Celestial Hymn 7 (Patreon)

Celestial Hymn
Chapter 7

-VB-

So engrossed in my first technological “blessing,” I ended up shutting myself in my solar for a whole week.

Yes, it wasn’t a good look for a lord, but no, I didn’t give a shit! Besides, I already made sure that the town and the keep could run without me beforehand, so this was alright! Completely alright… I just couldn’t do it too often.

When I emerged from my solar, Rosia waited for me.

“... You are filthy, milord.”

I laughed. “And a little sleep deprived~,” I sang on a high note. Right now, I was very happy about the result of my little research session. Sure, I hadn’t been able to directly make something, but I understood the basic principles of everything that came with the database now. I could apply them as soon as I was … Well, clean. It wouldn’t do for a lord to come to talk to the smallfolks smelling like one of them, right? “Can you prepare a bath for me? I have to go talk to the blacksmiths soon.”

“Another one of your ideas, milord?” she asked with a quirked eyebrow but nodded.

I nodded back to her with a proud grin. “Yes. It’ll make life … a little bit more interesting.”

She hummed before bowing and leaving. Considering that my last idea had been to renovate the town and give smallfolks work that paid more while also providing for the food supply, she probably thought my new idea would also be beneficial.

She was a little cold like that.

See, Rosia was a pretty woman. She had a lot of people looking to woe her.

Her response?

“Do as half as good as the lord, and I will convince my father to offer my hand to you in marriage.”

Yeah…

She set that bar real high. She was the opposite of her brothers, who were jovial, nice, and friendly. Rosia was friendly, but no one should mistake her for “nice.” Can’t fault a girl for knowing what she wanted, though.

“The bath will be ready in an hour, milord.”

“Got it.”

-VB-

It was noon by the time I dealt with all of my hygiene and met my keep’s blacksmith.

“You want me to create these…?” he asked me while looking at a parchment with detailed requirements for what I wanted from him.

“Yes,” I told him. “If you can’t make it, then it’s fine, but I want you to really try hard. If you succeed…”

“Then I get something. I know, milord.”

“Good,” I grinned.

“My lord.”

I froze and turned around slowly.

Standing at the entrance of the keep’s blacksmithy was my master-at-arms.

“Ah. Hi.”

“Yes, hello, my lord. It’s curious, isn’t it?”

I tried not to gulp.

I gulped.

The scarred man lifted his hand and scratched his chin and looked to the side. “It’s as if you are aware of the consequences of not joining me in training.”

See, lords and knights, as well as their heirs, were all expected to be able to fight. Considering that this kingdom (empire) seemed to be on a one to two-decade cycle in how often they fought a semi-major to major wars, being a warrior - or at least a battlefield tactician - was required, especially in the brutish North and Stormlands, the latter of which was where I had my keep and barony.

And my master-at-arms - who was also my only knight - had been shocked when he realized I had zero fighting experience, and became utterly determined in his horrified state to turn me into a “proper knight and lord worthy of the Stormlands” after he heard my response to war.

He had asked me how I would win a war if I was not a warrior.

At that point, I still hadn’t fully let the idea of being a Westerosi lord sink into my mind, and had answered him like a lord (commander) should respond to how they would win a war.

“Burn and salt the fields, poison every well, strip every field bare,

Yeah, he didn’t take kindly to my answer.

Normally, a master-at-arms would have zero authority over his lord. I fucking hired him, after all. However, he gave me a scalding lecture (in private) which allowed me to understand his mindset and acquiesced to his “request”: train like a proper warrior and knight underneath him. As a result, I was just a normal man-at-arms as far as he was concerned when training was concerned, barring emergencies like the surprise arrival of the king.

The Celestial Forge chose this moment to act up … and promptly connect me to -.

Wait.

No no no no-!

The master-at-arms opened his mouth to speak when a sudden thunder erupted within the shop and left us all dazed.

And also left Warhammer40k servitors. You know, the people-turned-to-robot ones complete with inhumane cybernetic and mechanical prosthetics and other attachments.

Shit.

-VB-

Celestial Forge gives “Warhammer 40k Attendants.” Category 1, Choice 1.