The Last Banner

One week later, the town of Aegis was buzzing with faint but promising signs of progress. The workshops that Hadrian had painstakingly organized were beginning to take shape. The blacksmiths worked tirelessly to refine their barrel-forging techniques, while carpenters honed their craft, producing stocks that were smoother and sturdier than the initial attempts. Though production was still in its infancy, the momentum was undeniable.

Hadrian's own progress mirrored that of the workshops. Each day began with physical training—a combination of push-ups, stretches, and jogging laps around the manor's courtyard. Though the routine left him aching, the results were evident. His constitution had improved once again, and the system confirmed it:

Constitution: 6 (+1)

The effects were undeniable. He could jog longer without gasping for breath, and the weight of exhaustion no longer clung to him like a second skin. While he was still far from the vigor of an average boy his age, the fragile shadow of his past self was beginning to fade.

Hadrian stood at the edge of the forge, watching the blacksmith work on a fresh barrel. The glow of the flames illuminated the man's soot-streaked face, and the rhythmic clang of his hammer echoed across the workshop. Around them, apprentices and laborers moved with purpose, carrying materials and tools under Hadrian's watchful eye.

"How's the stock coming along?" Hadrian asked, turning toward a carpenter who was carefully sanding the wooden frame of a matchlock.

"Much better than the first batch, my lord," the carpenter replied, holding up the nearly finished stock. "It's lighter and smoother, like you suggested."

Hadrian nodded, running his fingers along the polished surface. "Good. Keep at it."

Just then, Sophia and Cassandra arrived, their laughter breaking the industrious rhythm of the workshop. Cassandra darted ahead, her messy curls bouncing as she peeked around the forge. "Hadrian! Are you still making those weird sticks?"

"They're not sticks," Hadrian replied, hiding a smirk as he turned to face her. "They're weapons."

Sophia wrinkled her nose, her darker blond hair tied back neatly with a ribbon. "It doesn't look very dangerous."

"Not yet," Hadrian admitted, gesturing toward the half-finished musket on the workbench. "But it will be."

Cassandra's eyes lit up as she moved closer. "Can we try it when it's ready?"

"No," Hadrian said firmly, stepping between her and the workbench. "This isn't a toy."

Sophia crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. "You've been spending all your time here. Father's going to think you've forgotten how to talk to people."

"I'm talking to you two, aren't I?" Hadrian replied with a raised brow.

"That doesn't count," Cassandra teased, sticking out her tongue.

Hadrian sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "If you want to help, you can fetch some water for the workers. Otherwise, let me work."

The sisters exchanged a glance before Sophia grabbed Cassandra's hand and pulled her toward the door. "Fine, but don't take too long. You still owe us a game later!"

Hadrian watched them leave, a faint smile lingering on his face before he turned back to the forge. The workshop was making progress, and so was he. The pieces were slowly coming together.

The workshop buzzed with the sounds of labor—hammers striking metal, saws slicing through wood, and the occasional sharp hiss of steam escaping the forge. Hadrian stood at the workbench, his sleeves rolled up as he carefully fitted the stock and barrel of the prototype matchlock musket. His focus was absolute, his movements deliberate as he guided the blacksmiths and carpenters through the final stages of assembly.

"Keep the alignment straight," Hadrian said, his voice steady but firm. "If the barrel wobbles, it'll throw off the aim."

"Yes, my lord," the blacksmith replied, his calloused hands steady as he inspected the connection.

Hadrian stepped back for a moment, stretching his arms as he let the workers continue. He couldn't help but notice how much better his body felt compared to just a few weeks ago. His constitution had grown, and it showed. His breathing was steady, and the constant ache in his limbs had faded. Even standing here, directing the work, felt like a triumph.

As he turned back to the workbench, a burst of voices echoed from the doorway. "Hadrian! Look who we brought!" Cassandra's voice was unmistakable, high-pitched and brimming with excitement.

Hadrian glanced toward the door and saw Cassandra bounding into the workshop, her curls bouncing with each step. Sophia followed close behind, a look of exasperation on her face. But it was the third figure that caught Hadrian's attention.

Helena stepped into the workshop, her dirty-blond hair styled in an elegant half-up braid that framed her delicate, doll-like features. Her green eyes scanned the room with curiosity before landing on him. She wore a simple yet well-fitted gown in deep blue, its modest cut accentuating her small, graceful frame.

"Helena?" Hadrian asked, straightening instinctively. "What brings you here?"

"I was dragged," Helena replied, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "Your sisters insisted I come see what you've been doing with all your time."

"Dragged?" Cassandra scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. "She was curious. Don't let her fool you."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "We just thought someone should check if you've been hiding in here plotting something dangerous."

Helena stepped closer, her gaze sweeping over the half-finished musket on the workbench. "And it seems you have." She looked back at Hadrian, her sharp eyes lingering for a moment. "You're... different."

"Different?" Hadrian echoed, tilting his head.

She studied him briefly, her expression softening. "You're almost as tall as me now," she said, a faint note of surprise in her voice. "And you look healthier. Stronger, even."

Hadrian hesitated, unsure how to respond. The way she said it wasn't critical—if anything, there was a faint, almost imperceptible warmth in her tone. He glanced down at himself, realizing just how much progress he'd made. "I've been working on it," he said simply. "Figured it was overdue."

Helena's lips twitched upward into a small smile, but she quickly turned her attention back to the musket. "So, this is what you've been working on? Father mentioned you were trying to arm a militia."

"It's a prototype," Hadrian explained, his tone steady as he lifted the weapon carefully. "A new kind of weapon that doesn't require brute strength or years of training. If it works, it could change how we defend this city."

Helena studied the musket with a discerning eye, her fingers brushing the smooth wooden stock. "It's... intriguing. Dangerous, but intriguing."

Cassandra darted forward, her curiosity getting the better of her. "What does it do? Can you show us?"

"Not here," Hadrian said firmly, gently pulling the musket out of her reach. "It's not safe yet."

Sophia crossed her arms, arching a brow at him. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"Deadly serious," Hadrian replied, his voice quieter but no less determined.

Helena's gaze lingered on him again, her expression thoughtful. "Well, I'll admit, I wasn't expecting this. You've certainly been... productive."

There was something in the way she said it—a faint hint of approval buried beneath her usual guarded tone. It caught Hadrian off guard, though he quickly masked his reaction.

"Come on," Helena said, motioning for Sophia and Cassandra to follow her. "Let's leave him to his work before Father starts wondering where we've gone."

"But I want to see it fire!" Cassandra whined, dragging her feet as Helena gently steered her toward the door.

"You'll see it when it's ready," Helena said firmly, glancing back at Hadrian one last time. "Don't keep us waiting too long."

Hadrian watched them leave, his thoughts swirling. The workshop suddenly felt quieter, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air from where Helena had stood. He shook his head, turning back to the musket. There was no time for distractions—not now.

"Prepare the range," he said to the workers, gripping the weapon tightly. "It's time to see what this thing can do."