Chapter 265: The Mason’s Tale
Darion and Garren called that a wrap. The sun was fully up now, its warm light spreading across the courtyard, chasing away the last traces of dawn.
The workers were beginning to stir in their tents, their voices drifting through the morning air. It was time to end the training session before anyone saw them.
It was an early morning training, so they did so before everyone started being productive and life continued.
Darion didn’t want anyone to see him practicing with the sword. He didn’t want to explain why the Baron of Percvale was swinging a sword around in the courtyard before sunrise.
So they wrapped up quickly, hiding the manual and the sword, and went their separate ways.
Garren headed toward the barracks to check on the knights. Darion walked back toward the castle, his body aching, his muscles a burning sensation.
He could feel the strain of the training in every part of him. His arms were heavy, his legs were shaky, and his back was sore. But he also felt a sense of satisfaction, a quiet pride in what he had accomplished. He had done something. He had made progress. And that felt good.
Inasmuch as he was the one that brought the idea of this training, for some moments, he had been skeptical.
The thought had lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet voice of doubt that whispered about the impossibility of it all.
Was this really possible? With some old sword and a dusty manual, you could perform a few specific moves and boom, magic happens? It had seemed too good to be true, like something out of a story, a legend that had been exaggerated over the years.
But this morning had proven to him that yes, it was working. The golden light that had streaked from the blade had been real.
He had felt the energy surge through the sword, had watched it cut through the air and dissipate into sparks. It wasn’t his imagination. It wasn’t a trick of the light. It was real, tangible, undeniable magic.
And seeing magic work right in front of his eyes — not Necromancy magic, not the dark green glow of his undead, but actual golden magic — was deeply satisfying.
There was something different about this kind of power. It felt more connected to the world around him. The green light of his Necromancy was always tinged with death, with the cold touch of the grave. But this golden light felt alive, vibrant, full of energy.
Golden magic. The thought of it made him smile. That feeling, the surge of power, the warmth of the light, the knowledge that he had done something extraordinary, was worth whatever ache his body was giving him.
His arms burned, his legs trembled, and his back was sore, but he didn’t care. He had unlocked something real, something powerful. And he was just getting started.
Later that day, Darion found Ghan near the construction site. The mason was standing on a scaffold, directing a crew of workers as they lifted a heavy stone into place.
His voice was calm but firm, his instructions clear and precise. The workers moved efficiently, their bodies working in sync with each other.
Darion waited at the edge of the site until Ghan noticed him. The mason climbed down from the scaffold, wiping his hands on a rag. "M’lord," he said, nodding in greeting. "Is there something you need?"
Darion shook his head. "Just wanted to see how things are going. And I wanted to talk."
Ghan raised an eyebrow. "Talk?"
Darion gestured toward a quiet corner of the site, away from the noise and activity. They walked together, their footsteps echoing on the stone.
"You mentioned before that you’ve worked on other projects," Darion said. "Big ones. I was wondering if you could tell me about some of them."
Ghan was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "There was one project," he said, his voice low. "About ten years ago. A wealthy man hired me to patch up an old building on his estate. He said it was a simple job, just a few repairs here and there."
"But it wasn’t simple," Darion said, stating the obvious.
Ghan shook his head. "No. The building was too old to patch. It had been standing for over a hundred years, maybe more. The roof was leaking, the walls were cracked, and the foundation was unstable. Rain had been seeping into the stone for decades, weakening the structure from the inside out. It was a disaster waiting to happen."
"I told the man it needed to be rebuilt," Ghan continued. "Not patched. Rebuilt. From the ground up. But he wouldn’t listen. He said he didn’t have the money for a full rebuild. He just wanted me to patch it up and make it look presentable."
Darion frowned. "And you did it?"
Ghan nodded, his expression grim. "I had to. I was young and desperate for work. I told myself it would be fine, that I could manage it. So I started patching. I replaced the worst of the roof tiles, filled in the cracks in the walls, and reinforced the foundation as best I could. But it wasn’t enough."
"What happened?" Darion asked.
"The house collapsed," Ghan said, his voice hollow. "I was inside when it happened. One moment I was working, and the next, everything was falling around me. The walls came down, the roof caved in, and the floor gave way beneath my feet. I don’t know how I survived. It was pure luck. A beam fell across me, creating a small space that kept the rubble from crushing me. I was trapped for hours before anyone found me."
Darion listened in silence, his expression unreadable. Ghan’s eyes were distant, lost in the memory.
"But luck wasn’t on my workers’ side," Ghan continued. "Six of them died in that collapse. They were good men, hard workers, with families who depended on them. And they died because a wealthy man was too cheap to pay for a proper rebuild."
Darion felt a surge of anger, not at Ghan, but at the man who had caused the deaths. "What did you do?"
Ghan’s jaw seemed to tighten. "I took the matter to the King. I told him everything, the warnings I had given, the man’s refusal to listen, the deaths of my workers. The King was furious. He ordered the wealthy man to compensate the families of the dead workers and to pay for a full investigation of the building’s collapse. The man was forced to pay a large fine, and his reputation was ruined."
Darion nodded slowly. "That was a brave thing to do."
Ghan shrugged. "It was the right thing to do. The dead deserved justice. Their families deserved closure."
He paused, his eyes meeting Darion’s.
"Hopefully that doesn’t happen here. It shouldn’t actually, the foundations here are still solid. That’s why I agreed to the work. When Garren told me about this project, I was hesitant at first. I’ve worked for too many people who didn’t care about the quality of the work, only the cost. But you’re different. You care. You listen. That’s kind of rare, m’lord."
Darion felt a warmth spread through his chest. "Thank you," he said. "That means a lot."
They stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the construction site filling the air. Then Darion spoke again. "I want to make sure this castle is done right. I don’t want anyone to die because I cut corners."
Ghan nodded. "That’s why I agreed to take this job. I could tell you were serious about doing things properly. And I’m glad I did. This castle is going to stand for generations."