Steel and the Warband
Inside the forge, the air was thick with heat.
Every time the hammer came down on the raw iron, red sparks scattered in all directions.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The man swinging the hammer was Drake Stark. His hardened back muscles rippled in the glow of the firelight.
As a lord's son, he could have leaned on his status and chosen a life of ease. He never did. Even back when Bran was squandering his days in debauchery, Drake had been in the family forge, sweating as he beat iron into shape.
Bran, watching his brother work, spoke up.
"Brother, do you have a minute? There's something I want to discuss."
The hammering stopped.
Drake looked up at Bran with an intrigued expression, then slowly set the hammer down and stepped outside the forge.
"You, coming to see me? What's this about, Bran?"
Bran got straight to the point.
"Could I borrow Section 4 of Wing F in the forge?"
"Section 4 of Wing F?"
Drake's eyes narrowed.
"That's where all the weapon-forging equipment is concentrated."
Bran hurried to add.
"Of course, I'm not asking to use it for free. I'll pay a usage fee of one ton of iron ingots every month."
Iron ingots. In a forge, they were a resource worth more than coin.
Drake studied Bran anew.
'If this were the old days, I'd have told him to quit spouting nonsense.'
But Bran was no longer the degenerate he'd once been. Word had spread through the family that he possessed a heaven-sent talent for elixirs, and he was steadily earning recognition from the elders, the Master of the Elixir Hall included.
Even so, Drake tilted his head.
"Why the forge all of a sudden? Why not just keep making elixirs?"
Bran answered with perfect composure.
"Elixir ingredients aren't something you can always get your hands on, brother."
The elixirs made from the Chauwang's essence had lined his pockets handsomely, but the Chauwang population in the Forest of Monsters had plummeted as a result.
'A forge, on the other hand, promises steady income, rain or shine.'
And Bran's ambitions went far beyond simple weapon-making.
'If my engineering knowledge joins forces with GPT's database, I can build things this world has never seen. And the first step is securing a forge of my own.'
Drake crossed his arms and sank into thought for a moment. Then he spoke, slowly.
"If you're still set on borrowing it... five tons of iron ingots. That's the least I can lend it for."
"What? Five tons?"
Bran's voice rose.
"That's an outrageous demand."
Drake merely shrugged.
"Take it or leave it. I factored in the losses from letting the forge sit idle. We're drowning in commissions as it is."
He looked Bran dead in the eye.
"The choice is yours."
Five tons of iron ingots. Roughly speaking, enough to hire five hundred laborers for a full month.
Bran let out a short sigh.
'For that price, I might as well build my own forge from the ground up.'
The negotiation fell through, and Bran walked out of the forge.
"Fine. On to Plan B."
Bran headed for the Elixir Hall.
The moment he stepped inside, the fragrance of medicinal herbs — richer than on his last visit — brushed against his nose.
As soon as word spread that Bran had arrived, Leon Stark, Master of the Elixir Hall and his own uncle, flung the door open and came rushing out.
"Ah, welcome, my boy! My dear nephew!"
Leon spread his arms wide, his face beaming. His manner was far warmer than it had ever been before.
Bran smirked to himself.
'I suppose I have the new elixir method to thank for that?'
Thanks to the manufacturing process Bran had developed, the Elixir Hall had regained its former vigor, and word was that Leon's standing in the council of elders had risen sharply as well.
Leon nudged Bran with his elbow and winked.
"That Single-Horned Python essence you gave me last time — it paid off in spades."
A satisfied smile spread across his face.
"My wife's attitude has completely changed. There's meat on the breakfast table now..."
Then he dropped his voice to a whisper.
"These days, the merest brush of a hand and it springs right up. I feel like a young man again."
Bran tossed out a sly quip.
"Shall I be expecting a new little cousin soon, then?"
Leon threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Once the mood had ripened nicely, Bran eased into the real matter at hand.
"Uncle, does the Elixir Hall happen to have any buildings going spare? There's something I'd like to use one for."
Leon stroked his chin, pondering for a moment.
"Hmm... a spare building, you say... What would you be needing it for?"
Bran laid out the broad strokes of his plan.
"I intend to fill it with specially commissioned equipment and run it as a forge. It will be something entirely apart from the existing one."
Leon regarded Bran with evident interest. To him, Bran was a prodigy of elixirs.
"And what brilliant scheme is my nephew cooking up this time? Very well. I owe you a debt anyway — I'll have a building cleared out and ready for you within the week."
Bran smiled and bowed his head.
"Thank you, Uncle."
The building Leon had secured exceeded all expectations. Along with a spacious yard, it boasted a compact main building and an enormous workshop.
Bran surveyed the grounds, mapping out how to use every inch.
'The small building for the office, the wide workshop for the forge. Perfect.'
Soon after, the special equipment he'd ordered began arriving one piece after another. Custom-built gear commissioned through the Stella Trading Company was assembled bit by bit, and the new forge slowly took shape.
At the same time, Bran posted recruitment notices for soldiers and blacksmiths alike.
And today was the day of the soldier recruitment interviews.
The training grounds had been converted into an interview hall. When Bran arrived, Ygritte was already out front, waiting.
She had originally belonged to the "Monster Defense Corps," but had recently transferred under Bran's command. The soldiers under her had moved with her, which meant Bran's warband had a respectable shape to it from the very start.
Ygritte spoke in her captivating, low voice.
"You've arrived, Young Master."
Bran studied her figure and sensed a subtle change.
'Her energy has grown even stronger in just a few days.'
As her body hardened through training, her beauty had blossomed like a spring flower. Even the applicants gathered for the interviews were visibly awestruck by her looks.
Bran smiled warmly.
"Your achievements have climbed even higher since I last saw you."
Ygritte nodded, smiling.
"Yes, and all thanks to you, Young Master. With my Cold Blood Disease fully cured, my swordsmanship has advanced by leaps and bounds."
She had always been a genius of the sword. Her illness had simply held that talent in check — and now, at last, the dam had broken. Every ounce of effort she had piled up over the years proved anything but wasted, and she was growing faster than ever.
Bran nodded, satisfied.
"Good, Ygritte. Take the lead on these interviews. Anyone who passes will be your subordinates to train, after all."
Ygritte stepped forward and called out in a resolute voice.
"Now! We begin the first-stage physical inspection."
Tension swept across the training grounds in an instant. The applicants formed a single line, and Ygritte called them forward one by one, checking the condition of each body.
"Too short. Rejected."
"No calluses on your hands — you've never held a weapon in your life. Rejected."
The cold, dispassionate evaluations went on and on.
Bran looked over the applicants filling the training grounds. Among them were men with past military service, and others who had lived by the mercenary trade. Some were young and short on experience, but anyone with an exceptional physique or raw potential made the shortlist.
Then one man caught his eye. Tall, with a solid, powerful frame.
Bran walked over and asked.
"Your name?"
"Kyle, Young Master!"
The ringing voice carried across the entire training ground.
"Combat experience?"
"Five years with the Jaguar Mercenary Corps. I fought in the Battle of Kweblang Hills, and most recently I served as a guard for Count Lester's household."
Bran nodded.
"Good. Say your commander gives an unjust order in the middle of battle. What do you do?"
Kyle considered for a moment, then answered firmly.
"If the order were unreasonable, I would comply first — but I'd search for alternatives at the same time, so the situation doesn't deteriorate."
Bran went on to put questions directly to several other promising applicants as well.
"What would you do if the enemy were boy soldiers not yet fifteen?"
"What if a comrade collapsed in the rear while you were holding the front line?"
Bran wasn't measuring combat strength alone. Loyalty, battlefield experience, discipline, and even temperament — everything was under scrutiny.
The interviews stretched on for a long while, and after rigorous screening, thirty soldiers were finally chosen.
Bran lined the successful candidates up before him and called out, his eyes sharp as blades.
"From this moment on, you are soldiers of Bran Stark's personal warband. But remember this — you will not be mere soldiers. You will become the strongest warband in this world."
Tension and anticipation rose together on the soldiers' faces.
"And the first step on that road is training. If you can't endure the training, don't even dream of surviving what comes after."
Ygritte stepped forward and made her declaration.
"From today, I am Knight Ygritte, and I will be in charge of your training. You will learn everything, thoroughly — from weapon handling to holding formation. Be ready for it."
From that day forward, Bran's warband began its march in earnest.
