Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights
Chapter 186: A Different Knight Barracks
The Knight Barracks was humming with activity as Darion stepped closer. He could hear the sounds before he even reached the gate: the clang of metal, the murmur of voices, the occasional burst of laughter.
It was the sound of men who were alive, who were fed, who had purpose. A few months ago, the barracks had been silent. The knights had been too weak to train, too hungry to laugh and too defeated to make noise. Now, the place felt different. Obviously lived in.
And as he stepped through the gates, he could see for himself.
The building was old as usual, Darion noted. The stone walls were cracked in several places, the roof had patches where tiles were missing, and the main gate sagged slightly on its hinges. He would have to repair it soon enough. The knights deserved better than this.
But the building’s age didn’t matter to the men inside. They were too busy living.
At the farther end of the barracks, knights formed a circle around a small fire they had just lit. They sat on logs and upturned barrels, discussing something as they roasted meat on wooden skewers. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks up into the morning air. The smell of cooking meat drifted across the yard, rich and smoky.
Many more pieces of raw meat were piled behind them on a clean cloth, clearly the result of an early morning hunt. The men had lots of smiles on their faces as they turned the skewers, checking the meat, adding more wood to the fire. These were not the same knights Darion had met on his first day in Percvale.
He remembered those men. Skinny. Hollow-cheeked. Their armor hanging loose on frames that had nothing left to give. They had been spineless and fearful, not brave.
Like little children who might run at the sight of an ant, or grown men who would flinch because a flying cockroach crossed their path. That was how scared these people had been to go into the forest. The Bogoarts had haunted their nightmares. The deep woods had been a place of death, not opportunity.
But now they were sitting around a fire, roasting meat beside them right now. Meat that they had killed themselves. Meat that they had hunted, tracked, and brought down with their own hands.
Darion thought about their transition, from fearful men who hid behind the castle walls, to men who followed him on a hunt, to now... men who hunted by themselves.
It had happened gradually, almost without him noticing. First, they had needed him to lead. Then they had needed only encouragement. Now, they didn’t need him at all. They woke up early, grabbed their weapons, and went into the forest on their own. And they came back with food.
Seeing them in person with the product of a successful early morning hunt made him smile. This was what he had wanted. Not just knights who followed orders, but knights who took initiative. Knights who didn’t need to be told that the forest was worth exploring. Knights who saw opportunity instead of fear.
On one side of the barracks, some knights were playing card games. They sat on crates and barrels, their helmets off, their weapons leaned against the wall beside them. One of them slammed a card down and shouted something in triumph. Another groaned and threw his hands up. It was ordinary. Normal. The kind of scene you would see in any barracks in any functioning territory.
And on another side, where the most knights were gathered, men were engaging in training battles. Wooden swords clacked against wooden shields. Men sparred in pairs, sweating under the morning sun, their movements sharp and deliberate. An older knight walked between them, offering corrections, adjusting stances and pointing out weaknesses. Others were doing ordinary training drills: push-ups, sprints and sword swings against wooden posts.
Everywhere Darion looked, he saw progress. Men who had been starving were now strong enough to spar for hours. Men who had been afraid were now confident enough to hunt alone. Men who had been broken were now laughing, playing cards, living.
Darion entered the barracks yard with his Royal Aura, not a magical thing, just the presence that came with being Baron. The way he walked. The way he held himself. The way his boots hit the ground.
Immediately, all heads turned toward him.
The card players looked up from their game, cards frozen in the air. The knights around the fire stopped turning their skewers, meat momentarily forgotten. The sparring men lowered their wooden swords, breathing hard, sweat dripping from their faces.
For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the distant call of birds.
Then, as one, the knights straightened. Some bowed their heads. Others simply stood a little taller.
They definitely hadn’t expected to see Darion this morning. It was a surprise that caught them completely off guard. For some time now, Darion rarely came here. He just instructed Garren to give orders and tell them what he said. The Baron had become a distant figure, respected, yes, but not seen that much.
The knights who saw him more often were the ones positioned as guards at the castle gate. They greeted him whenever he left and returned, exchanging brief nods or morning greetings.
But the rest of the knights? The ones who trained in the barracks day after day? They went weeks without seeing him directly. So when Darion walked through the gate, unannounced and unexpected, it was like seeing a ghost. Or maybe like seeing the sun come out after days of clouds. Surprising. Unusual. And a little unsettling.
Now they all left what they were doing and stood. The card players dropped their hands. The men around the fire set down their skewers. The sparring partners stepped apart, wooden swords hanging at their sides. In a single, fluid motion, the entire yard rose to its feet. And then, as if they had rehearsed it, they greeted him in simultaneous unison.
"Morning M’lord."
The word echoed through the yard, bounced off the old stone walls, and faded into the morning air.