The Disappearance

"Procurement in Novigrad is complete. Seeds, farm tools, iron, cloth, medicine, and supplies—we have enough of everything.

"Karl and I went to Vivaldi Bank and exchanged half of our Florin reserves for Redanian crowns.

"The current rate is one Florin for 3.5 crowns. We have quite a lot of Florins, so we exchanged them in batches to avoid drawing attention."

He paused and lightly tapped the figures with a finger. "The standard rate is one to three, but the market is optimistic about Nilfgaard's progress in the war, so the Florin has risen in value. After fees, this exchange brought us roughly nine thousand crowns."

"Nine thousand?"

"Nine thousand," Erwin repeated.

"More than half has already been allocated: the manor walls, the hydraulic forge hammer, next season's seeds and livestock. Every item has a budget. What remains isn't much, but it'll be enough to carry us through until next spring."

He folded the list and slipped it back into his notebook.

"Nine thousand crowns would be enough for an ordinary person to live out the rest of his life, even if he spent like a noble. But for a manor and an army, I wish I could split every copper into two."

Ron stopped beside a low table in the courtyard. Erwin took a key from his clothes and set it on the table.

"The underground warehouse key. It's yours—a master key that opens both the outer and inner doors. Karl holds the outer key, and I hold the inner one. For now, the financial rules will use a simplified version.

"For routine expenses under five hundred crowns, Karl and I can authorize the funds together. Anything above five hundred requires your written order or your presence.

"Other than you, under any circumstances, both Karl and I must be present before both doors can be opened."

Erwin pushed the key toward Ron, then withdrew his hand and pulled a small leather pouch from his clothes. He loosened the drawstring and poured its contents into his palm.

A ring.

It was silver-white, its face a size larger than an ordinary signet ring, engraved with the roaring lion crest of the Calrad Mercenary Company. The lion's mane spread outward in every direction.

The lines were shallow but distinct, the tips of the mane finished in incredibly fine points. This had not been casually engraved; it had been carved stroke by stroke into the stone with a small engraving knife.

"I've been preparing this ever since the day you agreed to the mercenary company's name and crest." Erwin held the ring in his palm and extended it toward him.

"Your written orders and letters need a seal. Normally, that is the symbol of a lord." He adjusted his glasses.

"You are still only a sergeant major, but there's no harm in using it now."

Ron took the ring, turned it over in his palm, and inspected the silver setting beneath the stone. Then he slipped it onto his finger and reached out to take the key.

"Once the fortifications and training ground are finished, the next stage will prioritize building the hydraulic forge."

Erwin opened his notebook and wrote a few lines on a fresh page: "Tomorrow's arrangements." He closed it and tucked it beneath his arm.

Before dawn had fully broken, Erwin's footsteps sounded on the stone steps.

Ron was splashing water onto his face by the courtyard basin. Hearing the footsteps, he straightened up, water dripping from his chin onto the collar of his chainmail.

"The baron's orders." Erwin handed him a folded letter. The dark-red wax bore the baron's seal, identical to the one Ron had seen before.

"The messenger just left. Lady Anna and Tamara have disappeared."

Ron unfolded the letter. The baron's handwriting was large and hurried, his wording brief and blunt—Anna and Tamara had vanished after leaving Crow's Nest two days ago. Everyone who could be sent out had already been deployed.

Ron was ordered to set out from Calrad Manor and assist in searching the swamps and woodland to the southeast. There were no pleasantries in the letter, no "please," only a large signature and a date.

Ron folded the letter and handed it to Erwin.

"When did it happen?"

"Two days ago. The baron has turned over every inch around Crow's Nest and found no trace of them. Now he's sent men in every direction."

Ron did not ask why he had only been informed now.

A messenger on horseback needed most of a day to travel from Crow's Nest to Calrad Manor. Arriving late last night was not slow. He picked up the battle axe leaning against the wall and rested its haft on his shoulder.

"Assemble at the training ground. Ten professional soldiers, twenty recruits."

Erwin opened his notebook to record the order. As Ron walked toward the training ground, he continued speaking.

"We already have a trade route through the southeast. Search as we go, and clear out the bandit camps along the route to secure the transport line."

"The recruits are going too?"

"They're going. Their basic training is complete. It's time they smelled blood."

Ron paused. "When we pass drowners or wolf packs, split the main force into five-man assault formations. Rotate them in. The veterans keep watch. Just make sure the recruits don't freeze up the first time they face an enemy."

Erwin quickly wrote several lines in his notebook. "Miko can lead a squad. Cole and Pete can as well. With Karl there too, the recruits won't have any trouble switching formations."

"Formations." Ron repeated the word. "This operation won't rely on a large battle line. Crushing fights don't make soldiers." He turned his head and glanced at Erwin.

"For the first bandit camp, push forward in combined formations and let them feel the rhythm of formation fighting. After that, split into groups. For scattered fights, engage with shield-and-spear assault formations."

Thirty men had already formed up on the training ground. The ten professional soldiers stood in the front row, clad in full breastplates and chainmail neck guards, the shadows of their iron helmets covering half their faces.

The twenty recruits stood behind them, equipped exactly like the front row: breastplates, chainmail, neck guards, iron helmets, long spears, and crossbows.

But their stances were different. They were not sloppy—they were stiff. Some gripped their spear shafts too tightly. Others braced their crossbows against their shoulders in the correct posture, but their fingers rested on the triggers and trembled before the weapons had even been cocked.

Cole walked before the ranks and stopped in front of one recruit. He reached out and tugged at the man's breastplate straps, pulled them tight, tied a knot, patted the armor plate, and moved on to the next.

Miko stood at the very front of the formation. He did not roar at them like Karl would. He merely walked down the line, stopping in front of each recruit.

He looked over their equipment, then into their eyes. When he reached the third soldier, he stopped. The recruit's pupils were shaking, his breathing shallow, his breastplate rising and falling sharply.

"Name," Miko said.

"Hank."

"Are you afraid?"

Hank swallowed. "Yes."

"Good. Fear will keep you alive longer." Miko patted his shoulder guard and moved on.

Karl stood on the wooden platform at the training ground, his helmet tucked beneath his arm. His gaze swept over the entire formation, but he gave no rousing speech.

Ron walked to the front of the ranks. All thirty pairs of eyes fell on him as he planted the haft of his battle axe against the ground.

"Three things today," he said. "First, the baron's family has disappeared, and we are searching the southeast. Second, clear the village trade route. Third..." He paused.

"Most of you are entering battle for the first time today. Everything that could be taught on the training ground has been taught. The rest, you'll learn on the battlefield."

When the final word fell, no one spoke. Ron turned around.

"Move out!"