Dromos 10, Imperial Year 1645
The Secondary Workshop – The Armory
Vlad stood before the assembled Black Knights. Forty‑three of them now – the original survivors, the new recruits, all gathered in the armory. The mood was tense. They knew a mission was coming.
But Vlad had something else to say first.
He walked to a cabinet at the back of the room – one the older knights had never seen opened. He turned the lock and pulled out a bundle of black fabric and leather.
The Raven outfit.
The long coat, midnight blue, trimmed in silver. The beaked mask, plain but elegant. The red plume, long and bright. He had not worn it since before the declaration.
"Some of you have asked about my past," Vlad said. "Before Zero. Before the Black Knights."
He put on the coat. The mask. The plume.
"I was the Raven."
The room went still.
Hound crossed his arms. "We know."
Sparrow nodded. "We figured it out."
Titan grunted. "The weapons gave you away."
Wall smiled – a rare expression. "You're not as subtle as you think."
Hammer, standing with his prosthetic hook, raised it. "Took you long enough to admit it."
Vlad looked at the original twenty. "You knew?"
"Of course we knew," Rook said. "The rifles, the pistols, the way you move. It was obvious."
"We just didn't care," Lynx added. "You're Zero now. That's what matters."
The new recruits stared. Some had heard the stories of the Raven – the ghost who killed corrupt nobles, who walked through walls, who spoke in thunder. Now that ghost was their leader.
Kithri's tail twitched. "The Raven is Zero?"
"Yes," Vlad said.
"Huh." She tilted her head. "Cool."
Finn, one of the newer infiltrators, whispered to another recruit, "I didn't sign up for this."
"You signed up to fight demons," Vlad said. "The past does not matter. Only the mission."
He removed the mask. "Now. We negotiate with dwarves."
Dromos 12, Imperial Year 1645
The Ironhold Compact – The Dwarven Gates
The Ironhold was a mountain of black stone, its gates carved with ancient runes. Vlad had brought a small team: Hammer (for his knowledge of dwarven customs), Wall (for her stubbornness), and Rook (for his records).
The dwarven guards were suspicious. Their axes were sharp. Their beards were braided.
"State your business," one said.
"Trade," Vlad said. "We have lesser dragon materials. We seek orichalcum ore."
The guards exchanged glances. "Wait here."
Dromos 12 – Afternoon
The Ironhold – The Council Chamber
Thane Grimstone sat at the head of a long stone table. Other thanes flanked him – old dwarves with grey beards and harder eyes.
"You are Zero," Grimstone said.
"I am."
"You failed against the great demon."
"I did. That is why I need orichalcum."
Grimstone's eyes narrowed. "Orichalcum is rare. We do not trade it lightly."
"I have lesser dragon scales, bones, and teeth. Enough to outfit a company."
"Lesser dragons are dangerous. How do we know you can deliver?"
Vlad placed a dragon bone blade on the table. "This was forged from a lesser earth dragon we killed. We have more. And we can kill more."
The thanes murmured.
Grimstone picked up the blade. He tested its edge. "Orichalcum is not for sale. It is for barter."
"Then barter."
"Two lesser dragons per year. For two years. That is four dragons total. In exchange, we will supply as much orichalcum as we can mine."
Hammer stepped forward. "That's too many."
Grimstone glared at him. "You are a dwarf. You know the value of orichalcum."
"I know the value of my people's lives. Hunting four lesser dragons will cost us."
"Then do not hunt them. But you will not get orichalcum."
Vlad raised a hand. "Two dragons per year is acceptable. But we need the ore immediately. We cannot wait for the first hunt."
Grimstone stroked his beard. "A down payment. One dragon's worth of materials now. The rest upon delivery."
"Agreed."
The thanes murmured again. Grimstone nodded.
"Then we have a deal. Bring us a lesser dragon's worth of scales and bones. We will give you orichalcum. And we will pray you know what you are doing."
Vlad extended his hand. Grimstone took it – a grip like iron.
"We will."
Dromos 15, Imperial Year 1645
The Secondary Workshop – Return
The wagons carried orichalcum ore – dark, heavy, with a faint reddish sheen. Vlad supervised the unloading.
"This is it," Rook said. "The ore that might save us."
"Might," Vlad said. "We still need to forge it. Test it. And then hunt more dragons."
Hammer stood beside him, his prosthetic hook gleaming. "I'll forge the first blade."
"Your arm?"
"I can still swing a hammer. One‑handed."
Vlad nodded. "Then start tomorrow."
The Black Knights gathered around the ore.
"For the fallen," Hound said.
"For the fallen," they echoed.
End of Chapter Seventy‑Two