Chapter 55: A New Sword

Chapter 55: A New Sword Luma sighed softly, then gave a small, thoughtful smile. "I understand. It’s still hard for me—and for many others—to wrap our heads around why you’re doing this. It’s not the kind of thing we hear every day from someone like you. But now that I’ve heard your reasons directly, I’ll include them in my report. I’ll make sure Commander Urma hears them as well, along with his order details, and I’ll spread the word about your establishment. And you can rest assured, everything I’ve seen here stays between us." Karl’s own smile carried warmth, though a flicker of worry lingered in his eyes. "Please do. I can’t afford rumors to twist the truth. My intent is—and always has been—to build something that benefits both sides. Meaningful trade, mutual profit, no hidden traps or strings attached." Though that was a lie, there definitely was a more elaborate scheme that he cooked under his plans, but he said what she wanted to hear. Luma nodded, weighing his tone. "Then that’s what I’ll tell them." She stood, idly brushing a speck of dust from her armor, almost as if straightening her composure. "I didn’t get your name," she said, extending her hand. Karl rose and took it firmly, his grip steady but not overbearing. "You can call me Karl." The Manager stepped forward, offering Luma her sword with careful hands. She accepted it and then glanced back at Karl, her expression shifting. "I have another personal matter... actually, more of a request." Karl’s brows lifted with interest as he fell into step beside her toward the door. "I’m listening." She glanced down at the weapon in her hand, her thumb brushing the worn leather grip. "I’ve been using this sword since my days as a squire. It’s seen more than most soldiers." Karl tilted his head. "I’m surprised it’s lasted this long. Most blades don’t survive more than a handful of campaigns without being replaced, unless the owner is meticulous." A small, wistful smile touched her lips. "This sword was a gift from my grandfather. He was vice-captain of a special unit stationed in Tallowshade. Passed peacefully in the end, but in his prime, his unit hunted demonized orcs in the Spinebride Forest. I admired them as a child. I even dreamed of joining one day—but that’s a path reserved for beastkin with exceptional talent and that’s not me." Karl muttered under his breath, "So, a kind of... Delta Force unit." She blinked at him. "Del-ta? Fors?" He chuckled. "Ah, nothing. But I take it you’re thinking of replacing this?" Her smile faltered into something softer, tinged with reluctance. "Yes. But I don’t want to abandon it damaged. It’s part of my family’s history." Karl’s voice dropped a shade. "My smiths can restore it. But you’ll have to respect its age. It’s been your companion and your grandfather’s before you. Just like a living being, it deserves rest when the time comes." Her eyes shimmered faintly, the weight of his words sinking in. "Yes... you’re right. I believe it’s time." She bowed, holding the sword out to him with both hands. "Please—I leave it in your care." Karl took it as if accepting a sacred trust. Coming from a world where such gestures were rare, he understood the significance. "The honor’s mine." he said his posture straightened as if accepting from a perspective of a king. She gave a brief nod, and for a moment they simply stood there in quiet respect for the weapon’s long service. Karl unsheathed the blade, inspecting the deep cracks running through its core. One more clash, and it would shatter. He knew little of forging, but he could tell restoring it would be a formidable challenge. The visual restoration alone—so it could be displayed alongside its previous owner painting or something similar—would demand his smiths’ best work. Still, he was confident they would succeed. "Then," Karl said with a faint smile, "let’s go choose your new sword." They walked together. "Tell me," Karl asked, "what are your preferences in a fight? If you could choose any weapon—thrusting, slashing, both? Quick strikes? Heavy blows? Dual blades?" Luma tilted her head in thought. "I usually move around a lot. Because of my grandfather’s sword, I had to adapt to its straight design—it pushed me toward thrusting attacks. But given the choice... I prefer mobility, quick but hard slashes." Karl’s grin widened. "Why don’t we test that?" She gave him a curious look. "What do you mean?" "A spar," Karl said simply. " with one of my elite soldiers. You can choose from straight double-edged swords, curved blades, short swords for dual-wielding, spears, axes, whatever you like." Luma’s posture shifted, her confidence showing. "I’m not an easy opponent, Mr. Karl. Are you sure about this?" "Let’s call it a, "me getting to know you better" stage." Karl said with a smirk. A small flush touched her cheeks. "Then I’ll... satisfy your curiosity. But know that I’m not used to holding back." "That’s fine," Karl said, his smile amused. "Your combat data is valuable enough and my soldiers will be thankful—they’ll learn from the exchange." Luma’s tail flicked with anticipation. "Then I’ll enjoy it. It’s been too long since I’ve had a serious fight." Karl and Luma descended a spiral staircase toward the -3rd floor of the dungeon. The air grew cooler as they went, the sound of echoing footsteps mixing with the distant thud of weapons and the bark of training orders. This level was devoted entirely to training—a place where skeleton soldiers were pushed to their limits to strengthen the dungeon’s defenses and prepare for future operations. While Karl could summon a sizable number of skeletons, not all were combatants; many worked in manufacturing and production to supply goods for trade. To make up for the smaller fighting force, Karl had designed an intensive regimen so that each warrior could operate as a one-skeleton army, ready to hold a line or strike with precision. Through the lich-uplink network, Karl’s memories streamed directly into them, allowing every soldier to communicate instantly, share experiences, and draw on his extensive battlefield knowledge. The barracks were more than a place to rest—they were a living archive of strategy and tactics. Instructors drilled their charges in a blend of styles: disciplined spear walls, unbreakable shield lines, swift cavalry maneuvers, brutal siege defenses, and cunning ambush tactics. Each technique was stripped of unnecessary flourishes, refined, and combined into a hybrid program meant to produce fighters feared not for their size or strength, but for their adaptability and coordination. When they reached the cavern hall, Luma slowed, her ears twitching at the synchronized rhythm of boots and the crack of training weapons. Her eyes widened at the sight before her. At one end, a unit that had completed basic training moved with flawless precision. They shifted from a phalanx formation into a tight shield wall, then raised their shields overhead as blunted arrows rained down from skeletal archers positioned on a ledge above. The arrows clattered harmlessly against the shields, and without hesitation, the formation dissolved and reformed into a bristling wall of spears, advancing steadily without a break in rhythm. To their right, another unit drilled rotating assaults: the front rank struck in unison, then peeled away to the rear as fresh fighters stepped forward. Farther down, skeletal cavalry circled dummies in swift, coordinated charges, their skeletal mounts pounding the stone floor in perfect step. The display was as unnerving as it was impressive. Though she feared what such disciplined soldiers could do, Luma could not hide her admiration. Their coordination rivaled that of the elite unit she had once dreamed of joining. She had expected an arch-lich’s troops to specialize in a single fighting style, but she now saw they were capable of much more—fluid, adaptive, and relentless. Realizing she had misjudged them was enough to earn her full respect. As a Lupen, pride and martial skill were woven into her people’s traditions. They honored strength and discipline, even in their enemies. While arrogance was not uncommon among them, the truly honorable always acknowledged skill when it was earned, and in this moment, Luma knew she was standing among warriors worthy of that respect. Luma, still in awe, asked, "How is this possible? As much as I admire them, I thought your company only dealt in trade. This... feels the opposite of what you told me earlier." Karl sighed. "We do focus on profitable interactions, and I want to avoid violence in my company if at all possible. But I must protect my assets and my customers. There will always be those who seek to harm what we’ve built, and while I could hire mercenaries, I believe in self-sufficiency. I can’t rely on outsiders alone." "I understand your perspective," Luma said, "but don’t you think this is a bit much? Bandits aren’t exactly hardened warriors." Karl shook his head. "I wasn’t talking about bandits." Luma leaned in slightly, curious. "Then who?" "My employees—the kobolds—came here seeking refuge after their village was destroyed. When they found this dungeon, I took them in, provided safety, and gave them work. In return, they help me grow this place. They earn good pay, work reasonable hours, have paid rest days and leave, free food, free accommodations, and even a thirteenth-month bonus based on performance. It’s a system designed to be fair and to keep things discreet." He paused, his voice lowering. "They told me their village was pillaged by orcs. They didn’t share the exact location, but they said it’s all too common." Luma’s expression darkened. "Ah... that’s the problem. There are only three towns where commerce from various beastkin villages can take place. Each has its own territorial jurisdiction, agreed upon to avoid violating another race’s lands. The alliance is only responsible for villages near those towns—those under their laws and taxes." Karl frowned. "So the alliance doesn’t protect beastkin territory under a shared agreement that benefits everyone?" Luma shook her head. "You may not know this, but before the alliance was formed, our peoples were often at war. The Lupens and Ursaroks dominated the region, each vying for control. It wasn’t until the Ramaris—the goatfolk—offered their insight that we realized we needed each other. Trade connected the tribes, with the Ramaris acting as intermediaries." She continued, "They eventually built a neutral town where all races could trade in peace. But violence still found its way there—frogfolk bandits, for instance, attacked often. The Ramaris council sanctioned the entire frogfolk race, raising tariffs so high they couldn’t trade. Since neither side trusted the other, they became isolated. With Ursarok and Lupen protection, the town was too valuable to touch, so the frogfolk turned on their own bandits to win back favor. Eventually, their suspension was lifted." "Then the orc invasion came. The Spinebride region was in chaos, and the alliance was officially formed. Two new towns were built—one for administration and diplomacy, which also trained alliance knights under an Ursarok chief, and another, Tallowshade, guarding the border in a fortified valley. Most of our forces were stationed there." Her gaze hardened. "But because the alliance respects territorial boundaries, orcs that cross borders can raid freely unless a request for aid is made. As knights, we can’t enter another’s land without permission. And that," she said firmly, "has never sat right with me."