(Third-person perspective)
Aermir toured the three islands, wreaking havoc on Lord Borrell, Lord Longthorpe, Lord Torrent, and Lord Sunderland with his tales, leaving his familiars on each island. Erebus was on Sweetsister, Jilim on Longsister; they were both unsung observers and guardians of Aermir's interests, and now he has summoned the Wannian of Sunderland Island. This little black rat emerged from the depths of the Dark Portal, his demeanor a strange blend of formality and drama.
"Greetings, esteemed master! Your humble ninja servant has arrived, shrouded in shadow, ready to carry out your most secret and daring commands. I move silently and swiftly, always at your service, ever vigilant, always ready to embrace the way of the ninja!"
Aermir's initial surprise was quickly replaced by disbelief and slight annoyance. The dramatic performance was so exaggerated that he struggled to find the right words to respond.
"From this moment forward, you are forbidden from accessing my memories of my past life."
Aermir said firmly, his frustration evident.
"My lord, I implore your understanding. If I do not steadfastly persist in my ninja training, its mastery will forever remain beyond my reach; if you permit, I need access to the most secret ninja training, for I must find my path to becoming a ninja."
Wannian bowed deeply and replied.
"The path of a ninja requires unwavering dedication. I must ensure my skills remain sharp, my movements as silent as the night wind."
Aermir slapped his face in disbelief. It seemed that the contact of someone familiar with his past memories had affected his speech and behavior, Aermir found it difficult to remain calm.
"Stop talking like that!"
"Aermir exclaimed, his anger evident," Emil said.
"Oh, esteemed sir, I humbly seek forgiveness for my transgression."
Wannian's answer filled him with deep remorse. Taking a deep breath, Aermir gave up trying and decided to focus on the task at hand. He gave Wannian an important task: to monitor the actions and intentions of the Lord Sunderland.
"If they decide to take any action against us, inform me immediately," Aermir instructed sternly. Wannian bowed in reply.
"Yes, oh, my lord."
As Aermir turned away from Wannian and began walking towards the grove, he couldn't help but shake his head in bewilderment. The absurd scene was almost surreal, and he muttered to himself.
"I give up, I give up..."
Under the cover of Nightfall, Aermir's transformation into an eagle was seamless. His form changed instantly, merging with the majestic bird as he soared into the sky. Moonlight illuminated his path, and he flew through the darkness toward Moat Cailin.
Meanwhile, in the halls of Lord Sunderland's Citadel, Wannian continued his silent infiltration. Using shadow magic, his presence blended perfectly into the torch-lit darkness of the Citadel. As he traversed the Citadel's labyrinthine passageways, his ninety little mice scurried into every crevice, gathering whispers and secrets along the way.
Hidden within the Citadel, the little mice relayed their discovery to the ninja commander. Fragments of conversation, speculations, and private discussions formed a jigsaw puzzle, which Wannian carefully pieced together in his mind.
Back in the skies, Aermir's journey brought him closer to Moat Cailin, the fortress he himself had planned and designed, which awaited his return. His eagle eye surveyed the landscape below; the fully renovated Moat Cailin now stood as an imposing fortress in the swamp. Its the Wall and towers, meticulously restored, exuded power and majesty.
The rooms within the Wall have been expanded and decorated with tapestries depicting the history of the North. The courtyards have been transformed into vibrant gardens and training areas. In short, Moat Cailin is now a symbol of material and spiritual revival.
In a dimly lit room in Moat Cailin, Aermir and the Smith Tobho Mott sat facing each other at a sturdy wooden table piled high with blueprints and plans. The room was filled with the faint echoes of metal clanging and the subtle hissing of the nearby forge, a constant reminder of the arduous work that was underway behind them.
Tobho Mott's weathered hands traced intricate patterns etched onto a suit of armor, his brow furrowed as he intently examined the exquisite details. Aermir watched the Smith's scrutiny with keen interest.
"A remarkable work, Tobho."
"Aermir said, her voice tinged with admiration."
"These enchanted armors possess an extraordinary quality. Exquisite craftsmanship and magical infusion—all combine perfectly."
Tobho Mott's gaze met Aermir's, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. "My lord, it is an honor to participate in such a grand project. These spells are unlike anything I have ever seen or forged. They draw upon the essence of our world, perfectly blending power and magic. All of this is thanks to you, my lord."
Aermir nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"They are not yet at the level of the Valyrians, but in time, we will catch up with them, and even surpass them. With every suit of armor and every weapon that leaves your forge, our strength grows. These enchanted weapons will become our legacy, a testament to the unity we have forged in the North."
Tobho's gaze shifted to the forging table beside him, where a sword was undergoing its final enchantment, shimmering with a soft, otherworldly light. The sword was engraved with intricate runes and magical diagrams, and a small gem was embedded in it. The man smashed the gem with a hammer; with a spark, the gem exploded and fused with the sword.
As the light dimmed, the runes and diagrams etched on the sword began to seep into the metal. These gems were Aermir's masterpiece; they were imbued with magic and spells.
"This process is complex and meticulous, sir. As you said, even a millimeter of error can render the sword ordinary. But I dare say the result is more worthwhile than the effort."
Aermir tapped his fingers lightly on the table, his thoughts drifting to the future.
"So far, we have manufactured five hundred weapons, which is undoubtedly a formidable arsenal. But now it is time to increase production. Our allies and our cause demand this of us. My Order of Paladins has 350 knights, and my private army has 150, but I need at least 500 professional soldiers to equip these weapons."
Tobho Mott's expression shifted, a hint of worry flashing across his face.
"My lord, although I have devoted myself to this work, crafting magical armor and weapons is no easy task. Our staff are highly skilled, but our capabilities are limited."
"I understand these challenges, Tobho. That's why I suggested we hire another 50 the Smith willing to dedicate themselves to this cause. With their expertise, we can scale up production."
Aermir thought for a moment, then continued.
"I can spend another 50 Oath Points to exchange for a craftsman."
This way, he would still have 50 points left for the Oath Ritual, which he would save for a rainy day.
"I will expand the underground forge. They will work in hidden forges beneath the Citadel, far from prying eyes and uninvited spies."
Tobho's expression softened, and gratitude and respect shone in his eyes.
"My lord, your dedication to this work is commendable. With your assurance and the resources you have provided, we will not only forge weapons and armor, but also create a legend that will go down in history."
This conversation rekindled the old man's enthusiasm and passion for his work. Aermir could guess the three types of magic on the Valyria weapons, but he didn't know how to implement them. They included the magic of being forever sharp, durable, and lightweight, as well as, of course, the low-level anti-magic zone generated by the arcane steel itself.