“Hand me those herbs,” Mira snapped, jolting Erald from his musing.

“Here,” he said, passing the stack of mixed herbs across the crowded benchtop.

Huffing, Mira snatched them from his hand and ground them into a mortar and pestle, grunting angrily with each movement.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Erald.”

“You don’t look fine,” Erald grimaced.

Swinging around, Mira grabbed a ladle, scooped broth from the bubbling pot behind her, and poured it into the herbs she was grinding. “I told you. I’m fine, Erald. Don’t make me say it again.”

“It’s the new healer, isn’t it? That priest gives me the creeps. But you have to admit, he knows what he's doing.”

Mira looked up with a bent scowl.

“Sorry,” Erald swallowed and dropped his gaze down to the herbs he was sorting through.

“Where’s the goddess when you need her,” Mira sighed and shook her head. "It's all hopeless."

“The goddess?”

“We healers of the Imperium follow the guidance of the Star Goddess, or had you forgotten?”

“Oh, right… it's just, you know.”

“It’s fine. I know what you're getting at.” Mira sighed. “It means nothing to most Imperials—just words. But unlike you, I was raised in a Star Covenant. This, this healing gig, it means more to me than just a job. I was raised for this. Worked hard and followed the teachings as they were taught to me. All of that. Everything I know, and that young priest comes here and makes me look like a fool.”

“Right, I remember you mentioning that,” Erald said. "I'm sorry, Master Mira."

“It's not your fault. It just makes me feel like a joke. Her power hasn’t been seen in a thousand years, yet we keep following her teachings, hoping that she will return and bless us with her power,” Mira slumped.

“Maybe she will. Gods have been gone longer, I’m pretty sure,” Erald said, scratching the side of his head as he questioned the words that had just come from his mouth.

“Yeah, maybe… oh well. I'm supposed to be a master; there's no time for dwelling on this like this. Forget I said anything. For now, it looks like we’ve been reduced to assistants for that priest.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Erald shrugged. She was referring to the order that had been given to them by their Imperator to provide the priest with whatever he required for his healing practice.

"You suck at comforting a woman; you know that, Erald?"

"I do?" Erald pointed at his chest.

"It's fine. But probably something to work on before you find a girl and settle down."

"Right," Erald nodded and crooked his head. "Comforting a woman?" he mumbled to himself as he continued to work.

**Imperator**

Whenever they had free time, Mark and Payon poured their hours into assembling the primitive steam engine for which they had built the parts. It was no easy task, and inefficiencies were discovered with every trial.

After about a week of trial and error passed, they managed to improve the steam engine enough so that it created enough pressure to pump the pistons fast enough to be useful. During this time, others had assembled a mill and were ready to put it into action once the engine itself was ready.

No one knew what to expect besides Mark and Payon, but that didn’t stop a crowd of commoners forming that filled every inch of the streets. The people were just excited to see what had consumed so much of the Imperator’s attention.

Shoveling firewood into the furnace and pumping the billows, they strengthened the flame. Whistling steam sounded from the valves, and gradually, the mill began to chug into life.

The flywheel turned, and the stone began to grind. A moment later, commoners pulled on a hatch, ans sent chopped bark down to the stone. From across the crowd, gasps sounded as they watched the machine effortlessly ground the bark into a powder.

The people didn’t need to have a fancy explanation about the value of the new mysterious machine to know this was important. Many of them had spent many days grinding down rigar bark to be boiled, and seeing it done so easily was all the demonstration they needed. In an instant, this had removed the most painful task of the entire process, and from the looks of it, a single mill would produce more rigar flour than the combined manual labor of all the mothers within Fort Winterclaw.

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Mark sighed with relief, watching the machine work through the bark. They needed to get their food production back on track after being stalled by the invasion, or they would risk running out. But he knew how important it was to continue arrow production after they had run out so quickly in the battle. And arrows were just the start. He wanted to free up as many people as he could to prepare them for their enemy.

Unfortunately, to keep industrializing, they would need a lot more iron and metal in general. Even so, freeing up the wasted manual labor of a couple hundred women was no small achievement.

This took Mark to his next problem. Looting enemies and scavenging for metal slags had been fine during the fort’s early days, but Mark could already tell that it wasn’t going to be enough going forward.

Even if he didn't want to build more steam power, weapons, better and more protective armor, and a myriad of other things, he would need a more stable source of iron just to keep paying the fort’s ever-increasing manpower. Of course, he didn’t have to hire people directly, but to stop doing that would halt, or at least slow, the fort’s economy and population growth.

People far and wide were already learning about the guaranteed jobs Mark was offering, and it was bringing ferals from their surroundings toward them in mass. Considering his tiny population was ultimately his weakest asset, Mark knew he had to prioritize fixing that. If they were to survive against stronger enemies, building up their population wasn’t just preferable but essential.

Venjimin had been busy trying to recreate maps and anything else he could remember from his old temple, and Mark, figuring he could make use of these new assets, gathered with him and Henric in his new school.

“So, this is where you believe it is located?” Mark said, pointing to the half-drawn map they had sprawled across the timber table at the library's center.

“Yes, I believe so. Well, not exactly. But it has to be somewhere around there, at least.”

The map marked an old mine in Northern Vutland. To their knowledge, it hadn’t been operated for centuries. One of the larger barbarian clans had once operated the mine, but it was abandoned when Imperial forts began to cover more of the Frontier.

While iron had always been valuable in the Frontier, the mine wasn’t very rich in metal. This, combined with cheap metal from the Imperium, reduced its usefulness. Even though the barbarians didn’t trade directly with the Imperium, there were plenty of dubious trappers who were more than happy to trade instead of work. So, when the Imperials spread across the land, the mine became less and less profitable as it could no longer compete with Imperial Metal.

But that didn’t matter to Mark. He needed a reliable source, and besides, trade wouldn’t be easy while the wargs were waging war across the Frontier. If it became cheaper to import in the future, he could deal with that problem when it appeared.

“We need to organize an expedition as soon as possible. First, I will take the throne ship to investigate, and if it is suitable, occupying the mine will be a priority.”

“I can get a few people ready,” Henric said, standing at the table beside Venjimin.

“Have them ready immediately. They will journey with me.”

“And me?”

“You’ll be staying here this time, Henric. You’re back to being in charge while I’m gone. There’s a lot to be done, and the moment I have completed this trip, I’ll be heading off again.”

“You’re going somewhere else?” Henric curled a brow.

“We need to establish more trade, and the only way we’re going to do that with the Frontier in the situation it currently is, is by connecting with people outside of it, which means taking the throne ship.”

“And you’re the only one that can fly it,” Henric groaned.

“I won’t be gone too long. Besides, you don’t need me here to make sure every little task gets completed.”

“And what about the wargs? We'd have been overrun if you weren't here during the defense against the cultists.”

“I’ll make sure we’re not at risk of being attacked before going anywhere, I promise.”

“So, it’s decided then?” Venjimin interjected.

“Yeah, the Imperator said so,” Henric said.

“Okay, in that case, I will organize some of my students to come along. They will help you get to the site. Not only that, but I have trained them well. Hopefully, we can map the area better.”

“Brilliant,” Mark said. “Have them ready as soon as you can. I want to get a move on. We need to take advantage of the current situation while we can.”

***

Mark stood beside the throne ship as two of Venjimin’s students joined the two mercenaries he was taking and Elowen, who he had decided to take along. He figured that the quick-witted girl would be helpful when evaluating the mine, even if she was no expert. He also took one of Payon’s apprentices. The master smith was his preference to take, but his work within Fort Winterclaw was just too valuable to sideline, even for a mission as important as this. He would just need to hope that the apprentice would be good enough to judge the ore quality. After all, as long as it wasn’t extremely poor, it would likely be worth colonizing.

"Imperator, a moment before you go, if you wouldn't mind," Henric said, raising a hand.

"Of course," Mark nodded.

Secluded to an alley within sight of the throne ship, Henric cleared his throat. "Has something happened to your suit?" He said, eyeing Mark's cuff.

Mark followed the Arms-Master's gaze, realizing the the suit's cuff which was often visible beneath his coat wasn't there.

"It's nothing."

"Imperator, I know something has happened. You have my loyalty, and you don't have to tell me now but know that I'll expect an answer soon. You can't expect me to follow you if you do not share things of this nature."

"Right, I understand, Henric," Mark said. He was right. Mark owed it to the man, but he needed to think for a moment before he said anything. "When I return from this trip, I'll tell you all about it, okay?"

"Sure. I'll hold you to that."

"Please do," Mark nodded and turned back to the ship. "Right then, I better leave."

With everyone and their supplies onboard, he pulled the throne ship up and into the sky and pointed the ship in the direction they believed the mine was.

The people of Fort Winterclaw waved and cheered as they watched the ship disappear into the clouds.

**Caravan**

Only hours after Mark and his party had left, the caravan that had left for Frostwind Trader’s Post returned.

Clay and Leonard led the newcomers, totaling nearly fifty people, including many with skilled trades.

The wall was abuzz with activity as people rushed to greet them, and before they even reached the wall, many knew what this would mean in the short term—more work. The Imperial district would be packed full of cabins if all of these people were to move into it.

There was an unspoken understanding throughout the Fort that soon, Imperials and commoners would need to integrate more intimately than they had so far. But everyone also knew how important numbers were.

The battle had been a wake-up call, one that had kicked people's survival instincts into gear.