Chapter 160: I COMMANDED IT!

Only after ensuring the supplies and soldiers departed the city did Aron make his way back to the Keep. It was easy for him to reach the Keep in just two hours since he was flying alone this time while Kasumi hid in his shadow. 

The caravan, burdened by a vast array of medical supplies, food rations, weaponry, and reinforcements, would take two to three days to reach the Keep due to the treacherous mountain ascent. Aron couldn't help but marvel at the sheer volume of resources the terrified little former mayor had managed to amass.

Landing gracefully near the west wall, Aron used the hidden passage Eamon had revealed before. Under the cloak of night and with Kasumi's shadow magic, he was able to bypass the guards and enter the closed training room Eamon had prepared for him.

Early in the morning, Aron emerged from the training room, stretching his muscles as if he'd been diligently training all along. Crossing the courtyard, Aron acknowledged the watchful guards, clad in their new armor, who met him with respectful nods. Unaware of his secret mission, he intended to keep it that way.

Kaah!

With a flap of wings and a low, guttural croak, a raven descended from the sky and landed gracefully on his shoulder.

"Hey there, buddy! I missed you," Aron greeted warmly, stroking the raven's dark feathers. "How are you doing?"

"Kaaah!...fine…things here have been quiet," Raum croaked, enjoying Aron's warm touch. He missed it too, but wouldn't admit it out loud. "Were you fast?" he asked.

Aron nodded, his hand resting gently on Raum's feathers. "Yeah, I had to wrap things up quickly."

Glancing around the courtyard, Aron noticed a sight that brought a smile of pride to his lips. The courtyard teemed with watchers undergoing rigorous training. Their fierce expressions revealed they hadn't slacked off in his absence.

"Another five hundred push-ups!" A silver-haired man clad in full steel armor and a wolf cloak bellowed, his voice echoing across the courtyard.

"YES SIR!" Without hesitation, the watchers dropped to the snowy ground, their bare chests rising and falling with exertion. Despite the winter chill, they pushed themselves, their muscles straining as they obeyed the command without question.

'That's it, my knights,' Aron thought with admiration as he watched them push themselves to their limits. A little more, and they would be ready to face whatever Fenris would throw at them.

"Lord Commander!" Lieutenant Eamon approached swiftly upon noticing Aron's presence.

"!!!" The moment the watchers saw their Lord Commander standing in the distance observing them, they immediately straightened their postures, their movements becoming even more disciplined and precise.

"Lord Commander, you've returned... ahem... I mean, you've completed your training?" Eamon quickly corrected himself.

Aron acknowledged Eamon's correction with a faint smile. "Yes, Lieutenant. Training has been...productive."

Lieutenant Eamon nodded, understanding the hidden meaning in Aron's words. Aron then requested that Eamon follow him to the Keep's library.

Aron and Eamon made their way to the library while Raum decided to rest, having not been able to do so in the past few days. Upon entering, Aron found Keeper Eldarion standing there waiting for him.

"Ah, my lord, you've returned," the elf approached with a warm smile.

Aron chuckled before replying, "Stop playing dumb, Keeper. I know you sensed me the moment I stepped foot in the Keep."

The Keeper's smile widened, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "You have me there, my lord," Eldarion admitted, his tone light. "But it is always a pleasure to see you return safely."

He gestured for them to sit at a small table, where Aron could recount his mission to the southern city.

…

The explanation didn't take long, as Aron only shared what was necessary. He revealed the culprit behind the parasite, their demise, and the good news about the incoming caravan of supplies and soldiers.

"Do we awaken them as watchers?" Eamon inquired.

"No," Aron shook his head. "That would be unfair to the watchers here. Even though they were criminals forced to serve, they pledged their loyalty to me, and for that, they were rewarded."

Lieutenant Eamon nodded with a smile, understanding Aron's point. 'He gave them a sense of belonging and superiority, transforming them from common criminals into legendary watchers.'

Aron continued, "From now on, only the worthy will be chosen to join the ranks of the watchers."

Eldarion nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "It is a wise decision, my lord. We must ensure that those who serve as watchers are truly committed to protecting the Wall and its people."

Aron inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Indeed." He then swiftly switched the topic to something more urgent: the monster waves.

When Aron recounted Grunt's ability to sense the waves and what he had discovered, Eldarion abruptly jumped from his seat in shock.

"I...Impossible!" he exclaimed, quickly summoning ten ancient books with a wave of his hand. As a Keeper, he had meticulously recorded each monster wave the Wall had faced—the types of creatures, tactics employed, and the timing of each wave.

Using runes to swiftly scan through the ten books, Eldarion spotted a small, easily missed detail. For the past sixty-three years, the monster waves had been arriving one minute earlier than the year before. This escalated to a full hour three years ago, and the following year, the waves came a week early.

'That cannot be a coincidence,' Eldarion thought, recalling the events preceding the waves two years prior. The previous Lord Commander, driven by desperation to retrieve the secret of the watcher potion, had launched a risky campaign beyond the Wall. However, the campaign was quickly cut short when they encountered a monstrous horde.

Suffering heavy losses, they retreated. But two days later, the monster waves arrived. Back then, Eldarion believed the Lord Commander's actions had triggered the event. However, now he began to doubt that theory.

'But that doesn't explain last year's waves; they came at the exact time,' he messaged his template, feeling a headache starting to bloom.

"No need to dwell on it, Keeper," Aron suddenly said, his voice steady. "We cannot control whether the waves come on time or weeks early. What we can control is our preparations and readiness to face them." His words were a reminder of their duty and the importance of focusing on what they could influence rather than dwelling on the mysteries beyond their control.

Eldarion, though still troubled by the implications of the shifting wave timings, nodded in agreement. "You're right, my lord. Our focus should be on strengthening our defenses and training our watchers."

Lieutenant Eamon spoke up, his voice steady. "My lord, with the incoming caravan of supplies and reinforcements, we will be well-equipped to face these waves head-on. The watchers' training has been rigorous, and their dedication is unwavering."

Aron nodded, his expression resolute. "Indeed, Lieutenant. Increase their training regimens. Push them to their limits, but only for a week or two. Then, slowly lower the intensity to avoid burnout. We need them at their peak performance when the time comes."

Eldarion and Eamon both nodded in agreement, understanding the importance of balancing preparation with sustainability.

…

Three days passed since Aron returned from the city. He spent most of his time training with his men. What surprised him most was that whenever he pushed the training intensity, his men would ask for more.

'Great! That's how real men should be,' he thought with pride.

When not training, he would delve into the Watchers' archive, reading about the different monsters they could expect during the waves, their strengths, and weaknesses.

However, by the fourth day, with no sign of the caravan, worry began to gnaw at Aron. The supplies were crucial for the Wall's defense, and without them, things would become considerably more difficult.

"Where are they?" he mumbled, fighting the urge to take flight and search for them himself. Just as he was about to head to the archive, a shout echoed from one of the watchtowers.

"Riders approaching!"

Aron's heart quickened as he rushed to the wall, his eyes scanning the approaching figures. He spotted a group of riders, the vanguard of the caravan, approaching from a distance. Relief washed over him, and he breathed a sigh of gratitude.

Lieutenant Eamon joined him at the wall, his eyes bright with anticipation. "My lord, it seems our caravan has finally arrived. The supplies and reinforcements we need are here."

Aron nodded, his expression grateful. "Indeed." He then issued an order. "Lieutenant, make preparations to receive them. Have the men armed and ready."

Although Aron held Theodore's life in his hands, the man wouldn't dare betray him, knowing the parasite would devour him from within. However, the men he sent were a different story. Despite the low chance of betrayal, Aron wouldn't risk receiving the caravan without a show of strength.

Twenty minutes later...

"OPEN THE GATES!" Eamon bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls.

As the gates swung open and the first soldiers stepped through, Eamon's expression instantly morphed from excitement to dread.

"What happened? Report!" Eamon demanded, his voice sharp.

Some of the men bore injuries, blood staining their armor. As Eamon tilted his head to get a better look at the incoming wagons, he noticed several were broken, and more wounded people emerged from them.

A man who appeared to be the captain of the caravan dismounted from his horse. Eamon immediately approached him, demanding an explanation for the caravan's state. However, the captain wasn't in the mood to be questioned.

SLAP! 

With the back of his right hand, he struck Eamon across the face. "Who the hell do you think you are, demanding something from me?" the captain snarled.

"You bastard—" Eamon started to lunge at the captain but stopped short as he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He turned to see Aron standing behind him, his face burning with rage.

"Answer the question," Aron said in a calm voice that belied the fury simmering beneath the surface.

The captain, his hand still raised from the slap, met Aron's gaze. "I answer to Lord Theodore, not some lackey. We had a rough journey, and this man here thinks he can question me?"

"Sigh…Fine, I'll explain," the captain conceded, removing his fancy white gloves with a flourish. "We were ambushed by a horde of orcs."

Aron's eyes narrowed at the captain's words. "Orcs, you say?" he repeated.

"Yes, orcs. Big, dumb, savage creatures. They attacked the rear, stole some supplies, and captured a few men and women. It was a harrowing experience, nearly cost me my life," the captain exaggerated, puffing out his chest.

Aron narrowed his eyes, scanning the captain from head to toe. He then shifted his focus to the men behind him. Unlike the weary, wounded soldiers covered in dirt and blood, the captain appeared pristine. His skin practically glowed with health, his cheeks were full and rosy, and a thin, meticulously groomed mustache adorned his face, making anyone who gazed at him want to punch his bloody face. 

To top it all off, his armor was so polished that not a speck of dirt marred its surface, not even on his boots.

Thud!

"Servant! Lead me to my chambers. This journey has been a grueling ordeal. Be thankful some of the provisions and the slaves, Lord Theodore deigned to send actually arrived." The captain sneered and threw his white glove at Aron.

Aron couldn't help but dwell on the missing supplies, the lost men, and the unseen Orcs. He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice the white glove sailing towards him until it connected with a stinging slap on his chin before falling to the ground.

"These are my prized gloves," the captain sneered, his face contorted with self-importance. "See that they are cleaned with utmost care."

Aron, however, held the captain's gaze for a few measured seconds before speaking in a low, surprisingly composed voice. "Lieutenant," he commanded, "cut his hand, please." 

"Eh?" The captain was momentarily confused by those words.

"Yes," Eamon didn't question. He simply reached for his sword hilt, clearly ready to obey. Yet, something stayed his hand. He remained frozen in that pose, the only movement a slight flutter of his wolfskin cloak on his right shoulder, as if a gentle breeze brushed against it.

"Done, my lord," Eamon said, his hand dropping away from the sword.

"Done with what? Explain yourself, you lowlife–...Eh?" The captain's words trailed off as he looked down at his hand, only to find it lying there on the snowy ground.

"AHHH!" The scream finally erupted, piercing the air. Blood spurted from the raw stump where his hand had been, staining the pristine snow crimson.

Eamon's strike was so fast and clean that only Aron, with his dragon eyes, was able to see it.

"Shut up!" Aron swiftly clamped a hand over the captain's mouth, silencing him. Then he hoisted the captain high in the air.

Seeing this, the caravan soldiers were shocked. They instinctively reached for their weapons, but before they could react...

"WATCHERS!" Eamon roared, his voice echoing off the walls.

"AHOO!" In response, the watchers materialized around the caravan soldiers with a thunderous battle cry, their weapons drawn and their eyes cold as steel. The soldiers froze, their hands hovering over their weapons. 

From the moment the soldiers stepped inside the Keep, they had been completely oblivious to the army of watchers that surrounded them. 

Giant men in menacing full plate armor with wolf cloaks, wielding massive spiked tower shields and colossal lances. Dwarves in the same type of armor pointed strange-looking crossbows in their direction. 

"LISTEN UP!" Aron's voice roared, reaching the ears of everyone. "You are not here because of your lord's grace!"

"You're here because I…FUCKING COMMANDED IT!" 

"!!!" A tremendous pressure descended upon them, forcing the soldiers to their knees.

Aron turned his gaze back to the captain, his grip tightening around the man's throat. "Your lord is nothing more than my little slave," he said through gritted teeth. 

Then, with a thought, a crimson flame engulfed his hand, crackling with intense heat. The captain's eyes widened in terror as he felt the searing flames consume his skin. He didn't have a chance to scream before his entire being turned to ash within seconds.

As the captain's ashes scattered in the wind, the caravan soldiers stared at Aron in a mixture of awe and terror. The display of power had left them shaken. They quickly lowered their weapons, their eyes darting nervously between Aron and the surrounding watchers.

Aron's gaze swept across the soldiers, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "You will answer to me now," he declared, his voice like steel.

"KNEEL!"