Time passed.
Nearly two seasons had come and gone since the Baron's visit. Snow fell, melted, and now the fields were green again. Though the knights stayed for weeks, they eventually left — bored and empty-handed — their suspicions unproven and their presence quietly undermined.
And during that time, beneath the veneer of a quiet village life, the revolution grew.
Emil had reached Level 35. Not through battle alone, but through leadership, invention, and relentless strategy. His class — Unionist Pioneer — had evolved into something new: "Architect of Change." It granted him passive bonuses for organizational growth, allowed him to assign Instructors, and unlock Basic Doctrine trees — letting his recruits gradually specialize in firearms training, sabotage, or ideological influence.
Where once he could barely craft a musket, now his workshop produced several a week. Villagers were no longer afraid of the weapon — they were learning it.
A New Role: The Teachers
Under Emil's guidance, a new kind of figure walked village roads and riverbanks — the Teachers.
Young men and women, once tillers and bakers and weavers, were now dressed in gray coats and carried satchels of ink, books, and blueprints. They traveled from hamlet to hamlet, not with swords or threats, but with ideas. With hope.
"Reading is the weapon of the mind," they said to children and elders alike. "And the musket is its partner."
They carried worn manuals Emil had written himself. Each page held simple phonetics, revolutionary slogans masked as folk poems, and diagrams of flintlock parts. A blend of education and quiet indoctrination.
They taught villagers how to read signs, how to write names, and how to aim for the heart of a tyrant from 20 paces.
The Cells Multiply
What started in one village was now eight.
From the forested outskirts of Ersendale to the marshy roads of Targan's Ford, Union cells had sprouted like weeds. Each small community had at least one craftsman, one teacher, and one contact who could receive instructions hidden inside shipments of grain or tucked under fake wax seals.
And the best part?
No one knew exactly where it all came from. To the common folk, the Union was becoming a myth, a whisper. They spoke of a "Man From Elsewhere," a strange one who taught the serfs to read and made their sons and daughters proud and free.
Emil didn't mind the mystery. It gave him protection. It gave him time.
Back in the Village
His home village — still unnamed to the outsiders — had become a hub. Hidden caches filled with saltpeter and iron bars. A subterranean vault storing sealed crates marked as "plough fittings" that contained fully assembled muskets wrapped in straw.
Doren, the laughing ex-soldier, now ran drills in the forest glades every morning. The once-joking priest had organized a rebel choir — not hymns to the Crown, but to the dignity of man. Even Hale, once the strict guard, had loosened up. He now taught formation tactics with farm tools turned into mock rifles.
The Fires Ahead
But Emil knew this was only the beginning.
Whispers from the south spoke of a Viscount preparing to purge rebellious elements. One of the teaching cells had gone silent. Another had sent word: a young woman teacher had been burned for "seditious ideas."
The fire of tyranny was waking up.
But Emil smiled.
Because now they had roots.
The Crown could not stamp out what it could not see. Could not kill what it could not grasp.
Final Lines
In the cellar of his workshop, Emil added one more candle to the map. A small village nestled near the mountains. He lit the wick. Another flame joined the others.
One village became eight.
Eight would become fifty.
And fifty… would change the world.