The Scholar's Rebirth-Chapter 36: The recruits had returned

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, Elandor was already immersed in work. His attention was fixed on a parchment spread across his desk, quill in hand, when a knock echoed from the door.

"Come in," he said without looking up.

The door opened to reveal a young man, bright-eyed and smiling. "Good morning, Sir Elan."

Elandor looked up, his face warming with a smile. "Good morning, son. Early today, I see."

Micah stepped inside and settled into the seat across from him. "Well, you did ask me to come as early as possible—and I've done what you asked."

Elandor nodded approvingly. He had spent the past few days overseeing the construction of new stables and pens, following Eira's directives. Now that the structures were complete, the next step was acquiring the animals.

"And the arrangements?" Elandor asked.

Micah grinned. "The sailor agreed to a silver coin for the transport, there and back. I also gave him the full list of what's to be brought in."

"Good," Elandor said. "Is he here now?"

"Ah, yes," Micah replied. "He's right outside. Shall I call him in?"

Elandor nodded once. "Please do."

Micah stepped out briefly, then returned with an older man following behind. Weathered by years of sea and salt, the man still carried himself with purpose.

"Good morning, Sir Elandor," the man greeted, bowing politely.

Elandor gestured to the seat next to Micah. "Please, sit."

The sailor nodded and took a seat.

Micah leaned forward. "This is Walters. He's the only sailor left with a working ship, and the only transport link we've got for now."

"I know," Elandor said, his tone thoughtful as he turned his attention to Walters. "I've heard you have some knowledge of the nearby islands."

Walters straightened as the focus shifted to him. "Yes, sir. I do. What would you like to know?"

Before Elandor could ask his question, another knock sounded—sharp. The door pushed open a second later, and in walked Eira.

Her eyes quickly swept the room before landing on Walters. She looked at Elandor who gave her a slight nod.

"Good morning," she said curtly as she moved toward the desk. "You must be Walters."

"At your service, my lady," Walters replied, rising slightly in his seat with a respectful nod.

Eira sat on the edge of the desk, arms loosely folded. "You're familiar with the islands nearby?"

"Aye," Walters said. "Spent most of my years sailing around them. Some more often than others."

"How far is the closest one?"

Walters scratched his beard, thinking. "Well, if you set out just before sunrise, you'll see land again by the time the sun's halfway between its peak and setting—on a good wind, of course. A bit longer otherwise."

Eira nodded slightly, her expression unreadable. "Any major trade hubs?"

"None, I'm afraid," Walters replied. "Each island keeps to itself, more or less. Small exchanges between them, sure, but nothing centralized. That said, you'll find most things you'd need—livestock, grains, tools—if you know where to look."

"And slaves?" Eira asked bluntly.

Walters shook his head. "Not around here. For that, you'd have to sail much farther—weeks away, depending on winds. Past the scattered isles and deeper into southern waters. Riskier, too."

Eira turned toward Elandor, her expression already asking the question. Elandor gave a small nod.

"Yes," he confirmed. "The residences have been repaired. The main priority now is the military campus."

She fell silent for a moment as she let her thoughts settle. She needed the animals but at the same time more people,and yet still more money. She'll have to prioritise the animals first mainly because she needed them for fertiliser as well as meat for the people.

They were yet to have a standard market available.

Finally, she stood. "That'll be all for now."

"Right," Walters said, standing as well. "So the boy and I—"

"You'll head to the nearby islands," Eira said. "Buy what animals you can, especially horses, cows, and goats. Use the opportunity to gather whatever information you can. Anything unusual. Any whispers worth hearing."

Micah gave a short nod. "Understood."

"Then go prepare. You leave with the next tide."

The two men gave their final bows and left the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Once the door clicked shut behind Walters and Micah, Eira turned to Elandor.

"We need to discuss schools."

Elandor straightened, a crease forming between his brows. "Yes, about that... I followed your instructions and identified those who could potentially teach—five individuals. All literate, or at least partially."

"That's good," she said, already turning toward the window.

"But..." Elandor hesitated. "They don't have any materials. Nothing to write on or with.And—if I may—when I asked what they could teach... they stared at me. One suggested teaching others how to sweep."

Eira slowly turned back around, blinking. "To sweep?"

Elandor gave a helpless shrug. "She said she's very good at it."

There was a pause.

"Any buildings available for immediate use?"

Elandor tapped a finger thoughtfully against his arm. "There's one. A brick manor still standing on the west end—survived the raids better than most. It was once owned by a minor noble who fled when the troubles began. The inside's dusty, but the structure is solid. Large, too. Three floors."

"Alright," Eira said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Call them. All five. I want them gathered and waiting by the time I return from the site."

"Yes, my lady."

"And for the love of the ancestors, tell the sweeper to bring her broom if she must. We might as well build character."

Elandor gave a subtle cough—was that a laugh?—and nodded. "I'll have them ready."

Elandor gave a shallow bow. "Of course." He turned to the side door and gestured sharply. "Rain."

A moment later, a tall elf with pale hair the color of winter clouds stepped into the room. She wore a forest-green tunic, a bow slung across her back, and looked as if she could knock someone out with a stare alone.

"Yes, Chief?" she said crisply, then turned her gaze to Eira, eyes softening just a fraction. "My lady."

"Escort Lady Eira to the brick manor," Elandor instructed. "Ensure it is safe and assist her with the survey."

Rain nodded. "Understood."

Eira rose from the edge of the desk, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. "Let's go then."

*

When Eldora —then Luinmir —was still flourishing, the nobles naturally kept their distance from the common folk. They built their estates on slightly elevated land—the Highland Quarter—a safe distance from the village center but still close enough to oversee it.

This district was to the northwest of the central settlement, built on terraced slopes and natural ridges. The nobles had imported brick, stone, and slate to build sturdy manor houses with wide courtyards and gated gardens, in stark contrast to the villagers' simple mud homes.

The manor stood tall but weary, its stone façade faded with time. Vines curled up its sides like lazy green fingers, and several windows bore the marks of weather and neglect. Still, the structure held strong—a clear testament to its past grandeur.

Eira stepped closer, taking in the surroundings. The building was nestled beside other manors, their renovations in various stages. Some had neat brickwork reinforcing their frames, while others bore more humble repairs—mud-patched walls drying under the morning sun. Those patches were rough but clearly recent. Eira squinted at them, then gave a small nod. These must be the residences Elandor mentioned.

She pushed open the manor's door. It creaked but didn't resist. Inside, dust floated lazily in beams of light streaming through the windows. The space was wide, with high ceilings and multiple rooms flanking a central hall. It was more than enough.

"We'll clear out the lowest floor," she said, turning to Rain, who stood quietly behind her. "Sweep it, air it out, and make sure there are no birds nesting in the rafters or whatever else lives up there."

Rain gave a quick bow. "Yes, my lady. I'll see to it immediately."

Without wasting time, Eira headed back toward the hall. Once inside, she pulled a piece of parchment from a stack and, using a charcoal stick, began sketching. Her hand moved swiftly, drawing a simple layout: benches attached to desks—basic but functional. She added a side view and labeled the parts. Done.

She rolled the parchment and made her way back to the blacksmith's.

Inside, she found Jimmy still tending the forge.

"Ah, Lady Eira!" he greeted,"You're back."

She handed him the parchment. "I need over fifty of these made in a week's time."

Jimmy took one look at the drawing, then blinked. "Fifty?"

"Yes. Seven days."

His eyes widened. "That's... quite a lot."

"You said the storage rooms are full, didn't you?" Eira replied, raising an eyebrow. "Consider this your next big task."

Jimmy stared at the sketch again, then let out a breath and chuckled under it. "Well, we were getting bored anyway. I'll get the others started tonight."

"Good," Eira said, already turning to leave. "And make sure no one chops off their fingers this time."

"No promises!" he called after her, already gathering tools.

Eira smiled as she headed back to the Hall,time to meet her upcoming teachers.

--------

The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet.

From the edge of the village, a line of figures emerged from the dense forest—worn, dust-covered, yet unmistakably disciplined. Their tunics were simple, rough from the days spent training, but the way they held themselves made heads turn.

Villagers paused mid-task. Baskets of vegetables halted mid-lift, children stopped chasing each other, and even the smith's hammer froze mid-swing.

The recruits had returned.

Though sweat clung to their brows and their shoulders sagged from exhaustion, the moment they saw the eyes watching them, something shifted. Spines straightened. Feet began to land in unison.

They weren't wearing boots—most had trained with just woven sandals —but their steps hit the dirt with purpose, sending little puffs of dust rising with each unified step. The sound echoed oddly loud, like a heartbeat pounding through the village.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

They marched not for formality, but for pride. Their journey had changed them. No longer just villagers—they were now the protectors of it.

Mothers whispered to one another, some clasping their hands in awe. Children pointed excitedly. Elders watched silently, expressions unreadable. And amidst all of them, the young marchers moved with silent fire in their eyes.

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Then, like water spilling from a container, the line broke. Some peeled off down dirt paths leading home. Others slowed to greet waiting families. The formation dissolved into scattered joy, disappointment, confusion.

They had returned changed—but not all had returned the same.