章 12: Chapter 12: founding a militia part-1
The morning sun struggled to shine through the heavy overcast sky as Hadrian strolled through the worn paths of Eretis. The village was in a worse state than he had anticipated, and with each step, the knot in his stomach only seemed to grow. Crooked, cobbled huts leaned at precarious angles, their thatched roofs riddled with holes. Smoke from poorly kept hearths wafted into the air, mingling with the acrid stench of manure and decay. The streets were uneven and muddy, with faint traces of what might have been blood-likely from the last goblin raid.
Villagers bustled around him, heads low and faces hollow with exhaustion. Most ignored him entirely; a few cast wary glances in his direction. He caught snippets of hushed conversations: murmurs of distrust, skepticism, and faint hope. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let their lack of confidence deter him.
Leon walked a few steps behind, absently kicking at stray pebbles. "This place is miserable," he muttered. "It's worse than that orc camp. but just barely."
Hadrian didn't respond immediately. His eyes landed on a group of children playing in a dirt patch, the laughter thin and strained from their throats. He thought of his sister for a moment, wondered if she was in a place like this, hungry and scared.
"Do you think this will even work?" Leon asked, his voice cutting through Hadrian's thoughts.
"It has to," Hadrian said firmly. "If it doesn't, they'll be dead in a fortnight."
Leon frowned but said no more.
Continuing deeper into the village, a widow stopped them. Deep wrinkles lined her face and wiry gray hair stood out from beneath a tattered scarf. "Commander," she said, her voice shaking but loud enough to draw a few heads.
Hadrian turned to her and nodded. "What is it?
"It's the livestock," she said, clutching a basket to her chest. "Those cursed goblins took the last of our goats two nights ago. We have nothing left. Nothing to trade, nothing to eat. What are we supposed to do?"
He didn't have an immediate answer. Instead, he glanced at Leon, who looked just as uncomfortable. "We'll fix this," Hadrian said finally. "The raids will stop. I promise you."
She didn't look reassured, but she muttered a quick "thank you" before scurrying away.
Further ahead, a carpenter worked on a broken wheel in the shade of a collapsing workshop. The man barely glanced up as Hadrian approached.
"You're the boy they sent?" the carpenter asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
Hadrian stopped in front of him, his arms crossed. "That's right."
The carpenter snorted. "I've seen goblins gut men twice your size. What's a kid like you going to do? Talk them to death?"
Leon stiffened, but Hadrian raised a hand to silence him. "Do you have wood to fix those roofs?" Hadrian asked, ignoring the insult.
Wood?" The carpenter gestured to the lean piles behind him. "That's all we've got. Not nearly enough to fix the roofs, let alone build new homes."
Hadrian nodded, filing that information away. "We'll get more wood. You just make sure the tools are ready when it arrives."
The carpenter looked at him skeptically but didn't argue.
As they neared Georgios's smithy, Hadrian's head was already racing with schemes. The blacksmith looked up at them with a bleak smile and began wiping his soot-streaked hands on his apron.
"Commander," Georgios said, "come to see what little I have to work with?"
Hadrian stepped inside the smithy, taking in the cluttered workspace. Rusty swords leaned against the walls, and a handful of spears lay in disarray on the table. "How bad is it?" Hadrian asked.
"Bad," Georgios said bluntly. "I can arm maybe twenty men if we stretch things thin. The rest will have to make do with bows—or pitchforks, if it comes to that."
Hadrian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll need a full inventory by tomorrow. Every weapon, every piece of armor, even broken tools we can melt down. We'll use whatever we can."
Georgios grunted in agreement. "I'll see what I can do. But if you want my advice—"
"I do," Hadrian interrupted.
The blacksmith leaned against his anvil, his expression serious. "Focus on defense. These people can't fight. They're farmers, not soldiers. Build walls, dig trenches. Anything to keep the goblins out."
"We'll do both," Hadrian said, his voice resolute. "They'll learn to fight, and we'll give them the defenses they need."
Georgios did not dispute this, but his eyes showed his skepticism. "I'll have that inventory for you tomorrow," he said before he finally turned his back to them and headed into his forge.
As they stepped out of the smithy, Leon finally broke the silence. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"
Hadrian looked sideways at him; his expression unreadable. "If I wasn't, we might as well pack up and leave now.
Leon hesitated, then nodded. "You're starting to look like a real leader, you know. It's kind of weird."
Hadrian smirked, but the remark stuck with him. For all his confidence, there was a part of him that still felt like the scared boy in the orc camp.
"I just hope it's enough," Hadrian said quietly.
The day wore on as Hadrian, Leon, and a handful of Scythian mercenaries moved through the village. Georgios had provided a rough list of men fit for fighting, and now it was up to Hadrian to round them up. Instead of addressing the whole of the village, he decided to go door to door. It was slower, more personal, and hopefully less likely to rile the villagers into a frenzy of skepticism.
Hadrian walked with a purpose, his boots crunching on the uneven dirt paths. Behind him, Leon carried the list, occasionally glancing at it and calling out names. A small contingent of Scythians trailed them; their presence was meant to drive home the gravity of what was taking place.
The first house was a small, wooden affair with a roof that sagged in the middle, and smoke curled out of its crooked chimney. Hadrian knocked on the door firmly. It creaked open to reveal a wiry man in his late twenties with skin burned by the sun and sharp, suspicious eyes.
"You must be Dimos," Hadrian said in a calm, authoritative voice.
The man narrowed his eyes. "Who's asking?
"Hadrian Sideris. I've been sent by Kazimir to organize the defense of this village."
Dimos's gaze flicked to the Scythians, then back to Hadrian. "And what do you want with me?"
Hadrian straightened his posture, meeting the man's glare without flinching. "You're on the list of able-bodied men. We're forming a militia to defend against the goblins."
Dimos spat a bitter laugh. "A militia? Against those monsters? You think a bunch of farmers with sticks can fight goblins?"
"We don't have a choice," Hadrian said flatly. "The goblins will keep coming, whether we're ready or not. You'd rather wait for them to burn your home down with your family inside?
Dimos scowled but didn't argue further. He stepped back into the house, muttering something about "fool's errands," and returned with a dusty spear. "Fine," he said grudgingly. "But if this gets me killed, I'm haunting you."
The next few houses followed a similar pattern: reluctance, grumbling, and begrudging acceptance. The Scythians stood silently behind Hadrian, their presence intimidating enough to discourage outright refusals.
At one house, a boy no older than sixteen opened the door. His hair was a mess of dark curls, and he had the look of someone who'd spent more time in fields than in beds.
"Is your father home?" Hadrian asked.
The boy shook his head. "He's dead. Goblins got him last winter."
Hadrian hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. "I'm sorry for your loss. What's your name?"
"Petros," the boy said quietly.
"Well, Petros, I need your help," Hadrian said. "We're putting together a militia to make sure what happened to your father doesn't happen to anyone else. Can I count on you?"
Petros glanced back into the house, where a woman—likely his mother—stood watching from the shadows. She shook her head, her eyes pleading.
"I… I don't know," Petros said, his voice wavering.
"You can't make him fight," the woman said sharply, stepping forward. "He's just a boy."
"So am I," Hadrian said, his tone soft but firm. He pulled back the sleeve of his tunic, revealing the stump of his arm, still wrapped to hide the fact it was regenerating. "But we have to do what's necessary to survive."
The woman's face twisted in anguish, but she said nothing more. Petros looked at her, then at Hadrian, and finally nodded. "I'll do it," he said, his voice trembling.
As the group moved on, Leon fell into step beside Hadrian. "You're getting good at this," he said, his tone a mix of admiration and disbelief. "I mean, you're still kind of a pain, but people are actually listening to you."
Hadrian smiled wryly. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Leon."
"It's not flattery," Leon said, his voice more somber now. "I just don't get how you do it. They barely know you, but they're following you anyway."
Hadrian looked at him, weighing whether to tell the truth. Instead, he said, "Desperation makes people do things they wouldn't otherwise. They're scared, and scared people will cling to anything that feels like hope.
Leon frowned, as if weighing his words. "Is that what you are? Hope?"
"Maybe," Hadrian said. "Or maybe I'm just the only option they've got."
As the crowd began to disperse, Hadrian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The tension in the air still lingered, but he could see a flicker of determination in some of the men's faces-a small but important victory.
Leon stepped up beside him, his expression a mix of admiration and concern. "You think they'll actually show up tomorrow?"
"They will," Hadrian said, his tone firm but quiet. "Because they don't have a choice. None of us do.
Skyles strolled over, his usual smirk replaced with something softer, though he wouldn't admit it. "You've got a way of getting under their skin," he said, nodding toward the men as they returned to their homes. "Might even call it leadership."
Hadrian glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Was that a compliment?"
Skyles shrugged. "Don't get used to it. But you did alright. They didn't throw you in a ditch, so that's something."
"High praise," Hadrian muttered, shaking his head. He turned his gaze back to the village, his mind already racing with plans. The hard part was just beginning.
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