The training grounds behind Castle Windsor had never felt so crowded.
Five hundred veteran soldiers stood in formation, each man wearing the battered armor of past campaigns. Many bore scars on their skin, others on their spirit. These were men who had seen the previous lords fall and comrades die. Men who had bled for a county that, for too long, gave them little in return.
But now, they gathered not to drill with swords or spears. Before them stood long tables lined with unfamiliar weapons smooth wooden stocks, iron barrels, and strange mechanisms. Muskets.
At the front, Aldric addressed them, standing beside Ronald and three dwarves who wore soot-streaked aprons and proud expressions.
"You all know why you are here," Aldric began, his voice steady. "You have served this county with sword and shield. You have fought with heart. Today, I offer you something new. Something that will help us win the battles ahead."
He gestured to the muskets. "These are weapons of fire and thunder called muskets. They do not rely on brute strength. With training, every one of you will hold the power to strike down an enemy before he ever reaches you."
A low murmur ran through the crowd.
"Magic tricks," someone muttered from the back. "Toys."
"How does a stick replace steel?" another said under his breath.
But others were silent, watching, waiting.
Aldric nodded to the dwarves. One stepped forward, loaded the musket with practiced ease, and aimed at a distant training dummy. The soldiers leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
The dwarf pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The sound cracked through the air like a thunderclap. A cloud of smoke burst from the barrel, and the dummy exploded into splinters, the shot tearing through the wooden chest and embedding deep into the hay behind it.
Silence.
A moment passed before the murmurs began again this time laced with awe.
One soldier, a grizzled man named Thorne, turned to his comrade with wide eyes. "Did you see that? That thing… it tore through the dummy like paper."
Another, Joric, frowned, still skeptical. "It is loud, aye, but what happens when it rains? Or when the powder runs out?"
Aldric seemed to sense their hesitation. He stepped forward again.
"These weapons are not perfect. They will fail, jam, misfire but so do swords. The difference is this: with these, you will not need to die before you earn your first kill. You will strike fear into enemies who never thought peasants or veterans could stand against a charging force."
The soldiers looked at one another, thoughts racing behind their eyes.
Thorne clenched his fists. I fought when the pirates came last time. We were overrun. They cut through us like wolves through sheep. But this... this is something they do not know. Maybe we have a chance this time.
Another musket fired. Then another. The soldiers flinched, but some began to smile. One by one, the veterans were brought forward to test the weapons. They fumbled at first spilling powder, loading slowly but the dwarves and castle staff moved among them, correcting grip and stance.
As Thorne raised his musket, he hesitated. "I was never good with a bow," he muttered. "Missed more than I hit."
"You do not need to be good," said a dwarf beside him. "Just steady. Let the powder speak."
He pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The kick jolted his shoulder, and he nearly dropped the musket. But when he looked up, the dummy's head was gone.
Thorne blinked. "By the gods…"
Joric stepped up next. He muttered a prayer under his breath not to aim better, but that this strange tool would not blow off his hand. His shot hit low, but still tore into the target with enough force to stagger it.
Soon the field rang with thunder, shot after shot echoing across the valley. Black powder smoke rolled over the grass, and the veterans began to cheer between firings.
"It is like holding a lightning in your arms," one soldier laughed.
Another raised his musket and shouted, "Let the pirates try their tricks now!"
As the training continued, Aldric watched from a short distance. Ronald stepped beside him, arms crossed.
"They are adapting faster than I expected," Ronald said.
"They have known defeat," Aldric replied. "They will do anything to never taste it again."
A group of soldiers began chanting between shots, banging their muskets against their boots like drums. The rhythm was uneven, raw but it carried through the field.
"Windsor! Windsor!"
Others took it up. "Windsor" Long live Lord Aldric!"
A few veterans dropped to one knee after their first kill-shot. One whispered, "A gift from the heavens…"
Another murmured to no one in particular, "He gave us fire in our hands. Maybe… maybe he really is the one."
Joric wiped sweat from his brow, looking at Aldric in the distance.
"We might eb able to repel the pirates this time."
Thorne nodded silently, watching Aldric with a newfound respect. He is not just a lord. He is a turning point.
Later that day, after the sun dipped low, the last shot rang out, and the soldiers stood, arms sore, ears ringing but spirits high. The skepticism had vanished. In its place stood belief.
Aldric stepped forward one last time seeing the morale of the soldiers reaching sky high.
"I ask not for blind loyalty," he said. "I ask only that you fight with me, not for gold or for glory—but for your homes. For your families. This is our land, and it will not fall."
This time, the silence was different. Not hesitation, but reverence.
Thorne raised his musket. "For Windsor."
Joric followed. "For Lord Aldric."
Soon, five hundred voices rose as one.
"For Lord Aldric! For Windsor!"
The chants filled the air and could be heard throughout the city.
"Start preparing for war, Sir Ronald we will need the help of your Steelheart Order too." Aldric spoke looking at Ronald who was just as astonished as other soldiers after looking at the power of muskets."
"Yes, my lord I shall prepare thoroughly, we will see a end this time." Ronald replied with determination.