A middle-aged man walked across a stone rampart, running his hand against the wall until he reached one end of the walkway. He looked into the horizon and murmured, “Despite the fact that I have been reunited with my demesne, I feel as if something is amiss.”

“Count Marcoir, may I speak?” the man behind him asked.

“No, Lorferd,” a now-shaven Marcoir answered with a grumble.

“Perhaps what you are missing is the fact that half of the castle is missing.”

Marcoir angrily waved his hand towards the direction of Lorferd and groaned, “I didn’t want to hear that!”

“It is hard to deny reality if you do not have a tub of ale, my lord.”

Marcoir balled his hand into a fist and raised it towards the sky, as if he was choking an invisible threat. The bewildered count asked angrily, “Why have they literally stolen my castle?!”

“Who knows.”

“I was mistaken, Lorferd. Those things aren’t demons,” Marcoir concluded with a spit on the ground.

“Is that so, lord? Then-”

“They are worse than demons! At least the kojans would gladly burn everything down and gut you into pieces! These northmen have the gall to sell the castle which my family has owned by centuries! And what’s worse is that they would happily keep the other half of the castle for themselves!” Marcoir shouted towards the sky.

“How could you tell that the northmen kept the rest of your castle?”

Marcoir pointed into the distance and replied, “Is it really a coincidence that half of my castle disappeared, but the northmen suddenly owns half-a-castle down the plains?”

“Maybe,” Lorferd answered with a shrug. “What do you think, Your Majesty?”

Behind the two men, Princess Imma was practicing her sword techniques with a shiny new blade. While the sword looked incredibly boring, one could already tell the quality of the weapon without even having the need to test it.

After a few controlled swings, Imma turned and asked, “Huh? You were talking to me?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We were asking what’s your opinion on the northmen building a castle in rightful Rhankish territory?” Lorferd asked.

Imma frowned at the question and said, “I will deal with that later. I’m more concerned about what the Vyssians and Varangians are up to.”

“Varangians?” Marcoir asked then snapped his fingers. “Ah, right. That’s what those things are called. How fitting. Of course monsters come from the place known to have monsters. I always forget what they are called other than demons or northmen or those things. I blame my failing memory.”

“Your Highness, what do you mean?” Lorferd asked Imma, ignoring Marcoir.

“My spies indicate that the Vyssians are making a new deal with the northerners. It’s related to some sort of Varangian construction project,” Imma replied as she ran her finger through the sword.

“What project? You mean that castle which happened to be in front of my castle?” Marcoir asked.

“No. I think it’s something else.” Imma raised her sword then pointed it towards Marcoir. “Do you see this sword? Not even the royal treasury could give me something like this.”

Marcoir walked up to the princess and inspected the sword himself. “I recognize this sword but my mind is at a loss. Where did you get this from?”

“I bought it from the Varangians.”

“The northmen? They have the capacity to barter?”

“You act as if they are savage creatures, Count Marcoir.”

“Well, excuse you, Your Highness, but I highly doubt they’re humans,” Marcoir vehemently declared.

“Perhaps. I’ve heard of the rumors and such. Regardless of what they are, they’re capable of making weapons that could match up to æscren. I fear what would happen if the Vyssians continue to monopolize the enigmatic northerners at this rate.” Imma sighed as she sheathed her sword. “Count Marcoir, I will need you to open diplomatic ties with the Varangians.”

“What? Why?” Marcoir asked with his brows knitted together.

“You’re the closest to them, and currently the strongest Rhankish lord in the region, other than the elusive duke, of course. I don’t see anyone else suitable for the task of opening Varangian influence into Rhankia.”

Marcoir waved his hand then said, “I know that. But why should I do it for you?”

“Consider this as payback for getting your castle back,” Imma answered with a smile.

After closing his eyes and grumbling to himself silently, Marcoir nodded. “But what do I even talk to those things for?”

“For one,” Imma said as she swept her hands around the castle, “find a way to coax them into a favorable trade deal. The County of Marcoir is quite rich in lumber, and those northerners are quite fond of wood, I heard.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to deal with the same people that took my castle,” Marcoir sighed as he facepalmed.

“That’s not true, Count Marcoir. Technically, it was the Vyssians that took your castle, as the northerners were under the employment of the Vyssians. Therefore, you are going to deal with neutrals, not enemies,” Imma pointed out.

Marcoir shook his head in disapproval then ordered, “Lorferd! Get a band of men, ride out, and meet with the northmen!”

“As you command!” Lorferd replied enthusiastically.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess,” Marcoir grumbled as he watched Lorferd gathered his men.

“What do you mean, Count Marcoir?” Imma asked.

“Do be careful as you use the northmen lest you end up becoming a tool of those things, Your Highness.”

“I’ll try my best to be careful, Count Marcoir.”

“O-Over here!” a young man shouted as he guided a large mob of peasants armed with pitchforks, tool hammers, flimsy-looking farming implements, and even just plain wooden clubs into an open field. A few steps away, out on a dirt path, were a set of metal bars stretching from one horizon to another.

The largest of the mobsters, the leader, pushed the young man to the side to get a closer look at the odd emplacement. Scratching his beard, he asked, “What is this?”

“I-I don’t know! I just found it while I was foraging!” the young man answered nervously.

“Could the spirits have placed these?” an older peasant mused.

“These look too man-made,” one man chimed in.

“And how would ye even know that, ah? I ain’t seen nothing like that in my entire life!” a peasant yelled.

The leader moved forward slowly until he was in the range of his spear. He poked the set of metal bars with the pointy end of his spear, then tapped it repeatedly when nothing happened. At last, the peasants relaxed and approached the mysterious tracks. The villagers tried to move the set of metal bars but it was firmly nailed to the ground.

“This looks like a road, doesn’t it?” a peasant remarked.

“Yeah, you’re right, lad. It could be one of those things only noblemen use, ya know?” another one added.

“Should we tell the lord about this… thing?” the young man asked.

“I agree. Let’s head back to- What the?!”

The leader of the group was interrupted when he saw what he could only describe as a very long and shiny monster moving towards them. The monster made a deafening noise, and the peasants jumped out of harm’s way just in time, most scattering into the forest out of fear.

“Demon worm! Demon worm from the Purgatory! Aaaaah!” the young man screamed as he ran away.

The leader stood his ground bravely until his fellow villagemen could disappear into the forest. With one final glimpse of the ‘demon worm’, the large man also retreated into the forest.

Of course, the demon worm was just a train made by the drones. Inside the train was Weaver and a group of Vyssian nobles. The noblemen were at awe, bunching up against one of the only few windows installed on the train carriage.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Weaver said.

“Indeed! Indeed!” one of the noblemen, the elderly Ecgbert joyed with high spirits. He took a seat after indulging his curiosity before nodding at the endless possibilities the train could give his people. “These things might be expensive, wouldn’t it?”

Weaver shook his head and replied, “I do not think you could afford it, given how you are already contracting our armies.”

“True, true…” Ecgbert muttered.

Eoforwic, sitting next to Ecgbert, suggested, “What if we cancel the plans to buy more castles from the Varangians?”

“It’s still not enough. You wouldn’t be able to buy it. In fact, you can’t. My leader has no desire to sell the train to outsiders.”

“Then what is the point of showing us this?” Ecgbert mused.

“We can lend you the services of the train at a small fee provided that you allow us to build the infrastructure needed to support the train.”

“More land concessions, eh,” Ecgbert hummed as he scratched his head.

“It’s more of a private business agreement,” Weaver pointed out.

“We should let them. If we tax it, our families will stand to gain much,” Eoforwic said.

Ecgbert went silent as he looked around the train. It was uncomfortable, there weren’t many seats, and if there were seats, they were at best a box slapped onto the dull metal floor. “I’ll agree if you could at least make travelling around this thing much more pleasant. The chair’s killing me!”

“Very well. We’ll do our best to make it… comfortable.”