The descent into the Oryn Marches was a grueling exercise in tension. The caravan moved at a crawl, the "medical sledge" at the rear becoming the silent center of gravity for the entire unit. Every time the sledges hit a bump, Deacon's head would snap back, his eyes searching the litter where Julian lay under a pile of furs, his life measured in the shallow, whistling breaths that Kiley worked tirelessly to maintain.
Deacon had transitioned back into "Leader Mode," but it was a brittle, heightened state. He was over-communicating, checking every harness twice, and snapping at any militiaman who let their guard drop. It was a classic "defensive posture"—he was trying to control the external world because his internal world was in shambles.
By the time the white limestone walls of Oryn appeared on the horizon, the sun was setting, casting long, orange shadows across the snow. Unlike the rugged, functional architecture of Oakhaven, Oryn was a city of grace and pretension. Tall spires and arched gateways spoke of a wealth that hadn't yet been bled dry by the winter.
"Listen up," Deacon addressed the unit as they approached the city gates. He sat tall in his saddle, his face clean of blood but his eyes cold. "We are here as the House of Cassian. We are here as the masters of the North. I don't care how tired you are. I don't care how many Goblins you killed today. You will walk into this city like you own the ground beneath your feet. Brandt, you're on. Kiley, keep that litter covered. I don't want the Southern Lords seeing an Imperial Inquisitor in our custody until I say so."
The gates opened to a cacophony of trumpets and murmuring crowds. The "Iron Caravan" rolled into the central plaza, a somber and imposing sight. The six sledges, with their mysterious, canvas-wrapped cargo, looked like a funeral procession for the old world.
The Southern Lords were waiting. They were men of silk and soft hands, led by Count Valerius, a man whose family had controlled the grain trade for three centuries. He looked at Deacon with a mixture of amusement and disdain.
"Lord Cassian," Valerius said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "We heard you were bringing a 'miracle' from the frozen wastes. I must say, you look more like a man who has been dragged through a hedge than a bringer of divine gifts."
Deacon dismounted, his boots striking the cobblestones with a heavy thud. He didn't bow. He didn't offer a polite greeting. He walked straight up to Valerius, stopping inches from the man's face.
"I have been dragged through a mountain pass filled with Imperial-backed Goblins, Count," Deacon said, his voice a low, threatening rumble. "I have buried my men in the snow. I am not here for pleasantries. I am here to change the way your world works."
He turned to the lead sledge and ripped the canvas away. The Mark I Seed Drill stood revealed, its brass gears gleaming in the torchlight.
"This is the Mark I," Deacon announced to the gasping crowd. "It doesn't ask for your prayers. It doesn't care about your titles. It puts seed in the ground at a rate that will triple your harvest. I am going to demonstrate it tomorrow morning at dawn. And then, we are going to talk about the price."
"Gold?" Valerius asked, his eyes already tracing the lines of the machine.
"No," Deacon said, his thoughts flickering to the broken man in the wagon. "Alliances. I want your iron. I want your coal. And I want your word that when the Empire comes for Oakhaven, the South stands with the North."
As the lords began to whisper and swarm the machine, Deacon walked back to the medical wagon. He pulled back the flap just an inch. Julian was awake, his eyes wide and glassy with fever. He looked at Deacon, and for a fleeting second, the "Sergeant" and the "Lord" both vanished, leaving only David.
"Go back to sleep, kid," Deacon whispered. "I'm not letting anyone else touch you."
He closed the flap and turned back to the city, his face setting into the hard, uncompromising mask of the Shadow Command. The trade deal was the objective. The brother was the soul. And for the first time since this new life began, Deacon knew exactly what he was fighting for.