Next to the Tinietz military camp stables, Art stirred the oat porridge in a copper pot with a wooden spoon and asked Ron, who was sitting on a broken wooden stool drinking porridge, "Ron, how is your leg? Can you walk yet?"
"My Lord, it still hurts a bit, but it's much better. What kind of herb did you put on me? My wound is healing very quickly." Ron was very curious about Art's treatment method of applying crushed wild herbs to his wound.
"Ron, if you don't want to be tied to a cross and burned to death by the Church Inquisition, it's best not to ask too many questions." Art had always been very cautious about using such 'heretical' healing Arts. Having lived in this world for three years, he knew how those people from the Church dealt with so-called 'heretics', and he was afraid of being discovered and reported to the Church, bringing him trouble he couldn't shake off.
Art stepped forward, untied the linen cloth wrapped around Ron's leg, looked at the wound's healing, and said, "Ron, since your leg injury is almost healed, we'll have to return to the valley in a day or two."
"My Lord, Bass and Kazak should have arrived in Tinietz by now, why haven't they caught up yet?" Ron was a little worried that those two might have run off with the money.
Art was more worried that something had happened to them on the road. "Let's wait a bit longer. Once we finish this last big task, we'll return to the valley."
"Alright, My Lord, we've been out for a month. I'm starting to miss my parents and Camille. I wonder how they're doing now."
"Don't worry, no one can threaten them hiding in the desolate valley, and besides, there's enough food stored in the wooden house," Art comforted him.
As the two talked, Odo walked out of the storeroom next to the Lord's Hall and came over to Art and Ron, saying, "My Lord, last night, the grain store in the north of the city was robbed. Several hundred fenny of wheat were stolen. Fortunately, we didn't store our grain there. I've already moved the grain cart and all other items into the official granary, but the granary manager is really greedy; he actually charged us two fenny for safekeeping."
These past few days, Art and his two companions had been staying in the military camp stables in Tinietz. Odo had been sleeping on the grain cart with his battle-axe at night, just in case the grain was stolen.
"Two fenny it is, better than having the grain stolen. Odo, after we eat, go to the Free Buffalo in the south of the city and buy a large clay pot for cooking porridge. Do you still have enough money? If not, I'll give you more." Art instructed Odo.
"Enough, My Lord. You still have more than ten fenny left from the money you gave me for farm tools yesterday." Odo said, walking to the copper pot where the oat porridge was boiling and scooping a large spoonful into a wooden bowl.
"Ron, come with me to the military camp's armory in a bit. It's time to collect the weapons Viscount Pierre allocated to us. If we wait too long, it might be difficult to get them."
In a small room next to the armory, a plump armory manager repeatedly examined a small piece of parchment with Viscount Pierre's seal, which Art handed to him.
"Manager, is there a problem with this weapon allocation order?" Art asked softly.
The manager looked up at Art, a sneer on his face: "There's no problem with the weapon allocation order, but recently Viscount Pierre has been continuously recruiting young vagrants to serve as Soldiers, and the armory might not have enough weapons to make up this many~" He then glanced at the money pouch at Art's waist.
If he didn't understand by now, he'd be a dumb donkey.
Art turned his back, took off his money pouch, pulled out three fenny, then with a hardened heart, took out two more, turned around, and handed them to the manager.
The manager stood up and weighed the several good-quality copper fenny in his hand, his face instantly lighting up with joy, a sudden smile replacing his previous expression: "You must be the newly appointed Patrol Officer, My Lord? Viscount Pierre has already instructed the armory to prepare a batch of weapons for you. This morning, the Sheriff wanted to replace the weapons prepared for you, but I managed to persuade him to leave them for you."
Art cursed the Sheriff under his breath and followed the manager to the armory.
The armory was the core of the Tinietz military camp. The storeroom was a building constructed of dressed stone with an iron door and a large lock, and a spear-wielding Soldier stood guard at the entrance.
The armory did seem somewhat empty. Weapon racks were sparsely filled with various long and short iron spearheads, chipped swords, short-handled hand axes, semi-circular iron helmets, leather armor, long hook knives, and hard-headed hammers. Most striking were a few crossbows on the wall and bundles of arrows neatly stacked in the corner.
The manager led the two to a corner, pointing to a bundle of iron-headed short spears and several broadswords and battle-axes in the corner, saying, "Patrol Officer, My Lord, these are the weapons Viscount Pierre has allocated to you. Please inspect them."
Art nodded to Ron. Ron stepped forward and counted carefully, confirming there were eight short spears, one broadsword, two battle-axes, and one heavy hammer.
As he was leaving with the weapons, Art inadvertently glanced at a large pile of iron spearheads haphazardly placed in a broken wooden box nearby. Art handed the short spears he was holding to Ron, walked to the broken wooden box, picked up a spearhead, and examined it. These iron spearheads all had slightly worn tips or broken shafts and were old weapons that had been discarded and needed to be remade or re-forged.
Art picked up a spearhead and wiped its sharp blade with his thumb, a thought sparking in his mind. He stood up and pointed at the broken wooden box, saying to the armory manager, "Manager, My Lord, these are all old weapons that have been replaced and need to be re-forged, aren't they?"
The manager nodded, "Yes, that's right."
Art's heart swelled with joy. He took off his money pouch, smiled at the manager, and said, "Now, these old spearheads have already been sent to the military camp blacksmith's furnace, haven't they?" As he spoke, he pulled out a large handful of fenny...
In the end, Art spent fifty fenny and selected ten iron spearheads that could still barely be used, at the price of scrap iron. The armory manager, having tasted the sweetness of profit, then recommended several sets of old winter clothes and armed clothing to Art, which Art, of course, bought one by one...
When Art and Ron returned to the military camp stables, laden with a large bundle of weapons and clothing, Odo was using a wooden spoon to add oat porridge to the wooden bowls of two people sitting in front of the copper pot.
That's right, they were Bass and Kazak, who had been late to meet up in Tinietz.
Seeing Art approach, the two quickly put down their wooden bowls, stood up, took off their tattered felt hats, and bowed to Art, saying, "My Lord, we are late and are willing to accept punishment."
Art put down the weapons, motioned for them to sit, and asked, "Why are you several days late? Did something happen on the way?"
Kazak rubbed his hair, somewhat embarrassed, and said, "My Lord, we encountered some bandits on the way here. To avoid them, we detoured off the main road, and as a result~ we took the wrong path. We wandered far to the west before finding the way to Tinietz."
"Then how did you find your way here?" Ron asked from the side.
"I asked the city guard, and he said the newly appointed Patrol Officer was staying next to the military camp stables in the city. So we just followed our way here," Bass replied.
"Alright, you've arrived just in time. In another day or two, we'll be leaving Tinietz."
Art looked at Bass and Kazak, who were holding two full bowls of oat porridge, and asked, "Are you full yet?"
Bass looked at his wooden bowl and said sheepishly, "Just served it, haven't had a chance to eat yet."
"Alright, stop eating. Now that we're all here, I'll take you to a tavern in the city for a good meal."
Art then instructed Odo, "Odo, you and Kazak take these weapons and supplies to the official granary, then meet us at the Free Buffalo."
"Ron, Bass, let's go to the tavern first."
With that, he led Ron and Bass out of the military camp and walked towards the largest tavern in the city.
It was still early, and there were no customers eating in the tavern yet.
Art, dressed in leather armor with a long sword and followed by several attendants, caught the attention of the tavern owner. Seeing distinguished guests arrive, the owner quickly stepped forward to greet them.
When the owner saw Art's face clearly, he was surprised and asked with a smile, "Isn't this the hunter brother? Have you come to the city again to sell furs and mountain goods?"
The owner then looked at Art's attire and the several strong men behind him, realizing that the person in front of him was no longer the taciturn hunter he once knew.
"Friend, what is this?" The owner scrutinized Art from head to toe.
Ron stepped forward and proudly said to the owner, "My Lord is no longer just a hunter; he is now the Southern Border Patrol Officer appointed by the Court!"
The owner looked incredulous, stared for a long time, and then said, "So the notice posted outside the city was about you! You are Art Wood Wells, the newly appointed Southern Border Patrol Officer of Tinietz County?"
Art smiled and replied, "Yes, I am the fellow on the notice."
"Oh, my God, welcome, Patrol Officer, My Lord." The owner bowed to Art, stepped aside, and invited Art and his group into the tavern.
Everyone took their seats. The owner brought several large mugs of beer on a tray to the table and said with a smile, "Patrol Officer, My Lord, these few drinks are on me. Congratulations on your promotion to Patrol Officer. If you ever need my help in the future, just say the word."
The owner had been a merchant for many years, accustomed to welcoming and sending off guests, and skilled in flattery. Now, the once unknown small hunter had transformed into a Patrol Officer appointed by the Court. Although he didn't govern the affairs of Tinietz city, his attitude still needed to change, especially in these chaotic times, those with swords in hand were naturally superior. Fortunately, although he had no personal relationship with this hunter in the past, he had never offended him.
Art was not at all surprised by the change in the owner's attitude; this was also one of the reasons Art sought an identity.
"Thank you. Prepare us a hearty meal. I will pay you according to the price."
"Alright, please wait a moment." The owner turned and walked into the back kitchen, personally preparing food for Art and his companions.
Odo and the others felt a surge of pride and their spirits lifted.
Art cleared his throat lightly and said, "Everyone, two days ago, I officially took up my post as Patrol Officer. Now that everyone is gathered, I will arrange the next steps. The most important thing is to recruit vagrants. Viscount Pierre has already agreed to allocate a piece of land as our station and allowed me to recruit vagrants to clear and cultivate land. I plan to use this banner..."