James frowned as he looked down at the remainders of the clan’s coffers. It was sparse, with only a couple bags of silver coins and a single pouch of valdoras to cover it.

“At this rate, we’re going to be broke in no time,” James muttered.

“Worse, we’ll have no protection and means of feeding ourselves,” Seamus said, his hand pressing a wet rag to his head. The young man was hungover from the night before, his tired eyes avoiding the light from outside.

“James, we’re going to have to find a much more stable form of income. Pillaging bandit ships and turning in bounties is not going to cover an entire clan of people,” Dahlia pointed out, her yawn soon following.

James groaned. “I know. It’s just difficult to think of ways for money.”

The three were currently in the longhouse, where they kept the clan’s funds hidden and protected by Yorktown’s guard.

“Does this mean I’m not getting paid?” Bjorn’s voice sounded out. The dwarf was sitting nearby, his hand carrying that brass flask he always drank out of. He was the reason why the three were checking up on the coffers, as it was the time of the month when the dwarf’s payment was due.

“Well…” James chuckled nervously.

Bjorn guffawed. “It’s no problem. I have no need for booze money anymore. I already got enough saved up for whatever I like anyway.” The mercenary shrugged.

“No need for alcohol? Is that flask filled with tea?” James prodded.

Bjorn laughed even harder at that. “Gods no! Tea! Why would I ever drink that crap on my own time?” The dwarf narrowed his focus on James. “I never said I gave up on the booze. Only that I have no need for beer money.”

James frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bjorn sighed. He raised his flask and shook it. “I have no need to buy it. I can brew my own now thanks to the merchants who sold me the necessary equipment.”

“Wait, you can brew your own alcohol?” James asked.

He turned to the dwarf, who sighed, “Yes, I can. With the right equipment, of course.”

“Never took you for a brewer,” James commented.

“I am a man of many talents,” Bjorn said with a grin.

“At least that’s one weight off my shoulders.” James turned back to his friends, who were double checking the pouches of spare silver. “How did the town council originally earn coin?” he asked.

Dahlia raised her head. “They taxed the merchants who sold on the port. The marketplace is where most of their funds come from.”

James nodded, knowing this fully well. Of course, that tax money was not available to him and his clan. Since the council was technically separate, their funds were as well. Not just that, but business by the docks was slow. Very few merchants visited the isolated island that Yorktown was situated on.

This was because Yorktown’s waters were infamous hunting grounds for bandits. However, that was before the marauders. At least during the bandit days, there were at least some traders visiting the lone island. Granted, they apparently charged high for their stock and only came once every blue moon, but it was at least something.

Once Deimos had made his presence in Yorktown, merchants had outright refused to sail near the island. Of course, this had a near identical effect on any nearby bandits. For the first half of the Frost season, rarely any ship visited the small town or even neared its waters. It changed over the months and now there were merchants visiting and trading, but in much fewer numbers than before. This also included a resurgence of bandit ships that preyed on the southern waters, making even more trouble for any traders passing through.

In short, business was slow. James had already taken care of the nearby bandits thanks to the help of Silas and Frostbite’s crew, but it had done little to increase the traffic to Yorktown. It had seemed that people were too paranoid to sail through.

‘Unless…’ James furrowed his brow, his hand moving to rub at his chin. Seamus raised an eyebrow at that.

“I know that look. You just got an idea that’s probably insane,” the young man realized aloud. He frowned at James. “Let me guess, we’ll fight every bandit in the south and force merchants here at sword point?”

“Of course not,” James replied. “That’s our backup plan.” He grinned.

Dahlia and Seamus both stared at James with tired looks.

“Kidding,” James refuted quickly. “I do have a legitimate plan, and it doesn’t involve fighting with people miles above our league. Hopefully.”

His friends narrowed their eyes once more, their arms crossing.

“Kidding!”

----------------------------------------

Harald crossed his arms, his eyes avoiding the clouded sunlight. Despite not drinking much last night, he was still hungover.

‘How did James recover so quickly?’

His thoughts went to the young man, who had just finished his basic exercises that morning. James had been fresh as a daisy while his fellow trainees were slogging behind.

‘Perhaps it has something to do with Faust.’

Harald had heard about men who had abilities that constantly sapped their energy. As a result, they had to eat more and make sure they didn’t overextend themselves. It was possible that housing Faust’s spirit had upped James’ metabolism.

The young man had gone through training as if it was nothing. It surprised Harald to see him continue to improve with time, even with his upcoming deadline.

‘Damn shame. It must be stressful finding out something like that.’

Despite the grim situation, James still pushed on like he had always done.

Harald turned to where the guardsmen were currently sparring, across from where Helen was sparring with the new recruits. Kate Rowan was winning a fight against her fellow peer, Dirk Andal. They were both motivated by James’ actions and that of his friends. James’ influence was visible among their strikes and desire to push further. This wasn’t solely due to the fight with James and the knights. It was actually Harald’s doing. The old veteran recalled his last lecture with the guardsmen.

> “Why do we have to train, anyway? Jarl Holter and his companions are strong enough to take down Lumen Knights…”

>

> Harris had spoken out. Back then, Harald had been pushing the one-handed guard hard. That had resulted in Harris refusing to continue, instead opting to laze around and complain. Harald, of course, did not take this lightly.

>

> “We train to bring the best out of ourselves. To be prepared for any sudden threat. When another conflict breaks out, will you rather cower in fear why everyone risks themselves?”

>

> Of course, Harris was not convinced. This had infuriated Helen and Harald recalled the blonde woman bringing the guards to the sparring ring, where James and Felix were sparring. The match was heated, with James carefully dealing out strikes at Felix’s tight defense. The sound of training swords whacking was deafening, accompanied by the tired breathing of both participants. Harald remembered seeing James deal out a risky feint, resulting in Felix attempting for a counter. That had done it for the captain guardsman, who got a nasty hit to the liver from James’ shield bash.

>

> “See that? That is the result of training! Months of training had refined James’ fighting style!”

>

> Helen’s demonstration was still not enough.

>

> “So? Holter is an otherworlder and has a spirit living inside of him! Not only that, but he has magic! We can’t stand a chance against him, training or no training!”

>

> Harris’ complaints were slowly getting to the new recruits, who had all been watching with a side glance. That was when Harald stepped in once more.

>

> “That is quite the point you had made. Only one problem, however. Do you see any use of magic in there?”

>

> “Well, no… but-”

>

> “What about his movements? Do they seem otherworldly? Are his eyes glowing blue? “

>

> “I… He…”

>

> “James has no advantages in this sparring match. Here, he uses his own mind, body, and instinct instilled into him from weeks of training and sparring. No spirit, magic, or enhancements. He is trained and has pushed himself time from time again. Note that James Holter is still training here, despite these ‘advantages’. He pushes himself to be stronger, to be the man his people need him to be. You all must take after his example. You must become what Yorktown needs you to be. A strong guard capable of taking anything that comes his way.”

>

> If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

>

> Harald had watched as their gazes of exhaustion turned to ones of admiration and determination. From then on, the trainees had taken Harald’s words to heart, pushing themselves to become better. Even Harris had stopped complaining.

The veteran looked back on that memory fondly, citing it as a good teaching moment.

‘I just hope he shows up to training more often.’

Harald turned his focus from Kate’s spar to where James’ training sword laid, along with his practice shield. The young clan leader was currently out managing his responsibilities, along with Dahlia and Seamus. Those three were also improving faster than the old veteran had expected.

Dahlia was getting better at basic sword combat, her weak defense slowly improving bit by bit. She still had a problem with allowing herself to be way too open in sparring matches. Seamus would usually be the one to exploit that.

Speaking of which, the young Halvorson was slowly shaping up to be a better fighter, outside his impressive reaction times and quick movements. Seamus had been practicing with the heavier swords, doing his best to build up his muscle and stamina. Harald knew Seamus was basically a prodigy with the sword, even if he was a bit cowardly at times.

‘What kind of training did he go through?’ Harald wondered.

Seamus didn’t seem to remember much of his past training, as he was but a child when it happened. Still, remnants of it could be spotted in the sparring ring. Harald had seen the dangerous look in Seamus’ eyes whenever the young man found the right moment to strike at his opponent’s open stance. It was the same look Harald had seen in Lumen Knights and Heraldic Champions. It was the same gaze that was held by those who had real power.

‘Perhaps it is in his blood.’

Harald had heard of the stories that revolved around Yorn Halvorson. To call them historically accurate was a basic fact. That man was in his own league, one that rivaled the past legends of Azura.

Yorn’s rise and fall was a saga well known to everyone. The feared Jarl was the grandson of Halvor the Great, a warrior who had freed Valenfrost from Lumen control. Halvor had been looked upon as a legend and reflection of what Valenfrost would become. The warrior was brutal, charming, and caring for all his people. His son, Kjor, was a powerful warlord that was controversial to bring up. The son of the legend had conquered islands and rival clans, even butting heads with the Lumen Kingdom and their heralds. His actions had not gone unnoticed in those years.

Kjor’s violence and need to conquer had made all his allies turn on him, including his own son, Yorn. The prodigal son Yorn had helped the clans of Valenfrost take the warlord down, even uniting them all to do it. Kjor’s son had even gone as far to reject his father’s name, instead choosing to go by his grandfather’s lineage. At the young age of 20, Yorn Halvorson had killed his father on the night of the Frost solstice, with blood moons watching over the historical event. Yorn’s actions had brought the unity of the nation, the major clans now allied for the first time.

‘Halvorson, Redyr, Falk, and Blyth. The four dominant clans of Valenfrost. Poetic, just like the legend of the Four Kings.’ Harald thought.

However, like all legends, the four clans had split and shattered. Their reign had fallen years back. Harald knew what had happened to those clans.

Blyth, the clan of the wolf, was sacked by an old kingdom looking to invade Valenfrost. From his knowledge, no one had survived that age-old conflict.

Falk, clan of the falcon, had fallen from obscurity. If anything, it had a worse fate than Blyth. After the old Jarl had died, his bastard son took up the title and changed it into the infamous Hawk clan. Not that it meant anything. From what Harald recalled, Ivan Falkson had little control in the south. His reign only expanded across the many small islands in the southwest of Valenfrost. His limited resources were probably the reason he hadn’t retaliated against James and Yorktown these past months.

The reindeer clan, Redyr, was still around. Its old Jarl had passed away a decade back because of illness. His wife now ruled over the north, going by the title of Frue. Redyr was still prevalent, albeit not as much as the bear clan once was.

Halvorson was the one of the largest in Valenfrost. Its demise also marked the latest fall of an old clan. That didn’t mean Yorn had been weak when it fell. Harald still feared the late Jarl, even if he was dead. The veteran had heard stories about the man who was proclaimed as the ‘Lord of Valenfrost’. It was a well-known fact that Yorn Halvorson was a powerhouse during the Outsider War. He faced off against Lumen Knights and even defeated two heralds chosen by Delphine herself. His legacy was forever burnt into Valenfrost. Harald wouldn’t be surprised if Yorn rose from the sea itself, looking for a rematch with Deimos.

‘Deimos…’

Harald clenched his jaw in anger at the grim reminder. The Red Death was an enigma to the veteran. Somehow, someway, Deimos had killed Yorn and burn the Halvorson clan to the ground. Deimos had something up his sleeve that intrigued even Harald. He was strong for sure, but from what Harald had heard, it shouldn’t have been a problem to Yorn. Yet here was Seamus Halvorson, the last of his father’s blood. Harald wondered if Seamus sought revenge against Deimos, or if the young man would even come close to what his father was.

‘It’s not fair to compare the two. Seamus’ abilities are far more different from his father’s. Almost as if they were polar opposites.’

While Yorn was described as relying on brute strength and force, Seamus’s fighting style relied more on speed and precision. For example, during the last sparring match, Seamus had avoided a counter-attack from James. The young man had seemingly blurred into reality, quickly dodging the attack and finally landing a winning blow on James. Still, it seemed as if Seamus was still trying a hang of it, as he usually lost his matches by overdoing it and having his stance prone to attacks.

Dahlia was usually the one to exploit those openings. The shaman had been struggling at the beginning, being a magic user that was usually resigned to being nothing more than support. Still, Harald had ironed out all the kinks in her fighting ability. He hammered the instinct and strength into Dahlia like a blacksmith would do to a shoddy sword. She still had ways to go, but for the moment, Dahlia was a decent, fair blade that could get the job done. She was fast, reactive, and smart. Harald could even see some of her father in her movements, something that had unlocked a slew of memories for the veteran.

Knight Alfric was a man who Harald grew to respect throughout the years. That man had deserted his own kingdom for a life of solitary and peace instead of one full of duty and order. Harald had hated him at first, seeing Alfric as nothing more than a traitor. That was because of the training instilled in Lumen soldiers. They were taught to hate deserters and to die rather than leave their loyalties.

The veteran turned to the woods nearby the training grounds. He knew beyond the trees and hills laid his hut. The one he had built after he was disgraced from the Lumen Kingdom and banished from their lands. Alfric was the only person willing to accept him, willing to welcome him to this secluded island. Dahlia had been but a small child, afraid of the big man in armor.

‘Does she still remember? The times I would visit?’

Harald hadn’t been prominent in the young woman’s life, his presence limited to her memories as a child. He regretted not taking her in after Alfric and his wife had died, since the former knight had seen Harald as a brother. At the time, the veteran had to deal with the loss of Alfric, a grievance which left him unfit to take care of the orphan left behind.

Harald silently thanked Shaman Dres, for the elder had taken Dahlia in after the tragedy and never seemed to judge the then hermit. Harald could see what that old shaman had passed down, along with remnants of Alfric and Luci. Dahlia was a reminder of them, and it gave the old veteran some respite in knowing that their presence wasn’t completely gone.

“Harald!” a voice rang out from the sparring ring nearby. Harald turned to the ring, where a tired Helen was standing over the last of the recruits. Their first sparring match had gone surprisingly well, it seemed, since Helen’s arms and sword bore visible marks. They had all lost, but seemed to have done some damage to the former marauder. Harald turned to the recruits. They mostly comprised men and women from Aldren. A dwarf and two gnomes were even taking part in training.

Harald was impressed with their determination throughout the weeks, watching as they improved bit by bit. They had been artisans and merchants back where they had come from, yet they decided to train to become guardsmen. According to Bjorn, the people of Aldren had been scarred from the orcs’ invasion, the events shaping them up to become fighters in a dire situation. While many did their best to return to their former lives in the safety of Yorktown, others had pursued strength as a means of preparing for the next threat.

Harald admired that level of commitment in a way. Those who were willing to put themselves through pain and work for their families brought a smile to the veteran’s lips.

“Training is done!” he called out to the exhausted trainees. They all nodded from their place on the ground, their heavy breathing almost rhythmic. He turned to Helen, who tossed aside her sword and headed towards the door. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked.

“Of course. These greenheads need to improve some more on their offensive attacks,” Helen muttered. She rotated her arm, which was marked with welts and bruises from days of training.

“Why did you choose to help?” Harald asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” The trainer gave Harald a look of confusion.

Helen had been a viable teacher for about a month now, her teachings and demonstrations proving enough to properly teach the trainees. The former marauder had gotten her freedom months ago, after her help during the second battle for Yorktown. However, all she had done with it was drink and hang around the tavern for months. That was until Harald had drafted a new batch of recruits.

He had simply asked for her to give a short demonstration, to show the basics of a spear. Yet, even after the demonstration was over, she stayed around. This had resulted in Helen becoming a regular at the training grounds, teaching the trainees, and giving advice. It had intrigued Harald to the point where he had watched her from the sidelines, seeing for any clue as to why she did what she did. There was no clue, of course, as Helen did everything with a clear and cut attitude. She was a rough, straight to the point, no bullshit kind of person.

Hence why Harald had been the one to break the ice.

“Back when I brought in the new recruits, you opted to help with their training. Why?” Harald pressed.

Helen furrowed her brow, her eyes breaking away from the veteran. She crossed her arms. “It gives me something to do.”

“Really?” Harald asked.

Helen sighed. “What I choose to do with my time is my business, mine alone.” She gave the veteran a look. “Is that why you’ve been watching me, eh? Trying to figure out if I got a soft spot for the little buggers?”

“Just curious about why you continue to train them, despite having no attachment to this place.”

“Fuck off, will ya? My actions mean nothing.” The blonde woman narrowed her eyes.

“See you tomorrow, Dunn.” Harald replied with a smile. Helen huffed and walked off, her middle finger raising just as she reached the door. Harald watched with amusement before seeing three familiar figures walk past the former marauder.

James turned to Helen, who was already gone by the time he spoke up. “What’s up with her?”

“Nothing to worry about.” Harald waved off the question. “What brings you three here?” Harald asked. He looked over at Seamus and Dahlia, who both pointed at James.

“Ask him,” Dahlia said.

“He only told us a few details, so we’re just as confused as you,” Seamus added.

Harald turned to James, whose attention was turned to the training grounds. He had a grin on his face, a look that worried the veteran.

‘He has a plan.’

“What is it you’re planning on doing?” Harald asked cautiously.

“Nothing too dangerous. At least, I hope,” James answered. “It is a plan that will hopefully raise Yorktown’s reputation and line our pockets with enough funds to keep the White Raven clan going.”

“This doesn’t involve raiding? Or bounties? Or ripping off any dangerous men?” Harald asked carefully.

“Of course not. All it involves is you, me and a couple of other selected people to come and help with negotiations.”

“Negotiations?” Harald was getting more confused by the second.

James’ grin grew. “Believe me when I say we have a business opportunity. There is no need to be worried. This plan is going to save this town and grow our influence. Trust me.”

Needless to say, Harald was worried.