The temporary military encampment gradually settled into the familiar rhythm of midday.
The clang of hammers inside the field forges faded one by one as the blacksmiths banked their spirit flames beneath heavy iron covers. Patrols returning from the outer perimeter handed over their posts to fresh squads before disappearing toward the dining grounds, laughter carrying easily through the orderly rows of tents.
Supply wagons rolled along the packed roads, their wheels leaving shallow tracks in the sunbaked earth while quartermasters shouted inventory numbers over the steady movement of workers transporting grain, vegetables, and barrels of clean spring water toward the military kitchens.
Above everything, hundreds of crimson banners bearing the Black Iron Mercenary Group's fluttered proudly beneath the afternoon breeze.
The cooking competition had ended.
Now came the command banquet.
Inside the temporary military kitchens, every stove had already been reignited.
