Pondering, he turned his attention to the final conversation that piqued his interest.

"Keep your voice down, ye fool! You want the watch to hear? But aye... I’ve heard the whispers blowin’ in from the wet docks. They’re sayin’ the Mormaer’s gone and shook hands with the Skard Pirates—plannin’ to let them sea-wolves run ’side our banners. If it’s true, there’s dark tides comin’ for us all."

Resven could barely overhear their conversation as it was hushed and quiet. He concentrated some more, trying to hear the rest of the conversation as best he could.

"Keep it low, ye bilge-rat! Aye, the talk’s been flowin’ thick as harbor mud. What the lord wants with those mangy curs, I couldn’t tell ye, but it leaves a foul taste in the mouth havin’ to sail ’side ’em. I heard ’bout the hulls they sent to the bottom a few tides back. Old John’s boy was on the Wave-Cutter, he was. I’ve a grim feelin’ it wasn’t no storm or sea-beast that took ’em, but those Skard bastards testin’ their knives before the ink’s even dry if rumors are to be believed..."

The two men continued with their conversation, but in even quieter whispers, ones even Resven found difficult to hear. ’So, first off, the Mormaer is prepping his warriors for something; there is a possible sea beast looming beyond the bay, and the Mormaer has possibly joined forces with the Skard.’

"That’ll be 15 coppers."

His attention was brought back to the barkeep with a large jug of mead.

***

Bramm was steadily finishing off the last few logs needed to complete the secondary cabin for Mestin and Resven. It was not too large, a four-bed cabin with the necessary room for essentials, and that was about it.

He neither had the time nor the skill to complete something like that, or like his cabin. With the system, he was sure that more and more summoned warriors would appear, and once they did, he would struggle to keep up... unless they helped, that was.

Either way, taking a step back, Bramm nodded in satisfaction, ’Not bad for an old man.’

Satisfied with his work, he picked up his old putty and took a smoke break.

[Battle Log Updated]

[Slayer: Mestin Highmalt]

[Target: Light Red Pine-Needle Hound]

[Renown: +50]

[Experience: 200/200]

[Mestin Longdale advances to Red realm strength]

With the echoing of the system notification came a pleasant surprise.

’He’s been doing good work, this was what? The third beast?’ Bramm took a puff with satisfaction evident in his expression. He became more pleased as time went on.

’With this addition, they will probably welcome another brother. AND he has even grown in strength!’ 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"It’s a good day!" His rumbling laughter echoed across the clearing.

After making sure everything was ready with the cabin, he sauntered over to his own cabin.

[Summon Warriors]

[Red (Tier 1)]

[Light red 200]

[Red 400]

[Dark red 600]

"Mestin only needed 200 exp before he could upgrade to a normal Red tier warrior, which in total means he costs 400... so it’s the same with the normal Red color warrior... but i can get 2 for the same price as 1, although they are slightly weaker, it’s easier for them to level up..."

"Then that settles the next plan... Summon a [Light Red Militiaman]!"

He shouted in visible excitement. Mestin had killed three Light Red primal beasts, all of whom gave him 50 Renown, and added them to the kill made by Resven; he had garnered another 200 renown in less than a day.

The same sequence appeared, a blinding light flashed behind the cabin, and within a few seconds, the light disappeared, and a man came walking past the side of the cabin.

He wore a rugged, earth-toned tunic made of coarse Highland wool, reinforced with patches of stiffened leather at the shoulders and chest, and legs wrapped in checkered wool "puttees" and heavy leather boots designed for gripping wet stone.

Around his thick neck is a simple, frayed fur mantle to ward off the mountain chill. On his back, two weapons crossed over one another, and Bramm could only assume to be some kind of axe or hatchet-like weapon.

He had chestnut hair that swaggered in the wind and cold grey eyes that were locked onto Bramm. The man was not the largest man Bramm had ever seen; he could possibly give that title to the mountain of a man called Mestin.

However, his shoulders were broad and packed with muscle; he was a lot leaner compared to both Mestin and Resven.

"We greet Mormaer Bramm." The man gave the same traditional greeting, a shallow bow, slamming his right fist onto his heart, then immediately opening his hand and extending it downward, palms facing up.

[Keren Steelfell ]

[Age 42]

[Realm: Light Red]

[Soul Spirit Tattoo: The Great Anchor]

"Rise, Keren, House Osric sees you." With a satisfied nod, he accepted the bow. "Now tell me, are you a skirmisher or a dual-wielding axe man?"

Bramm could not contain his curiosity and spoke his thoughts outright. He himself has only seen a few dual-wielding axe men in his life on the sea, and most of those he did see wore their weapons the same way.

"Both, Mormaer, these twa beauties here be ma mainstays," he said, tappin’ the steel strapped to his back. "But they’re for the thick o’ the fray, ken? I’m every bit as canny wi’ the tossin’ blades when the distance is wide."

The man spoke with a deep gravel tone and a deep Northern accent, one he had not heard in a long time, and that surprised Bramm for a second, but he thought it wasn’t too strange in the Sunder coast.

There were men of all sorts roaming this northern land, and you could often hear different languages and accents among them. This one, however, reminded him of one of his crew; he was a smaller boy. Fierce fighter but an even better sailor... he was...

He grew up in the Iron-Crags, an unforgiving Icelandic wasteland even further north from here.