"Iron?" The leader squinted, eyeing the prosthesis on Iron's right arm, and then spat on the ground. "Looks like we hit the jackpot, boys!"
The rest of the ragged bunch guffawed, exchanging glances. The man stared back at Iron:
"Hand it over nicely, and we might just let you live."
Iron took a step forward and asked quietly:
"Is it just me, or did he just call us runts?"
"No, he did," Noah replied dryly, standing behind him.
"I see," Iron nodded and tilted his head slightly to the side, studying the man with the bloody cheek. "Tell me... if I kill one of you, are you going to cry a lot?"
The leader choked, his face instantly twisting with rage:
"What?! Who the hell do you think you are, you little punk?!"
"Your lord," Iron replied without a shadow of a smile. "Who else?"
"Finish him!" the man roared, charging forward first, raising his axe above his head.
Noah had already taken a step, and Elyria spun in the air, but Iron told them without turning around:
"Stay out of this, alright?"
"...Fine," Noah replied calmly and stayed put.
"All the better," Elyria snorted and dropped a little lower, watching with interest.
Eleven men rushed Iron all at once. But a couple of steps away from him, the ground beneath their boots lost all traction. With a simple pulse of magic, Iron dropped the coefficient of friction to zero on that patch of the road.
The result was instantaneous. The entire gang, at full sprint, lost their footing: their feet slipped hopelessly across the surface as if on smooth ice. Before they could even grasp what had happened, they all lost their balance at once and crashed into the dirt in a heap, swearing under their breath.
Iron leisurely stepped closer and looked down at the leader lying at his feet:
"And you were the one wanting to kill us?"
"You bastard..." the man growled, trying to push himself up on his hands, but his palms slid pointlessly away, and his legs spun in place.
Clinging to each other, they somehow tried to stand. At that exact moment, Iron abruptly cut the effect. The friction was instantly restored. But the momentum of their bodies was still moving forward, and when their boots "caught" the ground, the whole group slammed face-first into the mud a second time with a loud crunch.
The leader got up first. His face was twisted with fury. Snarling, he lunged at Iron and swung his axe wildly.
Iron easily swayed to the side, dodging the blade, slipped under the man's arm, and sharply tripped him. As the leader lost his balance, Iron hopped slightly and planted a spinning kick square between his shoulder blades. A dull thud—and the man collapsed face-first into the dirt with a groan.
With a calm movement, Iron placed his foot on the back of the man's head, pressing him slightly to the ground, and swept his gaze over the remaining ten men:
"And this is your leader? Don't you think he looks more like a clown?"
From behind, one of the vagabonds lunged silently. Raising a rusty sword with both hands, he tried to bring the blade down on Iron's neck.
But the engineer, without turning around, stuck his index finger out backward and tapped the approaching metal with a light flick. In that same instant, a microscopic wave of resonance traveled through the blade. A sharp crack rang out, and the sword shattered into dozens of tiny fragments that showered into the grass. Iron simply waved his hand in the air—and a dense shockwave of air threw the attacker back about five meters.
Iron exhaled heavily and shook his head:
"You're so pathetic..."
"And that plays right into my hands," he added mentally.
Easing the pressure on the leader's head slightly, Iron asked the others in an even voice:
"Want to join us?"
Elyria froze in mid-air at that, then flew right up to his ear, waving her little hands actively:
"Iron, are you crazy?! Use your head! Taking these savages with us?!"
"Elyria, they are our future," Iron calmly shut her down. "So be so kind as to speak politely to them."
A woman with greasy hair and a scar across her entire lip stepped out from the group of vagabonds.
"Do you seriously think we're just going to go with you?" she snapped.
The other bandits backed her up with a dull, sullen murmur and began to tighten the circle around Iron once again.
"The choice is yours," Iron shrugged.
They lunged simultaneously. Iron dodged their strikes with ease, parrying thrusts with his palms, knocking the trajectories of their swords off course, and delivering short, precise kicks to their knees and torsos.
"You don't want food? A home? To look decent? In a word—a good life?"
"What the hell are you talking about?!" roared one of the men, trying to reach him with a wide swing.
Iron instantly vanished from his line of sight and appeared right behind him. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, he slammed his face into the dirt:
"It's obvious to everyone that you simply have nowhere to go. You are a bunch of pathetic, dim-witted subjects," Iron said, simultaneously dodging another axe and knocking a second attacker down with a sweep. "I'm offering you one hundred percent comfort, which will become a reality very soon. All I need from you is simple: live, help, and serve me.”
The leader, struggling to push himself up, rose again. The mud on his face mixed with fresh scrapes, and his eyes burned with desperate rage:
"Do you really think we're going to serve you?!"
"Unfortunately, you don't have a choice," Iron answered calmly.
He lowered his palm slightly, and the kinetic energy of the molecules in the air and soil around the bandits plummeted to zero. Molecular movement stopped instantly. The moisture in the air and the saturated soil crystallized into a thick crust of ice in a fraction of a second.
A loud crack rang out, and all eleven people were encased in a block of ice from their feet all the way up to their necks. Moving even a finger became impossible—even the fabric of their clothes was frozen solid. A panicked uproar rose in the air: the bandits gasped frantically, twitched as much as their restricted necks allowed, and started shouting in fear.
Iron smoothly drew his sword.
He unhurriedly walked over to the woman with the scar on her lip and held the blade against her throat.
"You have two options," Iron said, looking the leader right in the eyes. "First: die right now. Second: come with us and swear your loyalty to me. Like I said, I will give you the best life you could possibly dream of."
The leader gritted his teeth and squeezed out:
"Screw you!"
"I see..." Iron exhaled curtly.
He raised the sword above his head for one quick strike.
"Stop!" one of the bandits screamed desperately. "Stop, please, don't!"
Iron stopped the blade a centimeter from the woman's neck.
The vagabond, gulping for air, shifted a panicked gaze to his leader:
"Clerk... guys, maybe we should just agree?! Please..."
Clerk looked at his people: one was shivering, another was crying, and a third was praying.
"F-Fine," Clerk cut him off, overcoming his fear.
Iron smoothly lowered the sword and sheathed it:
"Perfect."
"But..." Clerk swallowed hard, forcing down the lump rising in his throat. "Promise that with you, we'll actually be happier."
"I promise," Iron replied evenly.
He snapped his fingers, returning the temperature to normal. The ice melted instantly, turning into ordinary splashes and wet mud. Having lost their support, the people collapsed heavily to the ground, panting and coughing.
Several bandits immediately crawled over to the woman, fearfully checking her shoulders:
"How are you? Are you okay? Anything hurt?"
A bit further away, a young guy quietly asked Clerk as he got up:
"Did we... do the right thing?"
"I don't know," Clerk muttered quietly, looking at his feet.
"Damn it... This guy is an absolute bastard," he growled mentally, staring at Iron's back with clenched fists. "But..." Clerk looked at his people and then at Iron. "If even half of what he said is true..."
"Well, that settles that," Iron summarized calmly.
Elyria hovered near his ear and asked quietly:
“Have you completely lost your mind without your metal junk?”
Without answering her, Iron turned to the recovering vagabonds:
"So, are you coming or not?" And then he added a little louder: "By the way, these guys with me—Noah and Elyria—are much tougher and stronger than I am. So be careful before you try attacking us again."
Clerk shifted his gaze to the silent Noah and the tiny spirit.
Swallowing tensely, he silently trudged after Iron, leading the remnants of his gang behind him.
The group moved unhurriedly along the rutted trail. Iron walked in front, his hands clasped behind his head, while the heavy sloshing of boots in the mud could be heard behind him.
"And why is that?" Iron asked without turning his head.
"Why what?" Elyria asked in surprise, circling above his shoulder.
"Why have I lost my mind without my metal junk?"
"Do I seriously need to explain it to you?!" the spirit threw her hands up.
Iron chuckled quietly:
"You just don't get it. Without people, there's no village, let alone a state."
"I mean, true, but them..." Elyria glanced back at the gloomily trudging bandits.
"You can see how desperate they are," Iron interrupted her, dropping his volume slightly. "Usually, people like this have lost a great deal. They despise those who did it to them—whether it was robbers, murderers, or even the nobility. But they don't even realize they're turning into the exact same thing."
He took a short pause and added:
"A crowd like this is simultaneously the most dangerous and the easiest to control."
"What do you mean?" Noah chimed in.
"If you're strong, they'll obey without question. If you show weakness, they'll finish you off instantly," Iron explained calmly.
"Fine, but doesn't it bother you that they've most likely killed people? And more than once," Elyria kept pressing. "And besides... you called them subordinates. Knowing you, you're going to work them like slaves."
"Do I really look like that kind of guy?" Iron cast a sidelong glance at her.
Elyria just nodded silently.
Iron exhaled heavily:
"Yeah, maybe I will work them hard, but that's not the same thing as slavery. They'll have freedom, although... my words will, naturally, remain absolute orders. And as for the murders... I couldn't care less."
He lowered his hands and continued:
"Either way, if they start acting up and causing trouble for the locals, I'll kick them out immediately or just end them."
"I see..." Elyria replied curtly.
After ten minutes of silent walking, Elyria suddenly froze in the air and squeaked indignantly:
"Wait, stop!.. Does that mean Noah and I have to guard the camp at night?!"
"Looks like it," Iron scoffed.
"No! I don't want to! I don't want to!" she whined, spinning around his head.
"Alright, alright, we'll figure something out," Iron brushed her off, although to himself he smirked and thought: "You guys don't exactly have much of a choice anyway."
The dark night gradually blanketed the steppe. Then, from the middle of their column, Clerk's uncertain voice rang out:
"Excuse me, Iron... Maybe we could set up camp?"
Iron stopped and turned around:
"Why?"
"Well... my people and I are really tired," Clerk answered, swallowing hard.
"Aren't you used to walking a lot?" Iron raised an eyebrow, but seeing the exhausted faces of the vagabonds, he exhaled: "Fine."
He turned to his own people:
"We're setting up camp."
"Okay," Elyria shrugged, while Noah only pursed his lips in displeasure.
Iron looked around. Nothing was visible in the dark: no forests, no hills, just a blanket of grass.
"We'll have to sleep right here. Elyria, whip us up a campfire."
The spirit instantly gathered dry branches and brushwood, piling them into a neat little heap. Iron walked over, flicked his finger, spiking the air temperature around the branches to the point of ignition, and the dry wood immediately crackled to life with a bright flame.
"There we go, all set," Iron said, stretching. "Good night, everyone."
He simply flopped down right on the grass, resting his head on his left arm. Elyria hovered above the ground, crossing her legs and slipping into meditation, while Clerk's people, whispering amongst themselves, slowly started settling down by the fire.
About half an hour passed. The fire crackled quietly, casting long shadows over the heavily breathing bandits.
Clerk carefully opened one eye. Everyone seemed to be asleep. His gaze fell on Iron's sword, which was lying right on the grass—literally just a couple of steps from his head.
Slowly, holding his breath, the leader got on all fours and took a cautious step forward, reaching his hand toward the hilt...
"What are you doing?" an even voice sounded right by his ear.
Clerk jumped in fright, jerked upright, and spun around frantically. Right behind his back stood Noah, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto him.
"Uh..." Clerk stammered, feeling sweat dripping down his back. "I just got up to use the bathroom..."
"I see," Noah replied dryly. "Go. Make it quick."
"Damn it..." Clerk hissed quietly to himself, sighed heavily, and hastily scuttled off into the darkness.
A few hours later, morning arrived.
Iron got up first, stretching until his joints popped. Elyria smoothly floated out of her meditative state, and Noah was already perking his ears nearby.
By then, the campfire had practically died out, leaving behind only a wisp of bluish smoke.
"Clean this up," Iron tossed to the spirit.
Elyria simply snapped her fingers—and the charred branch ends, along with the ash, evaporated instantly, scattering into the air as a handful of emerald sparks.
Iron shifted his gaze to the rising Clerk. The leader, meeting his eyes, understood everything without a word and immediately started waking up his men. About five minutes later, the whole group of fourteen people set off down the road again.
Meanwhile, a short distance away on a slight rise, a girl was walking. She wore a light beige tunic and dark pants, and a long sword hung on a tight belt at her left hip.
She abruptly froze and looked down at her feet, then shifted her gaze into the distance—to where fourteen figures were walking away down the trail.
"It led me here..." the girl whispered quietly.
She peered at the silhouettes on the road and said:
"So... is he one of them?"
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