A general born to rule

Catching up

Chapter 3: Forging the Future

The old factory in Woodhaven was alive with activity. Marcus and Sam, now recognized as the village's unlikely saviors, had turned their attention to restoring the dilapidated building. The villagers, inspired by their victory and the promise of a brighter future, worked alongside them. Day in and day out, the boys led the charge, using their past life's knowledge to rebuild the factory from the ground up.

Inside, the clang of hammers and the hum of machinery filled the air. The walls, once crumbling, were now reinforced, and the broken machines had been repaired or replaced. Marcus oversaw the production lines, where the first batches of flintlocks and muskets were being assembled. The weapons were simple compared to the modern-day firearms they once knew, but in this world, they were revolutionary.

"These will do," Marcus said, inspecting a newly completed musket. He ran his fingers along the smooth wooden stock, checking the metal barrel for any imperfections. Satisfied, he handed it to a villager who nodded in approval.

Sam, meanwhile, was focused on something larger. "This cannon should be ready soon," he called over to Marcus, gesturing to a large, metal contraption being assembled in the corner of the factory. "Once it's done, it'll give us a serious edge if anyone tries to attack again."

"Good," Marcus replied, his eyes scanning the factory floor. "But we can’t just focus on weapons. We need to build things that will help the village prosper—tools, farming equipment, maybe even a windmill for grinding grain. If Woodhaven is going to grow, it needs to do more than just survive."

Sam nodded in agreement. "You’re right. We’ll start with the basics, but we should also think about how to improve the village’s infrastructure. Roads, irrigation, maybe even a small forge for metalworking. The better equipped the village is, the more self-sufficient it’ll become."

As they worked, the villagers began to see Marcus and Sam not just as leaders, but as visionaries—people who could take their small, forgotten village and turn it into something more. The mood in Woodhaven was one of cautious optimism, as if the future, for the first time in years, held promise.

In the King's Court

Far away, in the capital of the kingdom, the atmosphere was far different. General Vorthan and his remaining men stood in the grand hall of King Gregor’s palace, their heads bowed in shame. The room was opulent, with marble floors, towering columns, and banners displaying the king’s crest—a snarling wolf. But despite the grandeur, the soldiers could feel the coldness emanating from the throne.

King Gregor, a tall man with a cruel smile and calculating eyes, listened to Vorthan's report in silence. His fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest of his gilded throne as Vorthan recounted the events of their failed attack on Woodhaven.

"Flintlocks," Vorthan muttered, his voice shaking slightly. "Weapons that we’ve never seen before, my liege. The villagers had them, and they used them to decimate our forces. We barely escaped with our lives."

The king’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Flintlocks, you say? And who, pray tell, taught a bunch of peasants how to use such weapons?"

Vorthan swallowed hard, sensing the rising anger in the king's voice. "We don’t know, Your Majesty. It’s possible that someone in the village has knowledge far beyond what we’ve seen in this world. They were organized, well-prepared. It was as if they knew exactly how to counter us."

Gregor leaned forward, his gaze icy. "And you returned without crushing this threat? You brought shame to my kingdom, Vorthan. I should have your head for this failure."

Vorthan fell to one knee, his heart pounding. "Please, Your Majesty. Give us another chance. We will regroup, gather more men, and return with enough force to wipe Woodhaven off the map. This time, we’ll be ready for their weapons."