Walking the muddy paths of Winterclaw, Mark took a moment to inspect his town's progress from the tiny outpost he had found when arriving in this world.

  The Low District was a sprawling mess. Any space large enough for a proper cabin behind the walls had long been taken, and now many alleys were filled with shanty shacks squeezed together and overflowing with the closely huddled families that took refuge within them.

  There was still plenty of room outside the walls to build a hut or cabin, but few wanted to live without protection. Mark wanted to extend the walls further, but that required manpower, and he had so many projects waiting.

  Goats, donkeys, cattle, and chickens often lived beside people in the Low District, sometimes even in their homes.

  Lines queued up in muddy streets for rigar and root vegetables. Mark even heard rumors of people selling their family members into slavery to pay for food.

  The scene was more sobering than he had expected, but what choice did they have? He could hardly afford to offer free meals since the profits from rigar were almost single-handedly paying his people’s wages, and the promise of secure jobs was still one of the most persuasive reasons for moving to Winterclaw. Unfortunately, that meant many with families sought the place out, coming with small children and the infirm who could not work.

  Child labor was also pervasive throughout Winterclaw. Some of the scenes Mark witnessed formed a knot in his stomach, but he reminded himself that this was a result of the ongoing war ravaging this land and not a result of his policies. If these people weren’t here, they would be out in the wilderness, vulnerable to everything imaginable.

  We’ve come so far, but it feels like we’ve barely begun. I just wanted to survive this bullshit, but it feels like I’ve been called to a greater mission now.

  Mark sighed. He was ready for the call, but it felt like he was staring up to the peak from the base of a mountain he had just spent months climbing.

  Passing one of the training grounds set up for his people, Mark stopped to watch a dozen warriors practice a spear routine. They moved forward in formation, shields held high, and halted at the sound of a whistle. Trainers then charged them, holding up cushions for protection. When the trainers hit the wall of shields, the spearmen pushed back against them with their shields, pushing the trainers back, and once distance was created, they stabbed forward with their spears in unison.

  The whistles had been Mark’s idea, but he left the combat training and formations up to the experts, and it appeared to be working. He was pleasantly surprised at how well his soldiers worked together, especially since their ranks increasingly became a mix of Imperials and commoners.

  Beside them—separated by a timber rail—were straw targets being hit by training archers. They, too, were trained to work in part of a formation. To avoid confusion between the soldiers, the captains of the archer battalions blew horns to organize their troops.

  Mark watched as the line of archers nocked their arrows and awaited command. The moment the horn sounded, they released, and a wave of arrows slammed across the straw targets.

  We’re actually starting to look like a real army.

  Turning to walk away, Mark spotted a couple of Winterclaw’s guards standing around. They appeared on their best behavior whenever he walked the streets, but he knew the rumors. Bribes had become commonplace, and corruption was synonymous with Winterclaw. It was another problem for another, hopefully more peaceful day.

  A couple of wagons rolled in through the gates as he passed it, flanked by their caravan guards. The wagons were filled with greatly needed rigar bark and other food goods that now accounted for nearly half of Winterclaw’s consumption, and the growing town was only becoming increasingly reliant on food gathering from external settlements. The same wagons would leave in a few days, returning with the processed product and other goods.

  Children ran out to greet their fathers as they walked into town, likely having been gone for weeks.

  Marching down from the Imperial District, special guards from Winterclaw’s coffers came out to meet the caravan, and the leaders opened secret compartments and emptied them of coins—mostly iron—from the caravan’s sales. These coins would be taken back to the coffers for a short stay until they were paid back out to the people employed by the tiny kingdom.

  Passing homes on his way to the High District, he eyed people splitting logs for firewood and kids playing with makeshift toys and marveled at how every inch of his little settlement seemed to be filled with life.

  Passing through the gates, the difference in organization between the High District and Low was undeniable. Shanties didn’t fill every empty space, and the people's wealth was evident in the thick furs and iron weapons or tools they carried.

  Cabins in the High District had grown in value and now attracted prices of hundreds of iron coins, leading the poor families to sell their cabins and move into the Low District. After all, a hundred iron coins could buy many things and essentially pull a family out of poverty.

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  The High District had also become home to most of Winterclaw’s wealthy. This was where the investors who owned land and contracts mostly lived, even if their wealth was concentrated on the forestry outside of the town.

  On the other hand, the Imperial District resembled a government district more and more every day, aided by the fact that most of Mark’s direct reports, like his acolytes, had transitioned straight into roles within his new government.

  Not that anybody complained. The Imperial District was the safest district, and its residents had secure jobs and huge influence in the growing kingdom, making up for the fact that many within the High District were actually wealthier.

  Taverns built into cabins were also increasingly common, selling liquor distilled from rigar bark. Mark knew this could be another source of revenue if he could open more trade routes and bring ales and wines into Winterclaw, but it was too risky to use the throne ships in the current situation.

  His little trade network was working brilliantly and expanding its influence and reach over a larger region every day; however, it had limitations. This region of the Frontier really didn’t have anything much else to offer in terms of resources that Winterclaw didn’t already have. Sure, it could provide additional food, but that was about it.

  Especially with the collapse of fur trading with the Imperium, they had essentially no high-value trade. Even the mine wasn’t expected to bring much wealth into Winterclaw since metal was vitally needed, and Mark would be using much of what they mined for their own ventures.

  Returning to the Imperial District, Mark made his way to his cabin. The ceremony to declare the kingdom’s new fiefs had drawn near, and he had to rest.

  He had already sent out invitations and advised the four soon-to-be nobles what he was offering them, and as expected, they had all accepted.

  Glancing over the preparations one last time, he turned to his bed. The keep was almost halfway through construction, and he couldn't wait to move into new accommodation. Visits to the Warmandy temple had made him more envious than he had been since arriving in this land, and he couldn’t wait to add some creature comforts to the impressive building he was constructing. However, even once it was completed, there would be much more work required to finish filling out the internals.

  ***

  Close to a hundred people gathered in a large hall on the bottle level of the keep. This was the same room Mark used to knight his knights.

  Both commoners and Imperials were crowded in the hall. Some were from Mark’s own close allies, and others were in service to his new noble vassals.

  Payon had been busy fashioning brooches from gold and silver to be handed down to them, on top of the nails and tools Mark had ordered for their new fiefdoms, keeping the smithy pluming smoke all night long for several days straight. But the smith went along with it happily. More and more apprentices had been placed under his wing. The smithy had already been expanded twice to accommodate additional work, making Payon a very important person himself, leading to him often being treated like a noble.

  Between the crowded onlookers, four people kneeled at the front of an aisle parted between the crowd. Their heads were down as Mark made his way over to them, and they remained still.

  “Winterclaw has to expand its borders if it is going to continue to grow and face the challenges ahead of it,” Mark said, talking to the crowd. “These four individuals are people I have chosen not just for the skills and abilities they have shown but for the potential they possess. It hasn’t been an easy decision, but a necessary one,” he cleared his throat.

  “Reida. A skilled archer, fletcher, and a former noble of a great clan and proven leader. She has grown her own retinue of loyal followers and multiple successful businesses in and around Winterclaw. For these reasons, it has become clear to me that she is a capable leader and someone who can expand our borders. I grant her the County of Anders. Please rise, Countess Reida.”

  Mark clipped one of the brooches onto the chest of the hardy, stone-faced woman.

  “Leonard. An experienced trader and caravan leader, he is skilled with both the sword and commerce. The caravan guards who have worked under him all remain loyal, and I believe he will bring great opportunities to Winterclaw as a builder of economic bridges. For these reasons, I grant him the Barony of Frostwind. Please rise, Baron Leonard.”

  The cocky caravan leader rose with a smirk and winked at Mark as he clipped the brooch on.

  “Trayox. A man built like a mountain. He has proven himself as a leader from simple origins, becoming the unofficial head of Winterclaw’s construction. His followers are some of the most loyal in the entire kingdom, and recently, he has proven that his heart is in the right place, saving me and the wedding party in the Warmandy temple from a poisoner. For these reasons, I grant him the County of Dhamhi. Please rise, Count Trayox.”

  The large man grunted and bowed his head as Mark clipped the brooch on.

  “And finally. A man most people know very well,” Mark said, internally sighing. This had been his hardest decision and one he still wasn’t sure about. But he needed someone strong and competent if it was going to work. The land bordering the foothills wasn’t just dangerous because of the nearby miasma but also because it was the closest region to their Imperial neighbors, and while they needed to expand if they were going to achieve their goals, they also couldn’t afford to send people to their deaths.

  “Trumus. The well-known guard captain and owner of several businesses is easily one of the most recognizable faces in Winterclaw. His men have kept the streets safe and make up some of the most skilled warriors within our army. There can be little doubt of the value he brings to Winterclaw, and it is for these reasons that I grant him what is likely the most challenging region the Kingdom of Winterclaw stakes claim to. I, therefore, grant Trumus the March of Eastmarch. Please rise, Marshal Trumus.”

  The short, ratty man rose with a salesman’s grin, flashing his teeth as Mark placed the brooch on his chest.

  “Please, make some noise for Winterclaw’s first vassal lords. There will no doubt be more to come as we expand outward and lay claim to this land. We shall strive to bring peace and stability to people who have been through far too much. Let us realize the potential this land has to offer.”

  Cheers erupted from the crowd as the four newly minted lords turned to them.

  Mark relaxed, smiling as he scanned the crowd. He knew the risks involved with the people he had elevated, but decisive actions were required if he hoped to pull the Frontier out of its dire predicament.