Iron-Scale stood before the iron vaults of the royal storehouse. The rusted chains securing the double doors snapped as Novus drove his broadsword through the central lock.

The metal gates swung inward with a grating screech. Hundreds of wooden crates and burlap sacks filled the cavernous hall from floor to ceiling. The previous regime had hoarded enough supplies such as grain, salted meat, and root vegetables to feed the capital for months.

Lupis stepped into the vault behind Iron-Scale and Novus. Lupis gripped his walking cane tightly and stared at the stacked provisions. The citizens of Tarnstead had been scavenging for rats outside the palace walls while Voranthar stockpiled prime resources.

"Take it," Iron-Scale instructed. He turned his violet eyes toward Lupis. "Organize your surviving bureaucrats and establish rationing lines in every major plaza. Feed the districts."

Lupis blinked at the towering stacks of grain. "You want me to distribute the royal reserves to the commoners. Your army requires sustenance for the occupation."

"Rubedo provides for the Vanguard," Iron-Scale replied. He sheathed his dagger and walked toward the exit. "We have zero need for stolen wheat. Keep your people alive and get them back to work. A starving city builds nothing."

Within the hour, the remaining opposition leaders mobilized under Lupis. Wooden carts rolled out of the royal district and down into the ruined lower wards. The citizens of Tarnstead peered out from their boarded windows and collapsed alleyways. They clutched their children and watched the invasion force occupy their streets.

Shell-Kin hauled the grain carts through the cobblestone avenues. The massive reptiles looked like moving mountains of black scale. The commoners backed away into the shadows to avoid the beasts. The Shell-Kin parked the carts in the center of the town squares and sat down on the pavement.

Novus directed his infantry squads to pry the crates open. Fresh bread, cured fish, and clean water spilled out onto the rationing tables.

"Line up," Novus commanded the crowd. "Take what you need for your families."

An elderly woman crept forward from a ruined storefront. She flinched as a Treant shifted its wooden limbs near the rationing table.

The ancient guardian ignored her entirely and continued assembling a wooden barricade to organize the incoming crowd. Novus handed the woman a large loaf of bread and a dried fish.

She stared at the food in her hands. She took a bite and swallowed the bread instantly. The surrounding commoners sprinted toward the tables. Thousands of people flooded into the plazas to form orderly lines behind the barricades.

The riots across the lower wards dissolved completely, leaving the capital entirely quiet by nightfall. The citizens returned to their homes carrying burlap sacks of grain. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

They peered out their windows at the Golems and Shell-Kin standing guard at the intersections. The towering reptiles remained perfectly still while Novus’s soldiers handed out the remaining provisions.

Novus stood over a growing pile of discarded broadswords and bent spears. Hundreds of surrendered Tarnstead guards lined up across the ruined cobblestones of the southern gate. Their armor bore fresh dents and dried blood from the previous skirmishes.

Novus kicked a rusted shield away from his boots and signaled his own infantry forward.

The Vanguard soldiers moved into the courtyard carrying bundles of wooden shovels and thick ropes. They tossed the tools onto the ground at the feet of the defeated royal guard. A few Tarnstead men backed away from the sudden clatter of dropping supplies.

"Strip your plate mail and grab a shovel." Novus pointed toward the massive breach in the outer wall. "We need to clear the rubble and establish a new perimeter before nightfall. Anyone who works gets a ration of grain and clean water."

A bruised Tarnstead captain stepped to the front of the line. He unbuckled his dented breastplate and let it fall onto the pavement. He looked at the wooden shovel and then up at Novus.

"We are knights of the crown." The captain wiped sweat from his bruised cheek. "You hand us farming tools and treat us like common laborers."

Novus drew his broadsword and drove the blade into the dirt. "Your crown sits in a cage down in the dungeons. You are auxiliary forces now. You will haul rocks and mix mortar alongside my men to rebuild the defenses your king allowed to fall into ruin."

The captain stared at the embedded broadsword. He picked up a wooden shovel and turned back to his surviving troops. The Tarnstead guards silently stripped their remaining armor and retrieved the tools.

They marched toward the ruined wall and began hauling chunks of broken masonry out of the primary thoroughfare.

Novus watched the integration take shape. His Vanguard soldiers guided the new recruits, showing them how to operate the winch systems and properly stack the cleared debris. The former enemies worked side by side to stabilize the shattered gatehouse.

Lupis walked into the courtyard holding a ledger. He marked off a tally on the parchment and looked at the expanding workforce.

"They are adapting quickly." Lupis nodded. "I expected more resistance from the royal guard."

"A man with a purpose rarely complains about the work." Novus pulled his broadsword from the dirt and sheathed it. "Make sure they get their rations. We start on the watchtowers tomorrow."

Somewhere in the palace, Iron-Scale ran a coarse cloth over the edge of his star-iron dagger.

Suddenly, a massive stack of parchment slammed onto the wooden table right next to his claws. The top sheet bore the official wax seal of the Vanguard logistics division—a crimson spiral pressed deeply into the paper.

Syra pulled out a carved chair and took a seat across from him. She slid an inkwell and a quill across the polished wood.

"The western supply lines require your authorization," Syra stated. She tapped a taloned finger against the mountain of documents. "We have three hundred captured aristocrats waiting for individual processing. Gulag is currently turning the royal gardens into a sparring pit. Someone needs to sign these transfer orders."

Iron-Scale pushed the inkwell back toward the silver-scaled assassin. "My duties involve hunting dissidents and securing the perimeter. I cut the heads off the opposition. I leave the counting to the scribes."

"The scribes are hiding in the cellars," Syra countered. She crossed her arms over her chest plate. "They refuse to finalize the execution warrants without the Inquisitor’s direct signature. You led the infiltration into this capital. You get to manage the aftermath."

Iron-Scale picked up his second dagger to inspect the edge. "Moss-Eye handles the administrative protocols for the Bastion. Send the paperwork through the magical devices we obtained from the treasure vault. Let the scholar deal with the ink."

"Moss-Eye is not here!" She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table. "You cannot dodge the logistics of an occupation just because you hate reading. The Sovereign expects efficiency. Leaving the entire bureaucratic structure of a conquered kingdom to an assassin is a terrible strategy."

"You excel at navigating complex systems," Iron-Scale offered. He sheathed both weapons and stood up from the table. "Apply your infiltration skills to the documentation. I need to inspect the western gatehouse."

Syra stood up and blocked his path to the door. "If you walk out of this room, I will authorize the execution of every single prisoner in the lower dungeon. I will forge your name on the order and tell the Sovereign you found them guilty of treason."

Iron-Scale looked at the towering stack of parchment. He let out a short breath and reached for the quill.