Galen departed from the royal castle, his steps heavy with a theatrical dejection. He muttered under his breath, the words "stingy" and "miser" punctuating his grumbling monologue.
Back within the familiar confines of his personal courtyard, he found Omar and Varokal already awaiting his return. Their expressions were a mixture of anticipation and professional concern.
"Omar, Varokal," Galen began, his voice laced with a hint of desperation, "do either of you know any quick ways to acquire a substantial amount of wealth?"
The question visibly startled both men. Omar and Varokal exchanged bewildered glances.
Asking them to lead a charge into the heart of battle? No problem. Strategizing troop deployments and tactical maneuvers? They excelled at it. But seeking their advice on matters of finance was akin to requesting a blind man to navigate a complex labyrinth. Such inquiries were best directed to Harmon Caven, the astute caravan leader.
As Galen's most trusted confidants, handpicked and elevated from the ranks of the militia, Omar and Varokal were not merely placeholders from his past gaming life. They possessed genuine talent, remarkable potential, and an unwavering drive to succeed.
Both hailed from humble origins within Stromgarde, and their rapid rise to become advanced professionals in their twenties was a testament to their exceptional abilities, a rarity within the human kingdoms.
Galen foresaw a future where both would attain master rank with absolute certainty, and perhaps, with a touch of fortune, even ascend to the ranks of legend.
Galen's faith in them was mirrored by King Thoras himself, who recognized their exceptional qualities. Much like his own trusted advisors, General Olrest and General Amaren, they had been selected for royal service in their youth and had achieved their current status through sheer dedication and hard work.
This tradition of nurturing talent for the royal heirs was a hallmark of Stromgarde's wise governance.
However, Galen's unusual question also highlighted the distinct differences between the two men.
Even as Galen realized he had posed his query to the wrong audience, Omar paused, his brow furrowed in thought. Then, he addressed the prince with a measured tone, "Your Highness, does this pursuit of 'quick wealth' necessarily exclude methods beyond conventional commerce?"
Intrigued that Omar actually possessed a viable idea, Galen replied, his interest piqued, "Elaborate on your thoughts."
"Your Highness," Omar began, his voice thoughtful, "my understanding of traditional commerce is that it involves transferring wealth from the pockets of others into our own, a task naturally suited to Harmon's expertise."
"But our need is for a significant influx of capital, and trade is not the only avenue. Your Highness, I have heard tales that the troll tribes possess a unique custom of burial with gold, and they have a predilection for crafting elaborate ornaments from the precious metal."
At this point, Omar fell silent, his meaning clear. Those who needed to grasp the implications would understand; there was no need for explicit details.
It was undeniable that Omar, the future commander of the Scarlet Crusade, possessed a strategic mind beyond mere battlefield tactics.
Varokal's eyes gleamed with understanding, a predatory glint entering his gaze. Galen, too, felt a sudden surge of enlightenment. Omar's words had broadened his perspective. Wealth acquisition was not solely confined to the exchange of goods through caravans. His own thinking, he realized, had become too narrowly focused on conventional means.
Omar's suggestion hinted at the concept of "war dividends," a form of revenue that demanded a more aggressive approach. It required victory in conflict, a display of overwhelming force – resources that Galen did not yet possess in abundance.
I may not have the strength yet, but I can certainly leverage the strength of others, Galen mused, a plan beginning to form in his mind. The kingdom's nobility, particularly the wealthier among them, possessed considerable fortunes. Some also commanded their own private retinues of soldiers. He could find a way to persuade them to contribute their resources towards his goals. And, of course, they would be suitably rewarded in the end.
A preliminary strategy began to coalesce within Galen's mind.
He turned to Omar and Varokal, his voice now vibrant with purpose. "Utilize our intelligence network to disseminate a carefully crafted message. Spread the word that His Majesty the King intends to provide me with the opportunity to train and command my own force, independent of the First and Second Legions and the militia. This force will be stationed at the abandoned Southeast Mine, the former royal holding of Stonefist Hall."
"Yes, Your Highness," the two replied in unison, their expressions hardening with the anticipation of action. They turned and strode out of Galen's courtyard, their movements purposeful and swift.
Their conversation, however, drifted back to Galen on the evening air, carried faintly over the courtyard wall.
"Omar, why does the Prince wish us to spread this particular message?"
"Because the Prince desires to ensure that a greater number of people are aware that the King has granted him the authority to command his own army."
"I... still do not comprehend."
"Which is precisely why I have consistently advised you to broaden your reading habits. Your martial prowess alone will not suffice for the challenges ahead."
"I am already diligently completing the basic curriculum set forth by the Prince, and I am also tasked with the creation of detailed maps. I find myself with little time for extensive reading."
"Your future, Varokal, extends far beyond the role of a mere general. To ascend to the rank of marshal, a deeper understanding of the world is required."
"Ah, I see. So, one must read more to become a marshal? I understand now. Why do you always urge me to read, just like the Prince?"
Varokal, a warrior of humble origins, possessed the temperament of a rough-hewn soldier. His martial skills were formidable, his command style direct and forceful. He led his troops with booming battle cries and spearheaded charges with unwavering courage. However, his enthusiasm for scholarly pursuits was decidedly limited. His muscles, as he often joked, had absorbed most of the space that might have been occupied by his intellect. Yet, it was precisely this single-minded loyalty and unwavering dedication that earned Galen's complete trust.
Omar, in contrast, possessed a more balanced disposition. He was adaptable, resourceful, and displayed a keen intellect. Years of rigorous training had honed his strategic abilities, making him capable of independent command. Galen held high expectations for Omar, recognizing his potential for greatness.
Listening to their voices fade into the distance, Galen prepared to retire to his chambers, eager for a long-overdue bath and a period of uninterrupted rest.
The relentless pace of their recent journey, driven by the desire to reach King Thoras as swiftly as possible, had taken its toll. Galen's thighs still throbbed with a dull ache, and he felt as though he were walking on unsteady stilts.
Sinking into the welcoming embrace of the bathtub, the warm water enveloping his weary body, Galen felt his muscles begin to unwind. He leaned back against the smooth edge, propped his elbows on the platform, closed his eyes, and mentally turned his attention towards his hidden base.
During their arduous journey, whenever they paused for even a brief respite, Galen had made it a point to mentally visit the Town Hall and Barracks, ensuring that the training queues remained consistently full. At this stage, gold resources were becoming somewhat constrained, prompting Galen to delay the construction of a second Barracks.
The relative tranquility of the current period, coupled with the base's secluded location, allowed Galen the luxury of developing his settlement at a more measured pace, without the constant pressure of meticulously allocating every single unit of gold.
A mental survey revealed that the Archmage would complete his training in less than half an hour. Galen also noted that the Peasant's construction list still included two potentially valuable structures: the Watch Tower and the Arcane Vault.
Watch Tower: Basic Watch Tower, no attack power, can be upgraded to Arrow Tower, Arcane Tower, and Cannon Tower. Magic Sentry can be researched in the Arcane Sanctum.
Requirements: 30 units of gold, 20 units of wood
Arcane Vault: Build a shop to provide for buying and selling items. The items in the shop depend on the level of the Town Hall.
Requirements: 1300 units of gold, 300 units of wood
A shop... Galen mused. Its location should be strategically placed at the heart of the base. A central marketplace for all transactions. Excellent.
He selected a Peasant and deployed the Arcane Vault in the open space at the center of his settlement. The Peasant immediately began the process of construction, his rhythmic hammering echoing in Galen's mind.
By this time, the number of combat units stationed at the base had swelled to over a hundred. When Galen had departed from Threewater, the base already housed three squads, totaling eighteen individuals. Over the five days it had taken to reach Stromgarde, the Barracks had diligently trained an additional eighty-plus units.
Just as Galen contemplated reorganizing the Footmen and Riflemen into more efficient formations, a radiant golden light erupted from the Altar of Kings. A figure began to materialize within the shimmering radiance: a dignified old man with a flowing white beard, mounted upon a majestic white horse.
The golden light slowly dissipated, revealing the old man in greater detail. His eyes were sharp and piercing, his gaze commanding. He wore a flowing, gray-white mage's robe, his left hand holding the reins of the white horse with a practiced ease, while his right hand grasped a staff, its top adorned with a massive, pulsating blue gemstone.
The white horse, its gait measured and graceful, carried the robed mage down the steps of the Altar of Kings.
Witnessing this grand and imposing arrival, Galen's perspective shifting to capture every angle in a full 360-degree view, he couldn't help but mutter silently to himself, a wry smile playing on his lips:
The one riding a white horse is not necessarily a prince. It could also be Gandalf...