Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 43: A Remarkable Transformation

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Viscount Merry swirled his wine glass and smiled as he said, “You are a remarkable young man. You know yourself well. I have seen many young knights, none as pragmatic as you. Their ambitions soar higher than the heavens, only to end up battered and bloodied, sometimes losing their lives to arrogance. It’s truly a pity.”

“Thank you for your praise, my lord,” Berion replied, raising his glass in a toast to Viscount Merry. After drinking together for a while longer, Berion returned to his camp to rest.

Half a month later, the group of over four hundred finally arrived back at Nolanburg. Aside from a two-day delay in Amondin City, they had spent the remaining days traveling without pause.

Berion had not wanted to enter Amondin City, but at Viscount Merry’s invitation, he led Eomer into the city to collect the promised iron, grain, and silver, and attended the grand banquet held at the governor’s residence.

The celebration banquet was much larger than the one before their departure, with even more distinguished guests, including noble representatives from neighboring provinces and counties. Berion looked at these people and sighed inwardly: no matter the era, there are always more who add flowers to the brocade than those who deliver coal in the snow.

As the key figure in the recapture of Maple Leaf Manor, Berion was suddenly surrounded by nobles who once kept their distance. Now, victorious and renowned for his prowess, and favored by Viscount Merry, Berion found these nobles and wealthy merchants eager to curry favor, their former coldness replaced by cordiality.

Many nobles, upon learning Berion was unmarried, hastened to introduce their daughters, nieces, and eligible female relatives, seeking to make him their son-in-law. Though Berion did not refuse outright, he gently declined, citing the poverty of Nolanburg and the need for his parents to decide such matters.

Seeing their eagerness, Berion dared not become their kin, fearing the trouble they would bring. Yet despite his obvious refusals, some persisted. Berion resorted to drinking heavily, feigning drunkenness so Eomer could escort him away, thus evading their advances.

The next morning, Berion, Eomer, and Marc—who had arrived—purchased some urgently needed supplies for the territory in Amondin City, rested for a night, then set out for Nolanburg at dawn.

Having departed at the end of May, it was now nearly August. In two months, Nolanburg had changed dramatically. When Berion first took over, there was only a wooden watchtower, with the rest being woodland and grassland; now, it was unrecognizable.

Berion, excited, surveyed his land, instructing Eomer, Barrett, and Marc to settle their men while he and Tur and Bran rode out to inspect the new constructions.

The road connecting Nolanburg to Knights’ Avenue was complete. Riano, following Berion’s advice, had elevated the roadbed and paved a three-lim-long, five-pace-wide roadway of gravel and cement, wide enough for two four-wheeled carriages to drive side by side.

The trio’s horses trotted briskly over the cement, their hooves clicking crisply—a warning to passersby of riders approaching.

At the road’s end was a roundabout, where one road branched into three: straight ahead led to Nolanburg Castle atop Storm Summit, left to the first enclosed house and the forest lake, and right to the nearly finished second enclosed house.

Knowing Riano was building the castle on Storm Summit, Berion rode directly there.

At the foot of the hill, Berion looked up to see the castle’s main structure nearly finished, though he wondered how the interior looked.

Riano had directed the construction of a winding cement road up the hill, looping twice before reaching Storm Summit. The distance wasn’t long; the three soon arrived at the castle gates. Riano, busy directing workers on the gate tower, saw Berion and immediately came over to pay his respects.

Berion helped him up, smiling at the mud-covered architect, and said with satisfaction, “You’ve worked hard, Riano. On my way here, I saw your excellent work. In just half a year, you’ve finished two enclosed houses and nearly completed the castle—remarkable.”

Riano scratched his head sheepishly. “My lord, I felt guilty. Before you left, I promised you’d move into the new castle upon your triumphant return, but I failed. I thought you’d reprimand me, but instead you praise me.”

Berion patted his shoulder. “My brother Riano, in such a short time, with refugees returning for the summer harvest and our own people busy reclaiming land, you’ve done well. Why would I criticize you?

Besides, didn’t I tell you then? There’s no need to rush. For the house you live in, it’s better to be solid and comfortable.”

Comforted by Berion’s words, Riano was even more embarrassed, wanting to say more, but Berion raised his hand to stop him. “Enough, Riano. Now, show me around my castle, then the finished enclosed house, and tonight let’s share a drink.”

Riano chuckled. “Alright, my lord. Follow me and watch your step.”

He led Berion, Bran, and Tur through the construction zone into the castle. At the center was Berion’s lordly residence, half-completed. Riano told Berion that if the interior was to be finely finished, it would not be ready before Advent—the continent’s equivalent to Christmas and New Year.

Berion reassured him not to worry, to take his time; he wasn’t in a hurry to move in.

The design for the lord’s residence was Berion’s own, modeled after manor villas from his previous life: a Georgian-style building of red brick and tile, three stories tall, with more than twenty rooms. The ground floor featured a spacious, vaulted lord’s hall; to the hall’s left, a large banquet room for fifty diners.

To the right were two medium banquet rooms and three meeting rooms. The second-floor terrace could also host fifty guests for banquets and dances.

The left side of the second floor housed the terrace and guest rooms; the right was reserved for the lord’s family. For the first couple of years, only Berion, his two attendants, and Marc the steward would reside there. The third floor was for the study, secret chamber, and storage of valuables, with a separate staircase and off-limits to outsiders.

Since the residence wasn’t finished, Riano led Berion to the castle wall. The inner wall formed a perfect hexagon, with each corner sporting a protruding circular bastion, reminiscent of the horse-face towers Berion had seen in ancient city sites in his former life.

When enemies attacked, each pair of bastions created intersecting fields of fire, subjecting those below to devastating losses. Moreover, these cylindrical bastions expanded the area of defense and served as barracks and armories.

The inner wall stood twenty-one feet tall, five paces thick at the base, and four paces wide atop. The outer face was sheer cliff, difficult to scale, with neat battlements and dedicated firing ports.

At Berion’s request, Riano had also reserved spaces for heavy weaponry to be installed once Berion and Hama finished their experiments.

Inside the walls, five large buildings were constructed, each using the wall as one side: a stable and carriage house, servant quarters, warehouse, workshop, and prison.

The castle’s soldiers lived in the bastions; officers and some troops resided in the gatehouse. Both bastions and gatehouse featured double bunk beds for soldiers, with dedicated officer rooms furnished later with single beds and wardrobes.

Standing atop the wall, Riano pointed down the mountain and said, “My lord, for a small hill like Storm Summit, one loop of road would suffice. I designed two loops partly to ease the gradient for easier travel, and partly so that, if enemies attack, an extra loop means more casualties for them.

Once the lower walls are built, I’ll add more houses along the slope, though the north side is shady and steep, so homes will only be on the southeast and southwest.”

Berion looked downhill, imagining the second wall completed and Nolanburg transformed into a small commercial town for a thousand people. He sighed, “I hope that day comes soon. Once built, I’ll truly be a lord.”

His words sent Riano and the others into laughter. Bran joked, “Master, when the time comes, can I have a house of my own?”

Berion slapped him on the head. “You rascal, still so young and already dreaming of your own home—planning to marry, are you?”

Tur teased, “Bran’s already planning to wed. He’s been courting the daughter of a merchant who returned with us—the blonde one. He even gave her fruit.”

Bran, embarrassed by Tur’s revelation, lunged at him but Tur dodged. Berion clicked his tongue, “My, my, who would have thought our little Bran would be so skilled at wooing girls?”

“I won’t talk to you anymore; I’m off to see if the horses need water,” Bran muttered, finding an excuse to slip away. The others watched his flustered retreat and laughed even louder.

After a stroll around the walls, the four mounted their horses and, led by Riano, rode to the finished first enclosed house, now inhabited. Early followers of Berion, freed serf families, soldiers’ families, officials, and craftsmen all lived there. These were either Berion’s earliest loyalists or people of merit, so it was fitting they moved in first.

“Because there’s a small hill beside this house, and in summer it’s lush and green, everyone calls it Greenhill. While you were away these two months, we’ve named the area Greenhill Village.

The second enclosed house is beside an oak forest, so we call it Oak Village. As for their official names, that’s for you to decide, my lord,” Riano said, inviting Berion to name the settlements.

Berion shook his head. “Greenhill Village and Oak Village are good names. You’re used to them, so changing would just cause confusion.” Thus, the first two villages of Nolanburg—Greenhill Village and Oak Village—were born.

With that, Berion galloped toward the enclosed house. At the entrance to Greenhill Village, two militiamen stood guard. Due to the heat, they wore light shirts, carried short spears and battle axes at their belts, with unstrung longbows and quivers on the weapon rack nearby.

Seeing the four riders approach, the militiamen quickly moved the barrier to block the gate. As they came closer and recognized their lord, the militiamen removed the barrier and bowed deeply.

“Good vigilance. Keep it up,” Berion praised, making the two beam with pride.

Inside, they met Gamlin, who greeted Berion excitedly and embraced his son Bran—the longest Bran had ever been away from him.

Gamlin then showed Berion around the enclosed house. At the center stood a wooden-framed, thatched pavilion sheltering two wells for daily use. The central square was mainly used for gatherings and announcements.

On weekends, it served as the training ground for militia drills and combat practice. The archery range was outside, to prevent accidental injuries, especially among children.

Before leaving, Berion had decreed that all adult males in the territory must train twice weekly, with Marc and Gamlin organizing.

This was necessary; Nolanburg’s population was small and dangers many. In critical moments, every fighting man was needed. Better to train them regularly than send them unprepared to die.

This improved Nolanburg’s defensive strength and nurtured promising candidates for the standing army.

Naturally, after five days of work each week, few were eager for militia training on weekends. However, once Berion announced the militia would be paid and eat meat at every meal, enthusiasm soared.

Considering the territory’s finances and development, Gamlin recruited three hundred men for the first batch. Each Saturday morning, after breakfast, they gathered for drill training, practiced combat in the afternoon, ran and exercised on Sunday morning, and trained archery in the afternoon.