

"I had a feeling you would feel that way."

"Meh, the Imperium sent me here. Without the Imperator, that would be a death sentence."

"Yeah, right," Callum said, gaze drifting off as he retreated to his thoughts.

**Imperator**

“We need another platform over there,” Mark pointed. “It'll provide us with an advantage over our western side.”

“I'll see that it's done,” Venjimin said, nodding and scribbling notes.

"Good, you may be off, Venjimin."

The old man nodded and left, trailed by two of his underlings.

Mark had to admit he was amazed at how fast everyone worked. Spirits had already picked up in the fort before he left, but the threat of winter and the constant rumors of stalking wargs must have lit a fire beneath the people as they attacked the jobs given to them with a vigor he hadn’t witnessed until now.

Payon had even started work on the steam engine, and it didn’t look half bad. Unfortunately, it would need to be put on the back burner again as work on the flamethrowers took priority.

On top of these plans, he had people spread some of the flammable substance they made for the flamethrowers around the fort and affix pots by the archy platforms for fires so that they could light them as needed. Mark had also ordered some of it smeared onto the surrounding treeline.

Since the tree line had been pushed so far back from the fort, hitting it with a bow or crossbow would be hard, but lightning would probably work. The benefit of having the forest so far back meant that the risk of starting a fire in the surrounding trees could be mitigated. Not to mention that it was freezing and snowing. Fire wouldn’t spread easily. Still, he had men pour water over the outside of the palisade and spikes surrounding the fort, freezing nearly immediately. The icy film would not only provide a resistant layer of ice that would make accidentally setting themselves on fire a lot less likely but also a slick surface that would be extremely hard to navigate for an attacker.

It was hard to say whether their preparations were enough, but Mark was certain they would give their enemies hell.

His gaze turned back to Henric's sour expression on the wall. He had worked hard to pull the man onto his side, but he once again became distant after finding out about the Deloisian priest. This was much worse than the ferals. But Mark wasn't about to just turn away from such a valuable asset. Thankfully, he knew there wasn't much Henric or anybody else could do about it for now. The majority just wanted to survive the winter, and anyone who threatened that would quickly make themselves an enemy of a united fort.

Hopefully, he can be made to see reason. And if not... well, he can always be replaced. We've come too far and worked too hard to let Imperial stubbornness get in our way.

Mark told himself that his motives were entirely altruistic for the fort, but in truth, they weren't. He knew that he had gone too far. If he was absorbed back into the Imperium after this was all done and dusted with, he would be executed. No, it was no longer just about building the fort up to survive. He knew that it needed to be more than that. That the fort would have to grow into its own.

The Imperium was behind him.

**Cultists**

Blood seeped from the wrapped feet of many of the cultists—their blisters bursting against the unrelenting march set for them.

The cultist leaders shouted from horseback for their followers to not just maintain their pace but to increase it.

Beside them, the hundred or so wargs marched effortlessly. They were designed for this, and the High Priest was determined for his men not to look weak in front of the wargs. He knew that praying to the Seven-Headed Wolf god alone wasn't enough. He would have to prove his worth if he wanted a seat beside them as a lord of the Frontier. Simply defeating a much smaller foe wouldn't be enough. He had to do it fast and decisively. The defeat his people had already suffered cost him too much already.

The High Priest smiled, watching his battered followers. For all the struggle that had been imposed on them, the pace they made was remarkable. They would reach this fabled fort that had crushed the previous expedition he sent out in a couple of days. It would be different this time.

This wasn’t a tiny fraction of the cult’s power. This was the cult—five thousand armed men supported by a detachment of wargs. This was an army. There was no way a tiny outpost could resist the combined efforts of this army, even if it were Imperial.

They hadn’t come this far and put this much work into building their force just to let a tiny fraction of the Imperium’s power stand in their way. The wargs would rule the Frontier once again, and to do that, they needed to be able to stand directly against the Imperium’s might.

This was just the first step for many; soon, the world would respect a new power.

The priest clenched his fists in determination. He would wipe this threat aside as if it were nothing and continue his march south.

There could be no doubt. He would stand beside the wargs when they destroyed the treacherous clans that didn't join them. This was just a thorn in his side that would be swept away on his march to the real prize.