The formation of the Wastes Confederacy transformed Oakhaven from a secret project into a bustling military hub. The city's gates, once a symbol of our isolation, were now a portal through which the disparate strengths of our new nation flowed.
The first to arrive was the Ashen tribe contingent, led by Anya's own son, a lean, sharp-eyed youth named Kai. They did not ride on mules, but on swift, sand-colored desert horses I had not known existed, a breed the tribe kept secret and treasured as much as their goats. They were twenty archers, their movements silent and fluid, their presence in the city as subtle and unnerving as a whisper of wind. They brought with them not just their bows, but their unparalleled skill in scouting and tracking.
A week later, the first arms caravan from Ironpeak arrived. It was not a trade mission; it was a tribute. Grak sent thirty of his strongest warriors, clad in rough but effective iron plate armor of their own design, led by his most trusted lieutenant. Their wagons were laden not with ore, but with newly forged spearheads, arrowheads, and the crude but intimidatingly solid blades of their smiths.
The integration of these three fiercely independent cultures into a single fighting force was my next great challenge. The initial friction was immediate. The Ironpeak warriors, with their loud, boisterous ways, saw the silent Ashen nomads as shifty and untrustworthy. The Ashen archers, proud and aloof, viewed the smiths as clumsy, noisy brutes. Both groups looked upon my Oakhaven farmers-turned-soldiers with a mixture of curiosity and condescension.
I used my remaining two System Points without hesitation. The choice was obvious.
[MILITARY ORGANIZATION & LOGISTICS - KNOWLEDGE PACKET][Cost: 2 System Points.][Description: Provides knowledge on integrating diverse military units, establishing a clear chain of command, managing supply lines, and coordinating combined arms tactics.]
Armed with this new knowledge, I didn't just command them; I began to forge them. I established a unified training ground outside the city walls. I did not try to make them all the same. Instead, I celebrated their differences, framing them as essential parts of a greater whole.
"Kael and the men of Oakhaven are the anvil!" I declared to the assembled force. "They are the steady shield line that will hold against any charge!"
"Grak's warriors from Ironpeak are the hammer!" I roared. "They are the crushing force that will shatter enemy armor and break their lines!"
"And Anya's archers from the Ashen tribe are the serpent!" I finished, my voice dropping to a hiss. "They are the silent sting from the shadows, the unseen death that will harry our enemies, bleed them, and drive them into confusion!"
I designed training exercises that forced them to rely on each other. I had the Ironpeak warriors charge a shield wall held by Borin's men, only to be "annihilated" by a flanking volley of arrows from Kai's hidden archers. I had Kai's scouts track a party of Oakhaven men through the canyons, teaching our people the art of stealth and counter-tracking. I made the smiths and the nomads share the same mess hall, eat the same food, and stand guard on the same walls.
Slowly, the barriers began to break down. They found a shared respect in each other's skills. The Ironpeak smiths began to admire the lethal accuracy of the Ashen bows. The Ashen archers came to appreciate the unshakeable sturdiness of the Oakhaven shield wall. They were no longer three separate tribes. They were becoming the Army of the Wastes.
My system interface reflected this progress.
[MILITARY FORCE: The Army of the Wastes (Integrated).][UNITS: Oakhaven Infantry (Tier 1), Ironpeak Shock Troops (Tier 1), Ashen Archers (Tier 1).][COMBINED ARMS EFFECTIVENESS: 42% (Growing).]
We had just over a month left before the tax caravan was due. We used the time to its fullest. Our new, combined force fanned out into the desert, mapping every canyon, every oasis, every potential ambush site within a three-day march of Oakhaven. We turned our home territory into a meticulously prepared killing field. The secret granaries were full, our people were drilled in their roles, and our new, multicultural army was beginning to cohere into a formidable fighting machine.
The day came, as I knew it would. A lone Ashen scout, perched on a high, distant ridge like a hawk, gave the signal. A flash of reflected light from a polished piece of obsidian.
It was the pre-arranged sign. A large caravan, moving with military precision, had been spotted on the old Royal Road. It was larger than expected, consisting of not just a dozen wagons for the grain, but an escort of at least fifty Royal Knights, their polished armor a brilliant, arrogant star in the desert sun. They were not just coming to collect taxes. They were coming to make a statement, to remind the upstart province of its place.
The signal was relayed across the city. A quiet, grim readiness settled over Oakhaven. The farmers calmly herded the livestock into the pens. The women and children secured the houses. The Marketplace was cleared.
In the training yard, the Army of the Wastes assembled. Borin stood at the head of the Oakhaven infantry, their iron-tipped spears forming a hedge of deadly points. The Ironpeak warriors hefted their massive axes, their faces grim. Kai and his Ashen archers strung their bows, their movements silent and economical. They stood together, a united front of nearly eighty hardened warriors.
I stood before them, clad not in fine silks, but in simple, functional leather armor, the Oakhaven Blade gifted to Anya's tribe now mirrored by the one at my own hip.
"You know your orders," I said, my voice ringing with a calm authority that belied the frantic pounding of my heart. "You know the plan. They believe they are coming to collect a tax from a broken-spirited bastard. Let them believe it. Let them walk into our valley. Let them walk into our parlor."
My gaze swept over them all—farmer, smith, and nomad, now brothers-in-arms. "Today, we show the Kingdom of Aerthos what it means to try and collect a debt from the free people of the Wastes."
I turned and walked towards the main gate. The lookout's horn blew a single, clear note, signaling the final approach. The first great test of our Confederacy, our first battle in the war for our independence, was upon us. The taxman was coming.