Chapter 69: Baron Garrick’s Vow
As Kaelor purchased the blueprint, his fingers tightened around the leather scroll in his hand. The weight of its promise felt real, as if it radiated the potential of future legions clad in iron. But just then, something, someone, caught his eye.
A man strode through the market crowd, clad in full plate armour layered above chainmail and a black gambeson. It wasn’t just a display of wealth, it was war-forged prestige.
Every segment was in place: the polished cuirass that gleamed under the sun, broad pauldrons guarding his shoulders, rerebraces covering his upper arms, and articulated vambraces sheathing his forearms. Gauntlets of reinforced metal clasped his fingers in cold purpose. At his knees, partially hidden beneath the gambeson that ended at mid-thigh, glinted the ridged steel of poleyns, while his shins and feet were sealed in greeves and sabatons, perfectly crafted for mobility and protection.
Etched into each piece were runes, arcane inscriptions barely glowing with dormant power. Kaelor couldn’t read blacksmith runes, but even without translation, he could sense the resonance of strength and durability emanating from the plates. Custom work. Gold-ranked. The sword at the man’s waist, shaped for killing, matched the rank and quality.
Kaelor’s eyes rose to the man’s face.
His features were cut from stone, sharp, brutal, cold. A thin line of beard traced his jaw and chin, framing a clenched mouth. His eyes, however, held the most weight. Sharp as drawn steel, and steeped in open bloodlust.
The man drew closer, each step sending a ripple of tension through the air. He stopped a few feet away, his jaw visibly grinding.
"You killed my brother, didn’t you?" he said, voice low but edged with barely restrained fury.
Kaelor arched a brow. His silence said more than words.
Seeing Kaelor’s expression, casual, and a bit confused nearly pushed the man over the edge. His arm twitched, hand flying to the hilt of his sword, tremors dancing up his gauntlet. Rage radiated off him in waves.