《Auto Empire》 Chapter 01 - Cursed Land A faint, hollow wind drifted through the open window as Reyn Weeftn awakened. The first breath he took felt charged with unfamiliar scents: old wood, candlewax, and that faint, lingering sandalwood sweetness that clung to the back of his throat. His head throbbed dully as if he¡¯d surfaced from a dream too heavy to bear. Slowly, he sat upright, the bedsheets slipping from his chest. Cool air brushed over his sweat-dampened skin. His heart hammered unsteadily, trying to find a rhythm amid his confusion. The room around him was large and dimly lit. Sunlight, muted by hollow-carved shutters, fell in narrow stripes across the floor. Dust motes danced in those slender beams, swirling and shifting. His eyes roamed over carved wooden bedposts, each shaped like twisting vines. The walls bore rough-hewn paintings that depicted scenes he couldn¡¯t quite decipher¡ªperhaps hunting parties or old battles blurred by time. Near the foot of the bed hung a longsword on a simple rack. Rust flecked its surface; its leather grip looked cracked and stiff, as though it hadn¡¯t been wielded in years. Beneath the sword, an oil portrait stared back: a grim-faced nobleman with hollow cheeks, dressed in a stiff collar and a tunic of outdated fashion. The painter had captured something haunting in that man¡¯s eyes, an unspoken resignation to fate. Nothing about this place belonged to the world Reyn knew. Where were the familiar hum of a fridge, the muffled sounds of traffic outside his apartment window, the glow of a streetlamp? Instead, everything here felt archaic and austere¡ªheavier, older, and weighed down by centuries of hardship. It was like stepping into a centuries-old memory, the kind that lingered in dark corners of a dilapidated mansion. Reyn swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. He had been someone else before. Someone ordinary. He remembered dull commutes, budget takeout meals, the hum of fluorescent lights at work, and escapism through games on a DIY laptop. Now, he occupied a new body¡ªthin and tall, with a different sort of weariness etched into its bones. His fingers, when he flexed them, were pale and slightly calloused. The nails were uneven. Had this body seen labor, sword practice, or something else entirely? He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, memories not his own flooded in like a rushing tide. He saw bleak fields stretching out under a cold sun, half-starved villagers toiling in soil that refused to yield. He smelled rotten hay and damp earth. He heard distant howls echoing across fields at twilight. Words rose and fell in his mind, clashing and overlapping: Dulips Principality, Black Water Territory, savage tribes, beasts of the northern wilds, cruel winters, endless cycles of dread. Names of people he didn¡¯t know settled into half-familiar places in his mind: old stewards, minor knights sworn to his service, desperate peasants who had nowhere else to go. Among these churning fragments of memory, one name stood out clearly. Reyn Weeftn. That was him now, he realized. A baron. He was a baron in this place, a lord of a territory known for failure and death. The Black Water Territory: a cursed land at the northern frontier of the Dulips Principality. A realm of cold winds and hungry bellies, of raiders slipping through the borders each winter, of beasts lurking in the forests beyond. He felt the legacy of this land pressing on his shoulders like a heavy cloak, itchy with old shame and fear. Many lords had come here before him. Many had died, their bones buried beneath the dirt. They called this the Cursed Death Territory¡ªa mortal trap for discarded noble scions. He saw their faces flicker in his newfound memories: stern men with proud mustaches, timid youths trembling behind chainmail, haggard veterans nursing old wounds. All had tried, and all had failed, succumbing to invaders or the slow rot of distress. Now he, an illegitimate son cast off by his family, had been sent here like fodder to a beast¡¯s maw. How long would he last? Reyn inhaled, trying to quell the surge of panic. Wringing his hands and weeping would serve no purpose. He was here, alive, and inexplicably in this world. He did not know how or why. Perhaps it was a cosmic joke, or some strange twist of fate. Either way, he had to face the reality of the Black Water Territory. The farms lay stunted under pale skies. The people, half-dead in spirit, clung to this patch of earth because they had nowhere else to go. Bandits and savage tribes would descend like wolves at the first sign of weakness. Winter would come soon, bringing long nights and hungry, desperate foes. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. He turned his gaze toward the window. Through the carved shutters, he glimpsed a bleak horizon. The sun was rising, painting the fields in weak, golden watery colors. Wooden huts dotted the landscape, their roofs sagging under the weight of damp straw. A handful of villagers could be seen moving sluggishly, like worn-out cogs in a broken machine. Could he help them? Or would he fail like all those before him? His train of thought was broken by a soft knock at the door. Reyn stiffened, hastily pulling down his sleeve to cover something odd on his arm. ¡°Come in,¡± he managed, voice only slightly trembling. The heavy door creaked open, and an older man stepped through. His hair, once dark, was now mostly gray and thinning. He wore a neatly pressed tunic and trousers, simple but dignified, and moved with careful, deliberate steps. Reyn¡¯s borrowed memories told him this was Dohn, the castle¡¯s butler. Dohn bowed slightly, his expression a mixture of respect and subdued anxiety. ¡°My lord,¡± he said softly, ¡°your breakfast is ready in the main hall.¡± My lord. The words still felt foreign on Reyn¡¯s tongue. He forced himself to nod, remembering that he must appear composed. ¡°Thank you, Dohn,¡± he replied. ¡°I¡¯ll be there shortly.¡± The butler left with a quiet rustle of fabric, leaving Reyn alone again. For a moment, silence pressed in. Then Reyn let out a shaky breath and stood. His legs wobbled slightly. He took a few steps around the room, testing the floorboards. They creaked in places but held firm. There was a small desk near the window. On it sat a tarnished brass mirror that captured his reflection: golden-black curls framed a gaunt, pale face with sharp features. He looked younger than he felt¡ªsomewhere in his early twenties. But there was a deep weariness in those eyes. They were almost golden, reflecting the dim light oddly, giving him an intense and unsettling gaze. Something tugged at his awareness¡ªsome strange new sense that had come with his crossing. He rolled up his sleeve and examined his arm. At first glance, it was just a black shape, irregular and dark against his pale skin. But if he focused, he could see details that shouldn¡¯t be possible: tiny window frames, a miniature door, shelves arrayed with objects like relics from his old world. A Game Shop from his past life, compressed into a symbol no larger than a thumbprint. A quiet hum seemed to emanate from that mark. Reyn held his arm closer to the light. A spark of energy flared inside him, making him gasp. He pulled back, heart pounding. Something was there, hidden in his flesh. Could this be his edge in this hostile land? He turned to the window again, mind racing. If this mark could offer him power akin to the games he used to play, he might stand a chance. But how to activate it? He tried focusing, picturing himself reaching into that black mark, pulling on whatever strange energy lay inside. For a moment, he felt resistance, like trying to open a rusted door. He strained, envisioning a store menu from a computer screen. Nothing happened. He sighed and lowered his sleeve. Perhaps it required time, or a trigger he had not yet discovered. For now, he would keep it secret. He didn¡¯t want anyone¡ªwhoever they might be¡ªto know he possessed something so strange. Outside, a gust of wind rattled the shutters. He caught a glimpse of movement in the courtyard below. From this height, he could see rough cobblestones surrounded by half-collapsed stone walls. A pair of guards in worn chainmail paced slowly, spears in hand. They looked underfed and uneasy, as if expecting trouble at any moment. The castle itself was small and likely in disrepair. A handful of servants and soldiers, a few cramped storerooms of provisions, and not much else. Reyn straightened his shoulders. He did not know why he was here, but he would not lie down and die. In his previous life, he¡¯d been ordinary, but he had learned resourcefulness and patience. Live and adapt. Adapt to live. His stomach knotted. He had breakfast waiting in the hall, and undoubtedly curious eyes waiting as well. He wanted to make a good impression, to at least appear confident. He pulled on a simple tunic and trousers from a chest at the foot of the bed. The clothes felt foreign against his skin. There were boots in the corner, made of stiff leather, and he slipped into them. They fit well enough. The baron¡¯s body and his were now one and the same. As he reached for the door, a sudden wave of dizziness struck him. He swayed and caught himself on the bedpost, breathing heavily. The memories of this place were still settling. He saw flashes again: the black forest to the north, full of twisted trees that could not be cleared without risking plague and ruin. Rumors of savage tribes roaming freely beyond those woods. Hostile eyes lurking just out of sight. He clenched his jaw. One step at a time. Waves of memory would come and go, bringing dreadful tales of this land. He would meet them all head-on, as best he could. The floorboards creaked under his boots as he approached the door. He paused before leaving, glancing again at the portrait on the wall. The grim-faced noble stared at him silently. Was he a previous lord of the Black Water Territory? Or some ancestor who had once held power here? Reyn might never know, but he felt a strange kinship with that painted figure. Both were trapped in this old castle, facing uncertain futures. ¡°No,¡± Reyn murmured to himself, gripping the doorknob. ¡°I¡¯m not going to end up like the rest.¡± And with that resolve, he stepped out to face the cursed land he now called home. Chapter 2 - Lords and Situation ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡° ¡° ¡° ¡° Chapter 3 - Crisis Reyn descended from the dim corridors of the upper floors into the main lobby of the castle¡¯s first level, boots echoing heavily against ancient stone. He could still feel the tension in the old stones, as if the very walls feared what lay next. He had summoned two of his key retainers: Sir Murkoc, one of the knights he met the day before, and Thorris, a new figure emerging from his inherited memories¡ªCaptain of the Guard, or its closest equivalent in this impoverished domain. Together, they formed the backbone of what could charitably be called his leadership team. They awaited him now with anxious faces. Reyn stepped into view and found them standing near a battered wooden table. Murkoc was tall and thin, a middle-aged knight who also served as something like a councillor or steward for the territory. His face was sallow in the torchlight, worry lines etched deeply around his eyes. He wore a faded surcoat over a dented breastplate, and the sword at his hip looked more ceremonial than dangerous. Despite his knightly title, Murkoc¡¯s strength lay in administration and local governance¡ªhe was Reyn¡¯s best source of practical knowledge, a manager of people and resources, if those words could apply to a land so devoid of either. Thorris, on the other hand, appeared every inch a warrior. Broad-shouldered and solid, he wore a patchwork of chainmail and boiled leather. A full knight he was not¡ªReyn¡¯s memories told him that Thorris was a top trainee nearing the threshold of professional knightly status. The bronze brooch pinned to Thorris¡¯s tunic displayed three crossed swords beneath three stars: a symbol of skill in martial arts, though not yet elevated to the ranks of a proper, professional knight. Still, he was reputed to be the territory¡¯s strongest fighter and served as its head of security. In these desperate lands, that made him something like a captain of a guard that hardly existed. Beside them stood Sir Morris, a stocky man with a heavy brow and thick arms, quietly at attention. Morris¡¯s knightly rank had always been tenuous¡ªhe was a trainee of sorts, far from the polished chivalry of richer realms. Yet he radiated a certain stubborn resilience. He spoke little, but every line of his body suggested readiness. As Reyn approached, Murkoc and Thorris bowed stiffly, and Morris inclined his head. ¡°My lord,¡± Murkoc began, voice subdued. Reyn waved a hand, an unspoken order for them to sit or at least relax. The last day had worn on him. He¡¯d visited storerooms and stables, seen the poverty and fear among the servants, and learned of raiders on the horizon. Now, he expected more grim news. ¡°At ease,¡± he said quietly. ¡°What matter is so urgent that you sought me before midday?¡± Thorris cleared his throat and stepped forward, the lamplight catching the worry in his eyes. ¡°My lord, we have found signs that the Red Claw Bandits are scouting our borders again. Fresh horseshoe prints near the northern fringe of the Black Forest. Not ours, I assure you. Their track is too distinctive by the marks they left. We¡¯ve seen this pattern in last winter.¡± Murkoc nodded grimly. ¡°We have reason to believe they¡¯ll attack us soon, my lord. The Red Claw Bandits are not an idle threat. In previous years, they¡¯ve tested our defenses and bled us dry. Your predecessors tried to resist, but¡­¡± He trailed off, letting the unspoken failures weigh in the silence. Reyn crossed his arms. He recalled scraps of memory¡ªthe Red Claw Bandits were notorious marauders lurking in the borderlands. Savage opportunists who struck the weak and desperate. Their leader, known simply as Claw, was rumored to be of professional knightly skill, a deadly fighter who commanded loyalty through fear. This was not some ragged group of amateurs; these were experienced predators circling wounded prey. Thorris ground his jaw before speaking again. ¡°With our current fighting force, we cannot defeat them head-on. We have perhaps ten junior guardsmen and a handful of half-trained militia scraped together from the village. We lack proper arms and armor. Even I, who¡¯ve trained my whole life, cannot stand alone against Claw¡¯s band. We¡¯d be overwhelmed.¡± Reyn felt a heaviness settle in his chest. His new life¡ªa baron of a cursed territory¡ªnow threatened by raiders he had no means to repel. ¡°You¡¯re certain it¡¯s them?¡± he asked, clinging to the faint hope that this might be a false alarm. Thorris nodded, gaze firm. ¡°Yes, my lord. They return each winter to pick off what they can. Their tracks match old reports exactly.¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The silence stretched. Outside, Reyn could almost imagine he heard the distant forest sighing, branches scraping together in a chilly breeze. There were no easy solutions. He tried to think like a strategist: If he sent for help, would it arrive in time? Would anyone even care about Black Water Territory¡¯s plight? Murkoc cleared his throat softly. ¡°We could attempt to appeal to NorthSeet City for aid, again¡± he offered, voice wavering with uncertainty. ¡°Count Grandrich has garrisons there, though they¡¯re stretched thin defending against other threats. Or we might hire mercenaries¡ªif we had coin enough to pay them.¡± Thorris snorted, frustration leaking into his tone. ¡°We have neither wealth nor influence. The Count¡¯s men have more pressing concerns along the frontier. Even if they sent a small detachment, the Red Claws would just fade back into the forest. They¡¯d wait until the reinforcements left and then descend on us again¡ªmore ruthless than before. As for mercenaries¡ªpaying them through the winter is impossible. Our coffers are nearly empty, my lord. Food is scarce. Hiring sellswords would only drain what little remains, leaving us no better off when they depart.¡± Reyn could feel his heartbeat in his ears. The walls seemed to shrink, pressing the stale air closer. ¡°And what of seeking refuge with neighboring lords? Blackstone Castle is not far, though I know relations have been¡­ strained.¡± He had seen references in his memories: The lord of Blackstone Castle¡ªBaron Philo¡ªwas a cunning and ambitious noble who profited from Black Water¡¯s misery. He might offer a safe haven to fleeing serfs, hoping to poach what labor he could. At this, Murkoc pursed his lips and Thorris¡¯s face darkened. ¡°My lord,¡± said Thorris, voice edged with bitterness, ¡°to seek refuge with Blackstone Castle would be to lose all dignity. Your predecessors never stooped so low, and I suspect Philo would use our plight to humiliate and extort us further. Even if we swallow our pride, what would stop him from absorbing our territory outright?¡± Murkoc, more practical, ventured another angle. ¡°But dignity won¡¯t feed us or keep us alive. If the choice is dying at the hands of raiders or bowing before Philo, is pride worth the cost? We must think of survival.¡± This sparked immediate tension. Thorris¡¯s face twisted in disgust. ¡°Survival at any price?¡± he spat. ¡°If we kneel to Philo, we might as well abandon this land altogether. A lord who cannot protect his people is no lord at all.¡± Murkoc glared at him, frustration crackling in the silence. ¡°Dignity won¡¯t save our people, Thorris. I¡¯d rather be alive and scorned than dead and honorable. Or would you prefer piles of corpses to an uncomfortable alliance?¡± ¡°Enough!¡± Reyn snapped, voice echoing more forcefully than he intended. Both men fell silent, bowing their heads. Morris remained silent in the background, shifting uneasily. Reyn took a moment to regain composure. The dread weighed heavily on him. He had awoken in this cursed land hoping to survive, maybe even improve things. Now fate pushed him toward a crisis he was ill-prepared to meet. ¡°I need quiet to think,¡± Reyn said, voice more controlled now. ¡°You¡¯ve both given me the facts. Leave me for now. I will consider our options.¡± Thorris opened his mouth as if to protest, but a sharp look from Reyn stilled him. Murkoc inclined his head stiffly. ¡°As you wish, my lord.¡± Without another word, the two men departed, their footsteps heavy on the worn floorboards. Morris, the trainee knight, lingered a heartbeat, his large form seeming to want to speak. But in the end, he followed the others, leaving Reyn alone in the shadowy lobby, the torches spitting quietly as if mocking his indecision. Dohnal, the old butler, appeared a moment later, moving quietly as ever. He stood at a respectful distance, hands folded. ¡°My lord,¡± he said softly, ¡°it¡¯s nearly midday. The kitchen can provide a meal. Perhaps nourishment would help you think.¡± Reyn shook his head. ¡°I have no appetite.¡± He could still taste the stale bread and thin porridge from breakfast. Fear curdled in his belly. ¡°Dohnal, has there been more desertion among the serfs?¡± Dohnal¡¯s eyes flickered with sadness. ¡°Yes, my lord. Last night more than a dozen fled to Blackstone Castle. The week before, over fifty. They fear the coming raids and believe Philo might shelter them. Rumor spreads quickly.¡± ¡°Damn him,¡± Reyn muttered. ¡°And damn the Red Claw Bandits.¡± Dohnal nodded, understanding too well the frustation. Reyn took a long breath. ¡°Leave me, Dohnal. I need to think alone.¡± The butler bowed and withdrew, steps soft as a cat. Reyn remained, but after a few moments, the lobby felt suffocating. He retreated up the stairs to his own chamber, where at least he could feel some semblance of privacy. The small window shutters rattled in a cold draft, and beyond them lay the dreary fields. He bolted the heavy wooden door behind him and sank onto the bed, mind whirling. Run away? He could try, but he had nowhere to go. As the baron, abandoning his territory would mark him a coward, a traitor to duty. In this feudal world, that likely meant execution if caught. Seeking asylum at Blackstone meant trading one cage for another. Hiring mercenaries without money was impossible. Appealing to Count Grandrich was a faint hope at best¡ª. His head ached. He pressed his palms against his temples, trying to force himself to think of something clever. He had modern knowledge, didn¡¯t he? Ideas about basic engineering, maybe ways to fortify the castle. But such efforts would take time and resources he didn¡¯t have. The bandits could strike soon, leaving him no chance to implement anything. Now, frustration gnawed at him. He needed something¡ªanything¡ªthat might give him an edge. ---- As his anxiety and anger mounted, a sudden heat flared in that mark on his arm, as if responding to the turmoil in his mind. Reyn hissed, tugging back his sleeve. The black mark writhed and expanded, its ink-like edges shifting color: green, gray, and a faint, pale red, twisting like a living sigil. He gritted his teeth against a flare of pain that shot up his arm and into his skull. His vision swam. He tried to cry out but his voice caught in his throat. A strange sensation, like an electric current, crackled through his nerves. He blinked and the small room wavered, the rough-hewn walls melting into something else¡ªan impression of shelves, tiny windows, and items glimmering in phantom lantern light. Memories of his old life, of games and digital menus, rushed through him. Chapter 4 Reyn hovered in the uneasy hush of his chamber, heart still hammering from the vision he had seen. The mark on his arm had changed¡ªa strange, stylized pattern now decorated his pale skin, as though inked by some unknown hand. The memory of that spectral ¡°storefront¡± swirled in his mind: shelves of items, weapons, tools, all tinted in muted colors and labeled in a script he somehow understood. He had awakened in a grim, medieval land, but within his very flesh lay a bridge to another reality, one that evoked the digital worlds he had known in his past life. He inhaled slowly, forcing calm. The pain had faded. His arm no longer throbbed. Instead, a subtle hum of energy coursed through him. He tightened his fingers experimentally. No pain¡ªonly a lingering sense of wonder and dread. He had no illusions: whatever this power was, it did not belong in this world. Swords and bows, fields of stunted grain, and border raids by savage bandits¡ªthese were the daily facts of his new life. But now, a piece of his old life had bled through the veil, ---? For several minutes, Reyn simply observed his surroundings, waiting to see if anything else would materialize. When nothing happened, he closed his eyes and tried to recall how he had summoned that vision. He focused on the mark. Almost at once, a pale green light flickered at the edges of his vision. Then, drifting in midair before him, half real and half imagined, appeared a series of faint windows¡ªlike ghostly panels hovering in the air. He stared, mouth going dry. There were multiple windowsnow . One showed what looked like a deserted street of worn sandstone buildings under a brilliant sky, the sort of architecture he remembered from a famous multiplayer shooter map called ¡°DUST II.¡± Another panel hinted at a platform suspended over an abyss, reminiscent of old arcade games he¡¯d once seen. Yet another featured what looked like an ancient ruin overgrown with vines. They seemed like snapshots of different worlds¡ªsome eerily familiar from his past gaming life. How these could exist here, he could not guess. His heart gave a jolt as he recognized the first environment. Dust II¡ªhe had spent countless hours on it back in his old life. It was surreal to see it here. He reached out tentatively with a hand, feeling a gentle breeze brush his fingertips, as if his room¡¯s stale air had opened onto another place entirely. The scent of dry sand and distant spices teased his nostrils. This was no mere memory. It felt real. A surge of temptation rose within him. Should he try to step inside? Was that even possible? He glanced down at the stone floor of his chamber, the tattered rug, the old chest near the bed. Here was reality¡ªdull and heavy. There was danger waiting beyond the castle walls. Yet within this miraculous vision, he sensed potential hope. He might find tools or weapons too, an edge against the Red Claw Bandits. But was it safe? Caution won out. He needed more information first. He tried to think of how he had interacted with that strange ¡°store¡± before. He focused on it with his mind, imagining he was navigating a game menu. In response, one of the windows shifted and a series of icons appeared: weapons lined up as if in a shooter¡¯s buy menu, supplies stacked with neat labels. He saw modern firearms¡ªrifles, pistols, and submachine guns¡ªfamiliar from his old life¡¯s games. Ammunition boxes, even grenades. The idea of introducing such weapons into this medieval world twisted his stomach. Yet could he afford to reject this idea? He steadied his breathing and imagined selecting something small and manageable. His gaze fell upon a simple M9 Beretta pistol icon. He willed his choice, and at once a faint cube of light formed before him. Inside, the pistol materialized, sleek and modern, its metallic surface catching the dull light of his chamber¡¯s guttering candle. He reached out, hand trembling, and touched it. It was solid, cold steel. With a careful pull, he drew it from the spectral cube and into his world. Reyn¡¯s heart pounded. He had a real firearm in his hand¡ªan impossible object in this place. A weapon of his old life¡¯s era summoned into a land of swords. He pressed the magazine release; a magazine slid out smoothly, filled with gleaming brass cartridges. No illusions. This was genuine. If he could shoot a bandit armed with a sword before they even closed the distance¡­ His hands shook. Better to test it first. But quietly. He rose and approached a spot in the corner of his room where an old table stood. He aimed downward at the floor, squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The trigger wouldn¡¯t budge. He frowned. Of course¡ªsafety mechanisms. He had never actually handled real firearms before, only virtual ones. He searched for the safety switch, found a small lever on the side, and flicked it. Then he aimed again and pulled. A thunderous crack tore through the silence. The recoil surprised him, jerking his wrist. A bullet casing clinked on the floor, and smoke curled from the muzzle. He gaped at the smoking hole in the table¡¯s leg. The sound rang in his ears, far louder than expected. Heart pounding, he realized his mistake¡ªhe had made too much noise. Anyone in the castle must have heard that shot. He panicked, quickly engaging the safety and shoving the pistol under a pillow. Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. He had no time to hide the damage. The door crashed open, the latch splitting as Thorris¡ªhis security chief¡ªburst in, sword half-drawn. ¡°My lord!¡± Thorris called, eyes wild. ¡°Are you hurt? What¡¯s happening?¡± Behind Thorris came Dohnal, the old butler, out of breath. Reyn¡¯s pulse hammered. He needed a believable lie, and quickly. But what could he say? He glanced at the table leg with a neat hole in it¡ªhe could claim it was a sudden board snapping, or perhaps a small explosion from a faulty oil lamp. But no, that would not explain the smell of gunpowder, or the strange echo of that shot. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Still, he had to say something. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m fine,¡± Reyn managed, stepping forward to block their view of the damaged table. ¡°Somehow a portion of the shutter latch snapped inward with force. It struck the table and made a dreadful noise.¡± He waved vaguely at the window shutters, which rattled weakly in the wind. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ I¡¯ve never heard something like that. It startled me too.¡± Dohnal peered curiously at the table, but Thorris, more concerned with Reyn¡¯s safety, stepped closer. ¡°My lord, that sounded like more than wood splintering. Are you sure you are well?¡± ¡°I am fine, truly.¡± Reyn forced a calm smile. ¡°Check the shutters if you wish, but I promise no harm has come to me.¡± Thorris paused, studying Reyn¡¯s face. He was clearly suspicious. But what could he do? He saw no attacker, no danger. He relaxed slightly, though his expression remained puzzled. Dohnal lingered at the doorway, uncertain. Reyn seized the moment. ¡°Dohnal,¡± he said with an authoritative tone, ¡°have the latch on the shutters inspected. And see that this door is repaired. Thorris, I appreciate your swift response, but let¡¯s maintain calm. I am safe, and I need quiet to think.¡± He tried to infuse confidence into his voice, hoping they would drop the matter. ¡°We have more pressing troubles outside these walls than strange noises in my chambers.¡± Thorris exhaled slowly and bowed. ¡°As you say, my lord. I¡¯ll be outside if you need me.¡± He backed out of the room. Dohnal followed, albeit with a lingering, curious glance at the damaged furniture. They shut what remained of the door behind them. Alone again, Reyn closed his eyes and exhaled, shoulders slumping. That was too close. He would have to be more careful. The last thing he needed was to become a source of rumor and confusion among his already frightened servants. He knelt, scooped up the spent casing, and slipped it into his pocket. The M9 Beretta, safely locked again, he placed under the mattress for the moment. He would return it to that strange store world soon. But first, he needed to fully understand how to open and close that dimensional portal without attracting notice. He looked at the mark on his arm. The swirling pattern now seemed stable. When he touched it and concentrated, he felt that gentle hum inside his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried once more. After a few heartbeats, the ghostly windows reappeared in his inner vision, superimposed on his surroundings. What was is this dimension exactly?. He selected the DUST II map again. If the pistol had materialized here, maybe he could bring other supplies that might help. Not just weapons¡ªfood, medicine, tools. He was unsure if such things existed in this game? Still, it troubled him. Using these strangr tools might trigger fear or some strange rumors. He must proceed with care. Maybe he could produce sturdier, simple armor approximating what they expected. If he made incremental changes, subtle improvements, he might pass them off as gifts from a distant ally or as rediscovered relics. He would have to think carefully. He turned his attention back to the strange scenes in his mental interface. He noticed that by focusing on the DUST II map window, he could move closer. Last time, it felt as though he could step through. His curiosity flared again. Perhaps inside that map-space, he could experiment without risking the castle¡¯s safety. The idea of exploring a familiar gaming environment as though it were a real place intrigued and frightened him. Could he actually enter it? Bracing himself, he approached the shimmering illusion. It hovered a few inches off the floor, large enough to crawl in. He grabbed a curtain and a length of bedsheet, fashioning a makeshift rope to tether himself to the bed. If the portal was unstable, at least he could pull himself back. He tested the rope¡¯s knot. ¡°Good enough¡±. With a deep breath, he reached forward. His hand passed into the vision, and he felt warm, dry air¡ªnot the chill draft of his room. Encouraged, he leaned in further, until his head and shoulders slipped through. Suddenly, his perspective shifted. He stumbled forward onto sunlit sandstone ground. The sky above was a flawless blue, the buildings around him a familiar layout of alleys and arches. No enemies roamed the streets¡ªjust a profound silence. The distant hum of a breeze, the smell of dust and old stone. Reyn¡¯s heart soared and lurched at once. He looked behind him, expecting to see his castle chamber. Instead, he saw a wavering wall of light through which his bed and rope were dimly visible. Good¡ªhis way back remained. He stood in what looked like a deserted version of the DUST II map. He recognized the spawn area from countless hours of gaming. Except now it was real stone under his boots, real dirt under his fingernails when he touched the wall. He moved carefully, exploring. Crates stood stacked here and there. A few old barrels, empty. No sign of life. Just an eerily perfect stage set. Instinctively, he summoned the store menu again. In this environment, it appeared as a floating panel at the edge of his vision. He flicked through items with a thought and selected a simple piece of equipment: a Kevlar vest. A cube of light materialized in front of him, revealing the vest folded neatly inside. He took it out¡ªsolid, real¡ª. It fit snugly, though it looked alien in his medieval body. Next, he tried a different item¡ªan MP5 submachine gun. It felt heavy and sleek in his hands. He posed awkwardly, recalling images from his past life. He returned the MP5 to the store and considered other items: medical kits, bandages, even some rations that looked like vacuum-sealed field meals. Food that wouldn¡¯t spoil easily. A lifesaver, if he could distribute it quietly. The possibilities were staggering. He could turn is misfortune around. He might arm a few trusted guards with some weapons, sturdier breastplates¡ªfashioned from modern ballistic vests¡ª. He could smelt some irom crates--- provide better tools for the farmers¡ªstronger steel knives ¡ªand claim he traded for them with a distant merchant. If he could intruduce this fast enough, he might raise the territory¡¯s chances of surviving the coming raid. Of course, there were questions: would these items vanish if discovered by others? Could he run out of supplies? He noticed no currency system displayed now. He had unlimited options, it seemed. But was this truly free? There might be hidden costs. He must remain cautious. What was the price? He took a final look around this silent DUST II world. The map extended as he remembered¡ªfamiliar choke points and alleyways¡ªbut he did not find any other living beings. It seemed like a safe testing ground. Perhaps he could train here, refine his skill unlimited practice weapons. The environment felt stable, but he did not want to linger too long. People would notice if he vanished from his chamber for too long. Pulling gently on the bedsheet rope around his waist, he stepped back through the shimmering boundary. In a blink, he was inside his chamber again, the rope slack around him. The portal flickered and faded, leaving only candlelit gloom and the battered furnishings. He unfastened the rope, folding it away, and sat on the bed, thinking. The muffled sounds of castle life drifted through the damaged door. He heard footsteps, distant voices. Soon he would have to show his face again, greet Dohnal, address Thorris¡¯s concerns. The Red Claw Bandits were a real threat, and time was short. But now he had a secret weapon¡ªliterally and figuratively. This magical dimensional pocket filled with items from the game world¡¯s, could give him an edge like no other. He must use it wisely. Chapter 5 - Preparing Forces (1) The afternoon light had dimmed when Reyn returned to his chamber after his secret expedition into the strange, hidden dimension. His heart still fluttered at the thought of what he had accomplished: retrieving uniforms, helmets, boots, knives, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªmodern firearms. He set two sets of soldier¡¯s uniforms on his bed¡ªone with a cloth cap, the other with a sturdier helmet¡ªalong with several pairs of military boots. Beside them, a Kevlar vest and a polished M9 bayonet knife, all this looked shockingly out of place amid the rough-hewn furniture and worn draperies of the castle¡¯s interior. Taking a deep breath, he focused again on the spectral interface only he could see. He reached into the store once more, this time selecting firearms suitable for a small cadre of elite defenders. After considering various options, he chose two types of rifles, weapons famed in his past life¡¯s knowledge: the AK-47 and the M4A4. Both were automatic rifles with high reliability and power. He could not be sure how well medieval minds would grasp their function, but he had to try. He took out twenty of each rifle¡ªan immense arsenal even by his past world¡¯s standards. He also took an additional twenty M9 pistols and twenty bayonet knives. The plan was to start small¡ªperhaps with sidearms and knives¡ªso that his men might learn how to handle these strange things before receiving rifles. After all this, Reyn felt a sudden wave of heaviness. His limbs grew weak, and a subtle ache pulsed in his temples. It reminded him of the draining sensation he¡¯d felt the previous day, after summoning just a few items. It seemed that accessing this store carried a price. Too much, too quickly, and he¡¯d be left exhausted. He arranged the newly acquired gear neatly on the bed and nearby chest, checking the bolts on the door to ensure privacy. The sun was dipping low beyond the shutters, bathing the room in a dusky light. He wiped sweat from his brow. He had done enough for today. ¡°From hopelessness to glory,¡± he murmured wryly to himself. Just yesterday, the Red Claws had seemed an insurmountable threat. Now, he had a plan ¡ªrisky and uncertain, but still a plan¡ªto defend Black Water Territory. He would handpick a small group, train them in secret, and turn the tide. He glanced out the window. The sun was going down. Training men to use these weapons would take time, but at least he could soundly sleep tonight. Yet as he prepared to undress, another wave of fatigue hit him, this time stronger. His limbs felt like lead, his eyelids heavier than iron shutters. Without meaning to, he staggered, caught himself against the bedpost, and barely managed to ease onto the mattress. ¡°Did I overdo it?¡± he wondered, vision swimming. He tried to lift a hand to his head, but even that felt like too much effort. Darkness edged in at the corners of his eyes. He managed a sigh and let himself slip into sleep, armor and boots still on, the odd new gear scattered around him. The castle settled into quiet gloom. --- The next morning dawned with a chill. Reyn woke feeling slightly stiff and sore, as if he had spent the night hauling heavy stones. He ran a hand through his golden-black curls and took a moment to recall the previous day¡¯s exploits. The memories were vivid¡ªthe gleam of rifles, the shock of gunfire, the impossible dimension brimming with supplies. The lingering tiredness suggested he must be careful about how often he drew from that. Still, the benefits outweighed the costs. A soft knock sounded at the door, and Dohnal¡¯s voice followed: ¡°My lord, your breakfast is ready.¡± The butler entered, pushing aside the makeshift curtain that now served as a door after yesterday¡¯s incident. He carried a wooden tray with bread, a thin porridge, and a wedge of cheese. The smell made Reyn¡¯s stomach rumble. He realized he was ravenous. ¡°Thank you, Dohnal,¡± Reyn said, seating himself in a plain wooden chair near the window. He tore into the bread. He felt oddly light in mood, despite the grim circumstances. Having a plan can do wonders for the spirit, he reflected. Dohnal, setting the tray down, could not hide his curiosity. His gaze drifted to the neat stacks of unusual items near the bed: helmets with tinted visors, knives with strange shapes, boots that looked sturdier and lighter than anything a local craftsman could make. He also spied something metal and rod-like, partly covered by a cloak. Dohnal¡¯s brows knitted in confusion¡ªhe had never seen such craftsmanship. Reyn followed Dohnal¡¯s glance and realized he¡¯d left some items visible. He would have to address this sooner or later. He swallowed a mouthful of bread and cleared his throat. ¡°Dohnal,¡± he said, ¡°once I finish eating, please summon Thorris to my office. There¡¯s business we must discuss.¡± ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± Dohnal replied, though his voice trembled with unspoken questions. He bowed and left, his footsteps fading down the corridor. Reyn took a moment to plan how he would explain these new weapons to Thorris. He needed the captain of the guard to trust him and follow his instructions without doubt. If Thorris were as loyal as Reyn believed, it would be safe to let him in on part handle some weapons or ¡ªat least enough to train with these new ¡°firearms.¡± He quickly gathered the items, wrapping the rifles in cloth to disguise their shape. He set aside one AK-47 and one M9 pistol, along with a few magazines of ammunition, to show Thorris. The rest he secured under his bed or returned to the DUST map. Feeling more confident, Reyn rose and straightened his tunic. The day¡¯s work lay ahead. --- The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Black Water¡¯s ¡°training ground,¡± if it could be called that, lay behind the castle¡¯s main structure. Once it had been a private ranch and stables for a richer lord¡¯s horses, but that was generations ago. Now, it served as a rough courtyard where Thorris drilled the territory¡¯s meager forces. The morning air tasted of cold earth. The sky, a pale gray, promised no warmth. On this ground, a handful of serfs, wearing ragged tunics and holding wooden spears, formed a wobbly line. Thorris stood before them, hands on his hips, frowning as they stumbled through basic drills. These men were no trained soldiers. They were farmers and laborers, pressed into militia duty by necessity. Hunger and hardship etched their faces, and their movements lacked vigor. Without proper weapons, armor, or training, they were little more than a deterrent to petty thieves¡ªnot seasoned raider-killers. Thorris tried not to let his wories show up. He knew the Red Claw Bandits could appear any day now. He and the ten trainee knights under his command could fight bravely, but they were too few. These militiamen would crumble at the first real assault. Still, as a knight-in-training on the cusp of professionalism¡ªloyal to the Lord¡ªhe would do his duty and fight to the death if need be. Halfway through a clumsy drill, one of the castle servants approached Thorris, calling his name. The servant delivered Reyn¡¯s message: the Lord requested Thorris¡¯s presence in the castle at once. With an apologetic nod to the militia, Thorris handed command to a senior trainee knight and trudged toward the castle¡¯s main keep, uncertain but hopeful. --- Inside Reyn¡¯s makeshift office¡ªonce a storeroom, now equipped with a desk and a chair¡ªThorris found the lord waiting. Dohnal hovered discreetly in the background, pouring two cups of thin wine. The room was cramped, lit by a single oil lamp and a small slit of a window. Reyn sat behind the desk, fingers interlaced, posture composed. ¡°My lord,¡± Thorris said, bowing stiffly. ¡°Sit down,¡± Reyn urged, gesturing to a stool opposite him. He waited until Thorris settled before speaking. ¡°I called you here because I need your assistance in a matter of utmost importance. How loyal are you to Black Water to ME, Thorris?¡± The guard captain¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°I have pledged my life to this LAND and to its lord. I will never abandon that oath as it my life.¡± Reyn nodded, pleased. ¡°Good. I need you to find me ten men¡ªloyal, strong, and discreet. Men you can trust completely. Men who won¡¯t flee at the first sign of blood. We¡¯re going to form a special unit.¡± Thorris blinked. A special unit? The territory could barely field a basic militia. ¡°My lord, may I ask the purpose of this force?¡± ¡°To defeat the Red Claw Bandits,¡± Reyn said softly. ¡°Or at least drive them off. I have¡­ acquired certain weapons. Very Powerful. But they are unlike anything you¡¯ve seen before. They will require careful training.¡± A ripple of unease crossed Thorris¡¯s face. ¡°What do you mean by ¡®unlike anything¡¯?¡± Reyn stood and motioned for Thorris and Dohnal to follow him. He led them through dim corridors, down a creaking staircase into the old dungeon-turned-storage area beneath the castle. The air here was damp, smelling of earth and mildew. A single torch sputtered, casting flickering shadows. In a quiet corner stood a makeshift rack, covered by a cloak. Reyn pulled the cloak aside, revealing a stack of strange items: rifles of sleek metal and wood, pistols with odd mechanisms, magazines of ammunition. Thorris¡¯s eyes widened. He stepped closer, hesitantly reaching out to pick up one of the rifles¡ªan AK-47. The weapon felt both delicate and robust, its shape entirely foreign. ¡°These,¡± Reyn said quietly, ¡°are called firearms. Think of them as crossbows that shoot small metal arrows at tremendous power. They are far more deadly and have greater range than any weapon you know. With proper training, a single man can take down multiple enemies before they even close in.¡± Thorris studied the rifle, utterly perplexed. ¡°My lord¡­ where did these come from?¡± Reyn¡¯s heart pounded. He had no desire to explain the true source. He opted for a half-truth. ¡°From a distant land,¡± he said carefully, ¡°a place known only to me. Consider it a secret. If these weapons became widely known, rivals would stop at nothing to seize them. We must keep this to ourselves.¡± Dohnal hovered at the edge of the torchlight, eyes wide. He said nothing, but Reyn could guess his thoughts. The butler was shocked yet loyal enough not to question openly. Thorris frowned, struggling to understand. ¡°My lord, may I test it?¡± Thorris asked, voice hushed. Reyn nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve prepared a dummy over there.¡± He pointed to a straw-filled target on the far side of the dungeon. ¡°But first, I must show you how to operate it. It¡¯s more complicated than a crossbow.¡± He guided Thorris through the basics: how to hold the rifle firmly against the shoulder, how to aim down the iron sights, how to flick the safety. Reyn handed him a single magazine containing a few rounds, demonstrating how to insert and lock it into place. ¡°Now, aim and pull the trigger,¡± Reyn instructed, stepping back and getting cover. Thorris took a deep breath, steadied his stance, and squeezed the trigger. The gun roared, the sound echoing violently off the dungeon¡¯s stone walls. Thorris flinched, but to his credit, he did not drop the weapon. The bullet slammed into the wooden dummy, splintering a chunk of it. The force and noise startled both Thorris and Dohnal. ¡°By the gods!¡± Thorris exclaimed, lowering the rifle. His heart thumped in his chest. Dohnal¡¯s eyes were round as saucers. He murmured something about ¡°devilish thunder sticks,¡± but kept his voice low. Reyn gave him a reassuring glance. ¡°This is why we must choose our men carefully,¡± Reyn said. ¡°Not everyone can handle this weapon. If these weapons fall into the wrong hands, we lose our advantage.¡± Thorris recovered from the shock and bowed his head. ¡°I understand, my lord. These weapons¡­ they could change everything. We could defend ourselves, even against the Red Claws.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± Reyn placed a hand on Thorris¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You must find me ten good men. Preferably your best trainees. I¡¯ll teach you first, and then we¡¯ll train them. They must swear oaths to remain silent. Once we¡¯re ready, the bandits will find us far from helpless.¡± Thorris¡¯s chest swelled with renewed hope. For weeks he had grimly resigned himself to a hopeless fight again. ¡°I will find them, my lord. I know just the men¡ªhardy fellows who¡¯ve stuck by me for years. They will not falter.¡± Reyn nodded. ¡°Do it quietly. Tell them we are forming a special guard unit to protect the lord and the castle. No talk of the weapon¡¯s until they¡¯re chosen. Bring them here one by one over the next few days, and I¡¯ll begin their training.¡± Dohnal, still standing by, cleared his throat. ¡°My lord,¡± he said softly, ¡°this secret will be difficult to keep. The castle servants talk. When they hear strange noises, see men disappearing into the dungeon¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have to create cover stories,¡± Reyn said, thinking quickly. ¡°We can say we are reinforcing the dungeon walls, or conducting special drills. Dohnal, I trust you to manage rumors. Keep the servants occupied.¡± Dohnal bowed respectfully. ¡°As you command.¡± Thorris ran a finger along the rifle¡¯s metal surface, still awed. ¡°My lord, I must ask¡ªhow soon do you believe we can have these men trained? The Red Claws won¡¯t give us much time.¡± Reyn¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°I know,¡± he said grimly. ¡°We¡¯ll work tirelessly. I¡¯ll start you off with simpler weapons first¡ªthe pistols, for instance. Then the rifles. We must ensure safety and discipline above all else. A reckless shot could injure our own people.¡± Thorris nodded. His mind spun with questions, but he kept them to himself. ¡°Then I shall make arrangements at once,¡± Thorris said. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to my trainees quietly. By nightfall tomorrow, I can present them to you, my lord.¡± ¡°Excellent,¡± Reyn replied, relief flooding him. He hadn¡¯t been sure how Thorris would react, but the man¡¯s loyalty held firm. ¡°We must proceed step by step. Soon, we¡¯ll have a small, elite force armed and trained. When the Red Claws come, we¡¯ll be ready.¡± They spent a little more time discussing logistics¡ª how to store ammunition, and how to maintain the weapons. Reyn explained that the firearms needed care, cleaning, and a certain type of ¡°powder¡± and ¡°bullet¡± he would provide. He kept his explanations simple, attributing the origins of these resources to a mysterious far-off land. At last, satisfied with their plan, Reyn allowed Thorris to return to the training field. The guard captain¡¯s stride was brisk as he left, shoulders squared, a new determination in his step. Dohnal lingered, turning to Reyn. ¡°My lord,¡± he said quietly, ¡°this is may be dangerous. I worry what others will think of they learn of these weapons. Some might call it sorcery.¡± Reyn pressed his lips together. ¡°We have no choice, Dohnal. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I will handle the consequences later. For now, we must survive. If we do not repel the Red Claws, nothing else matters.¡± Dohnal nodded, though unease glimmered in his eyes. ¡°I will do my best to keep your secret, my lord.¡± Reyn placed a reassuring hand on the old butler¡¯s arm. ¡°I trust you. So keep your faith with me, Dohnal. We¡¯ll see this through.¡± Chapter 6 - Preparing Forces (2) That evening, after supper, Thorris returned with a parchment detailing the men he¡¯d chosen. Dohnal had done an impressive job cleaning and rearranging the dungeon¡¯s lower chambers. Several more straw dummies waited in neat rows, and tables held small chests prepared to store ammunition and parts. Oil lamps cast a dim, flickering light over the stone floors, and the air was thick with anticipation. Reyn unrolled the parchment and scanned the names by candlelight. He recognized a few: Arlin, a young trainee knight from a family that had served Black Water¡¯s lords for three generations; Rowan, a broad-shouldered militiaman who had earned respect for defending the village¡¯s grain stores during a previous raid; Byrne, known for his steady nerves and quick reflexes. Each name came with a short note from Thorris, summarizing their loyalty and background. ¡°Only four of your trainee knights?¡± Reyn asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew from memory that Thorris commanded a group of ten trainee knights at best, though their loyalty varied. Thorris¡¯s face darkened slightly. ¡°My lord, of the ten knights-in-training, only five have backgrounds I fully trust. The others have questionable ties. Some may have loyalties to the Count of NorthSeet, or report back to your father¡¯s. I cannot be certain of where their loyaties lie.¡± Reyn¡¯s stomach clenched at the mention of Count Grandrich¡ªhis estranged father, who had banished him here. ¡°That¡¯s understandable,¡± Reyn said evenly. Thorris indicated the other four he¡¯d chosen: militia members from old warrior families that had always stood by the territory. ¡°These men come from lineages that have bled for Black Water many times. Their loyalty is to this land and to whoever leads it, so long as that leader cares for them. They won¡¯t betray you.¡± Reyn nodded, ¡°Very well. This enough to start. With these weapons and proper drilling, they might become a force that even the Red Claws will fear.¡± Thorris allowed himself a confident grin. ¡°We can begin their training tomorrow, my lord. I¡¯ve already arranged for them to report to the castle at dawn. We¡¯ll keep it quiet.¡± ¡°Excellent. Reinforce the patrols tonight as well,¡± Reyn added. ¡°We cannot let the bandits approach unseen.¡± ¡°Yes, my lord.¡± Thorris bowed, saluted, and left to make his final preparations. Reyn watched him go, then turned to Dohnal---. ---------- That night, Reyn felt a rare spark of relaxation. The Red Claws were a lurking on the horizon. So, he must put these weapons to good use. He knew little beyond the basics. He recalled how awkwardly he had fired the pistol and rifle, how his aim wavered and his shoulder ached afterwards. These men deserved a better instructor. If he could gain experience secretly, he could present himself as a source of knowledge and authority. In the privacy of his chamber, Reyn reached for his arm and felt the strange mark beneath his sleeve. It hummed faintly. The mysterious ¡°CS world¡± might serve as a private training ground. He could spend hours there, practicing his aim, refining his shooting stance¡ªall without any time passing in the real world. The idea made him smile. He had tested this once, using hourglasses. Time inside did not affect time outside. It was a priceless advantage. Slipping into bed, Reyn closed his eyes and summoned that hidden dimension. He concentrated, feeling the gentle pull, and then it was there: the mental image of dusty stone streets under an eternally still sun, crates and barrels arranged as cover, and shelves of items waiting in a spectral menu. He stepped through and found himself in the quiet DUST II environment once again, rifle in hand, ammunition crates at his feet. For hours¡ªhours inside that pocket realm¡ªhe practiced. He learned to brace the stand firmly, to lean forward, to compensate for recoil. He tried short bursts of fire instead of holding the trigger down, finding the sweet spot for accuracy. Slowly, his shots grouped tighter around his chosen targets. He switched between different weapons: pistols, rifles, even trying out a heavier machine gun though he doubted he¡¯d introduce it anytime soon. It was all about understanding the tools at his disposal. When he finally stepped back out into his chamber, no more than a few minutes had passed in the real world. He felt sore, his muscles protesting the repetitive drills, but he was more confident now. He dried sweat from his brow and climbed into bed, letting sleep take him. Tomorrow would be a long day.
Dawn found Reyn in the dungeon¡¯s torch-lit halls, accompanied by Thorris and Dohnal. The ten chosen men had already assembled. They wore sturdy leather and padded gambesons¡ªstandard local attire. Over these, Reyn had them don simple ballistic vests disguised under cloth, and helmets that looked somewhat like steel caps, though of a more intricate design. The firearms themselves had been hidden under tarps until now. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The men stood in a loose line, curiosity plain in their eyes. They knew they had been selected for something special, but no one had fully explained what. On Thorris¡¯s orders, they had come without questions. Reyn stepped forward. ¡°Good morning. You have been chosen to guard the land we stand. We face a grave threat: the Red Claw Bandits. They are cunning and brutal. But now new hope dawn upon us, we have new weapons¡ª we have power now. With them, we can defend Black Water. So tell me, do we stant together?¡± A chorus of ¡°Yes, my lord¡± followed, though some voices trembled. These men had expected perhaps improved swords or sturdier pikes, not some kind of powerfull weapon. Dohnal and Thorris began unveiling the rifles and pistols, neatly arranged on wooden stands. The men gasped. These weapons looked strange: gleaming barrels, intricate triggers, no bowstrings or limbs like a crossbow. Just metal tubes and wooden stocks. Reyn nodded to Thorris, who retrieved an M9 pistol and showed it to the group. ¡°This is called a ¡®firearm¡¯,¡± Reyn began. ¡°Think of it as a crossbow that fits in one hand, but with tremendous force and speed. It uses special ammunition¡ª The sound is loud, but don¡¯t be alarmed. With proper training, a single shot can stop a wave of enemys dead.¡± The men exchanged uneasy glances. One, a tall fellow named Byrne, raised his hand timidly. ¡°My lord, how¡­ how does one fire it? Where is the string to draw back?¡± Reyn smiled. ¡°There is no string. Instead, you load a magazine of bullets here.¡± He demonstrated by inserting the magazine into the pistol. ¡°Then you release the safety, aim, and pull the trigger.¡± To ease their nerves, Reyn decided to give a demonstration. He took a pistol himself, checked it carefully as he had practiced countless times in the CS world, and aimed at a straw dummy. With a sharp crack, the shot rang out. The dummy jerked as straw and wood splinters flew. The men flinched at the noise, but their eyes widened in awe. A few murmured prayers under their breath. Weapons that could do this without any bowstring or winding mechanism seemed like magic. Yet their lord was not panicked, nor did Thorris seem disturbed. If anything, the captain of the guard looked eager. That steadied them. ¡°Each of you will learn how to hold, load, and fire these weapons safely,¡± Reyn continued. ¡°You must follow instructions carefully. Safety is paramount¡ªany careless move could injure your brothers.¡± He walked along the line, meeting each man¡¯s eye. Thorris stepped in next, guiding them through stances and grips. He echoed the lessons Reyn had privately taught him: hold the stock firmly against your shoulder for rifles; keep your elbows steady and your knees slightly bent. For pistols, hold them with both hands, arms not fully extended but stable. Even these basic instructions felt strange to the men, but they listened attentively. For the next hour, they practiced handling the firearms without firing them. Reyn walked among them, correcting posture. Dohnal replenished their practice materials and fetched water. Thorris demonstrated how to reload magazines and how to use the safety catch. When the men finally fired their first shots¡ªone by one¡ªthe dungeon filled with a cacophony of booming echoes. At first, accuracy was terrible. Bullets went flying, some missing the dummies entirely and striking stone walls, chipping off fragments. But after a few attempts, they began adjusting. The recoil still surprised them, but these were no ordinary peasants. They were men who had been raised in hardship, whose muscles were honed by years of manual labor and tough living. They learned quickly. Reyn watched, impressed. They adapted faster than he had. Within the morning¡¯s practice, some were managing decent shots at the targets. The noise still made them wince, but less so with every round. If they continued this pace, they could become a lethal squad within a few days. Soon, Dohnal reminded Reyn that it was noon. The lord realized his ears were ringing slightly from all the gunfire. He laughed to himself: in his old world, no one would train in a stone dungeon without ear protection, but here he had few choices. Perhaps he could find earplugs or something semiliar later. ¡°Enough for now,¡± Reyn said, raising a hand. ¡°You¡¯ve done well for your first day. Let¡¯s break for lunch. Dohnal, have the kitchen prepare extra meat. They¡¯ve earned it.¡± The men grinned, exhausted but triumphant. He led them out of the dungeon and into the castle halls, where the smell of cooking drifted from the kitchens. The day was bright beyond the arrow-slit windows, and a cool breeze whispered through the corridors. As they settled into a quick meal¡ªseated on benches in a small hall near the kitchen¡ªThorris excused himself for a moment. Duty called: he had to check on the patrols and ensure that no suspicious activity was happening at the borders. Reyn ate quickly, savoring the improved food. The men exchanged subdued whispers about how astonishing the new weapons were, each trying to find words to describe the experience. ¡°Like thunder in your hands,¡± one said. ¡°A strange kind of magic,¡± said another. Reyn allowed these quiet murmurs; a bit of mystique might keep them respectful and careful. About halfway through the meal, Thorris returned, breathing a bit heavily as if he had hurried. He approached Reyn¡¯s table, leaning down to speak quietly. ¡°My lord,¡± he said, voice low and grave. ¡°I¡¯ve just received a report. Our patrol at the northern edge of the forest has found fresh signs of the Red Claw Bandits again. Tracks and disturbed brush, likely scouts. They¡¯re closing in.¡± Reyn¡¯s appetite dulled instantly. He had known this time would come, but the news still sent a chill through him. ¡°How close?¡± he asked. Thorris shook his head. ¡°Hard to say. A day¡¯s ride, maybe less if they move quickly. They¡¯re testing our ours response.¡± Reyn frowned. The bandits must not learn of these new weapons too soon. He needed a few more days of training before risking a confrontation. At least the men that had shown progress. ¡°Redouble patrols and keep watch. Do not engage them yet. Observe and report back to me.¡± ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± Thorris replied. Reyn looking at the men enjoying their meal. They were weary from the morning¡¯s training, but they would rest and recovery soom. The Red Claws expected a weak lord and hungry peasants with rusty spears. Instead, they would find something far deadlier. As Reyn sipped his wine, he contemplated the evening ahead. More practice inside the CS realm would sharpen his own skills. He would have to plan how best to deploy these firearms when the time came¡ªperhaps ambush the raiders from behind the castle walls, or stage a sudden volley of gunfire that would send them fleeing. Outside, the late-afternoon sun angled through the narrow windows. A sense of calm settled over Reyn. Though danger crept closer, he no longer felt helpless. He raised his cup silently, toasting to his men. ¡°Let them come,¡± he thought. ¡°They will be exterminated.¡± Chapter 7 Corrected Version: As dawn¡¯s pale light filtered into Reyn¡¯s study, he leaned over a worn oak desk piled high with ledgers and scraps of parchment. Outside, a chill wind stirred the barren fields, and the distant outline of the Black Water Territory¡¯s ramshackle village lay muted under overcast skies. Winter was coming, and with it demands he couldn¡¯t ignore. He felt the weight of a hundred small problems pressing on his shoulders: the Red Claw Bandits lurking beyond the forest¡¯s edge, the possibility of the Fang Thieves taking advantage of winter¡¯s scarcity, and now the strained finances of the territory. Inside, it was warmer but no less tense. The night before, his secret militia had once again drilled in the castle¡¯s dungeon. Muffled gunshots echoed off the stone walls. The chosen men were learning quickly; Thorris reported they were gaining confidence and accuracy. Soon, they might be ready to face the bandits openly. He picked up a quill, dipped it into thin ink, and jotted down tentative changes to the tax ledger. He had decided to ease the serfs¡¯ burdens slightly; starving them only made them more likely to run. If they ran and found refuge in a city under principality rule, he¡¯d lose both labor and face. The Dulips Principality¡¯s stance was unambiguous: if a lord couldn¡¯t retain peasants, he didn¡¯t deserve them. At the same time, he couldn¡¯t ignore the knights¡¯ and officials¡¯ pay. The door creaked open softly. Dohnal, the old butler, entered, carrying a cup of broth and a parchment. He set the cup down gently. ¡°My lord,¡± he said in a hushed voice. ¡°I have the figures you asked for. Reducing serf taxes by a small portion will help curb discontent, but we¡¯ll need to offset the shortfall. You¡¯re postponing tribute to NorthSeet City, but that¡¯s only temporary, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°I know,¡± Reyn said, rubbing his temples. He sipped the broth¡ªweak but warm. ¡°We must find another way to support the territory. If our people see improvements, like better farm tools, they might produce more next year. That would bring in more surplus and allow us to pay everyone without squeezing them dry.¡± Dohnal raised a brow. ¡°Better tools, my lord? Our blacksmith does what he can, but iron is scarce and expensive. Without decent metal, we¡¯re stuck making crude tools out of poor-quality scrap.¡± Reyn sat back, fingers drifting to the mark hidden under his sleeve. He had an idea¡ªrisky, but potentially able to relieve pressure for a while. He couldn¡¯t flood his people with modern weapons openly, but raw materials were another matter. Iron could be obtained from that secret dimension. He could access not just firearms but knives, bayonets, crates, and other metal scraps. If he melted them down, he¡¯d have a steady supply of quality iron. ¡°Dohnal,¡± Reyn said quietly, ¡°have the blacksmith meet me this afternoon. I have a plan to make some simple farm tools. I¡¯ve found a reliable iron supplier through¡­ discreet channels.¡± Dohnal looked surprised. ¡°Iron, my lord?¡± Reyn nodded. ¡°Exactly. As for paying the knights, we¡¯ll sell a portion of this iron to get through this month. Later¡­ we¡¯ll see how things develop.¡± The butler¡¯s posture relaxed. He offered a thin smile. ¡°I will summon the blacksmith after midday. He¡¯s a hard-working man. If he sees high-quality iron like you said, I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be eager to craft anything.¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. With that settled, Dohnal bowed and departed, leaving Reyn alone with his ledgers again. He ran a fingertip along the parchment where he¡¯d reduced the serf taxes and postponed tribute. He would owe NorthSeet City eventually, but perhaps by then he¡¯d have some surplus. He was also counting on introducing some of these items to traveling merchants to gather extra money. After a brief midday meal¡ªmore stale bread and thin porridge¡ªReyn took action. He retreated to his private chamber and summoned the strange store interface only he could access. He scrolled through the menu shelves, selecting items that contained good steel and iron. He found knives and other equipment he could strip down. Unlike firearms¡ªtoo distinctive to risk showing¡ªraw metal could be melted and reshaped without suspicion. He spent what felt like an hour inside that realm, gathering a neat pile of metal tools and weapons in a hidden corner of the castle¡¯s storage upon his return. Barely an hour had passed outside when he emerged, slightly sweaty but pleased. He had assembled a small heap of random metal scraps¡ªenough to yield a decent quantity of high-quality iron once melted. Later, as the afternoon shadows lengthened, he summoned the blacksmith to the castle¡¯s small courtyard. The blacksmith, a stocky man named Ordric with soot-stained hands and a face weathered by years at the forge, approached warily. He was used to lords demanding miracles without providing materials. Reyn intended to invert that expectation. ¡°You called for me, my lord?¡± Ordric asked, bowing stiffly. Reyn gestured to a half-covered cart near the wall. ¡°Ordric, I¡¯m aware you¡¯ve struggled with poor-quality iron. I managed to acquire these scraps,¡± he said, pulling back a curtain to reveal the pile of odds and ends. ¡°I want you to melt it down and forge better farming tools¡ªplows, hoes, scythes. Start with a small batch and distribute them to the most reliable farmers. I need them to start preparing the land for next spring.¡± Ordric¡¯s eyes widened, his rough face lighting up like a child¡¯s. He prodded one piece of metal and let out a low whistle. ¡°This is high-quality. Better than the brittle scrap we¡¯ve had before.¡± He looked up at Reyn, astonished. ¡°My lord, are you sure you want to invest this metal in farming tools and not weapons?¡± Reyn gave a thin smile. ¡°We have enough to manage our defense in other ways.¡± Ordric nodded eagerly. ¡°I¡¯ll start at once, my lord. With this, I can make a dozen top-quality plowshares in a week, maybe more.¡± ¡°Excellent. You may go now and start working,¡± Reyn said, patting the blacksmith¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Understood,¡± Ordric replied, hauling a chunk of metal with surprising strength. He left with a spring in his step. Reyn watched him go, relief washing over him. If the fields produced more next season, he could tax less. That, in turn, would foster loyalty and reduce the chance of serfs running off. It was a fragile ecosystem, but one he now had a plan to nurture. As dusk approached, Reyn went to finalize the month¡¯s wage disbursements. Stepping back into the corridor, Dohnal waited with a small lantern. ¡°A merchant sent a messenger, my lord. They will arrive next week.¡± Reyn exhaled. Another small step forward. Still, unease lingered. The Red Claw Bandits were somewhere in the forest. That night, after a meager supper, Reyn retreated to his chamber. He lit a single candle and reviewed his notes. Soon, he would have a territory worth defending and men ready to defend it. If a bandit raid came now, his militia would give them a shock they wouldn¡¯t forget. The iron from his game dimension could also provide materials for reinforcing the castle¡¯s gates and walls over time. He pictured distributing stronger farm tools next spring¡ªseeing fields plowed deeper, crops growing taller. The candle¡¯s flame flickered, drawing his eye. He checked the window. Beyond the castle walls, darkness stretched across the fields. A breeze carried the scent of damp earth, winter¡¯s chill nipping at the stones. He pulled his cloak tighter and moved to the small bed. Before lying down, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction: he was setting a foundation, step by step. Balanced taxes, secret weaponry, improved agriculture, stable contracts¡ªall the ingredients for a slow revolution. He would do it discreetly. The Red Claws, the Fang Thieves, the church, and rival lords would see only surface changes: a slight improvement in harvests, a marginal increase in quality of life, a few more guards who seemed oddly calm and confident. No one needed to know the true source of iron or the firearms training hidden below ground¡ªat least not until it was too late for them to stop him. As he finally lay down, fully clothed, on the creaking mattress, Reyn closed his eyes and smiled faintly.