Despite the harsh winter, Blackrock Territory did not fall silent. Instead, under the will of Lord Lind, it operated at full speed like a sophisticated war machine.
On the snow-covered plains, three forces are racing against time to accumulate strength.
Although the “Fertile Fields” planning area on the east bank of the river is covered by thick snow, underground work has already begun.
Led by experienced farmers and municipal officials, the newly arrived free people braved the cold wind and took advantage of the frozen ground to clear stones and shrub roots from the wasteland.
A simple shed was set up, with a roaring fire inside. People sat together, listening to the water conservancy craftsmen explain the excavation route map for the irrigation canal after the spring.
The rock-armored rhinoceroses tamed by Weeks became the main force in land reclamation.
These magical beasts, covered in thick scales, gentle in nature yet incredibly strong, easily dragged huge logs, plowed deep trenches in the frozen soil, or carried heavy stones back and forth between the riverbank and the planned starting point of the irrigation canal, all under the command of Weeks' unique whistle.
Their heavy breathing turned into wisps of white mist in the cold wind, and their heavy footsteps were like the heartbeat of the earth, injecting a primal and powerful vitality into this future granary.
The people looked at these huge creatures with surprise and hope in their eyes.
The workshop area next to the castle is the hottest and most bustling place in winter.
Old Dera Stone Anvil's booming voice echoed throughout the expanded forging workshop all day long.
"Boys! Make the fire even bigger! Fine gold isn't like a woman's embroidery thread; it needs a raging fire!"
"Hammer! Land precisely! Apply even force! The curvature of this shoulder armor is a matter of life and death for the knight! Not something you're supposed to do by smashing an anvil!"
The enormous furnace burns day and night, with molten iron flowing freely and scorching heat waves dispelling the bitter cold.
The dwarven craftsmen, their muscular upper bodies bare, sweat streaming down their bronze skin, wielded heavy hammers, striking the anvils with deafening, powerful rhythms.
The air was filled with the smells of burning metal, quenching agents, and sweat.
Under Old Dera's almost harsh supervision, pieces of adamantite, mithril, and cold iron were forged into heavy and intricate armor components:
Breastplate, arm armor, leg armor, helmet... each piece gleamed with a cold metallic luster, etched with rugged yet practical dwarven-style patterns, awaiting subsequent magical enchantments.
Meanwhile, the top floor of Alice's workshop tower presents a completely different scene.
Azure magical runes flowed across the massive workbench, and the unfinished magic core flickered with an unstable light.
Alice wore oil-stained overalls, her long golden hair casually tied up, her gray-blue eyes fixed on the complex magic circle projection floating in mid-air, her fingertips rapidly moving across the void, adjusting the parameters of the energy circuit.
She was surrounded by blueprints, calculation drafts, and various strange alchemical materials for the Orc crystal skeleton replica cannon.
“The energy flow is still not stable enough… The resonance frequency of the basic runes needs to be recalibrated by 0.3 hertz…” she murmured to herself, completely immersed in the world of magic.
Providing a stable, powerful, and adaptable magic core for the Royal Guard armor is her greatest challenge.
Linde would occasionally visit her, bringing some of her favorite desserts, but he would usually only receive a half-hearted hug and a few complaints about the efficiency of energy conversion.
But Linde knew that when this genius mage overcame the difficulties, it would bring a qualitative leap to his army.
…………
The military camp area on the other side of the castle is the place with the strongest atmosphere of killing.
Despite the biting cold, the newly selected one hundred warriors (the ultimate goal is two hundred, but the first batch is the best of the best) who are the first to be chosen as the Blackrock Guard are undergoing hellish training under the cold gaze of Astaire and Raymond.
These warriors have passed the selection process and become Silver-rank warriors, either elite veterans or skilled recruits from outside.
Bare-chested, their muscles bulging, their bodies covered in old and new scars, they were engaged in weighted cross-country running, extreme physical training, weapons combat, and battle formation coordination training in the freezing cold.
The exhaled breath instantly condensed into frost, and the sweat that had just seeped out of the skin was frozen into ice beads, but no one dared to slack off in the slightest.
"Didn't you eat?! You can't even withstand this little bit of wind and snow? Think of the brothers on the front lines who are lying in ambush in the icy water! Think of the enemies you will face in the future!"
Raymond, like a raging bear, swept through the ranks, his roars deafening, and his wooden stick mercilessly lashed out at any soldier who slowed down.
Astaire stood high above, like a cold rock, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over everyone's every move.
He held the bottle of bronze-grade advancement potion in his hand, which represented not only power but also supreme honor and a heavy responsibility.
He led by example, training at a level no less intense than that of ordinary soldiers. Every swing of his sword and every charge was imbued with a powerful momentum, making him the target that all soldiers strive to emulate.
"Royal Guard! Your names represent the Lord's trust, the sharpest sword of Blackrock Territory! Your mission is to crush all invading enemies! Tell the enemy with your blood and sweat that setting foot in Blackrock Territory is stepping into the grave!"
Astaire's voice wasn't loud, but it was like cold steel, clearly reaching the ears of every warrior and igniting a bloodthirsty fighting spirit in their eyes.
On the training ground, the clanging of weapons, heavy breathing, the instructors' roars, and the soldiers' suppressed growls intertwined, forming a battle song of iron and blood.
Sweat drips onto the cold ground, freezes quickly, and is then covered by new sweat.
There is no warmth here, only the most brutal tempering, with only one goal—to forge a fearsome torrent of steel before spring arrives.
…………
Inside the castle study, Lind put down the secret letter he had just received from the Orc Lord and the messenger of Paimurad.
The letter confirmed that the first batch of rare materials used to exchange for the crystal remains had been shipped and subtly inquired about further discussions regarding the "strange metal" (god-killing metal).
Linde tapped his fingertips on the table, a deep smile curving his lips.
Successful trade with the orcs is an important source of revenue and a strategic foothold.
Godslayer Metal... Hold onto this card tightly, and play it at the most crucial moment.
He pushed open the window, and a biting cold wind rushed in, ruffling his black hair.
He looked down over his territory: on the east bank of the river, the pioneering teams, aided by the rhinoceros-armed beasts, were like industrious worker ants; in the workshop area, the flames of the furnaces danced in the twilight, and the clanging of forging could be faintly heard; in the military camp, the soldiers' training slogans pierced through the cold wind.
Forging swords (equipment), sharpening knives (army), stockpiling grain (logistics), opening trade (economy), forging alliances with foreign powers (orcs)... Every piece he laid out this winter was operating methodically.
His gaze turned south again, as if it could pierce through mountains and rivers to see the murderous intent surging beneath the oppressive silence of the Sutherland front.
“Winter is almost over…” Lind murmured to himself, his deep purple eyes flashing with a sharp light like a drawn sword.
"The stage of Sutherland needs to be rebuilt. This time, my Blackrock Territory will no longer be just a passive pawn on the chessboard."
He needed a victory, a victory that would shake the entire Sutherland front and even attract the attention of the kingdom's high command.
This is not just for military achievements, but also for the future influence of Blackrock Territory, and for having a foothold and the right to make strategic moves in the coming storm.
The threat from the elves is still far off; the immediate war is the chessboard that is pressing ahead.
Linde took a deep breath of the cold air, a fire burning fiercely in his chest.
Black Rock Territory, this nascent sword, needs to be sharpened on the battlefield by drinking blood!
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