Necromancer: Kingdom Building with My Legion of Undead Knights

They arrived at the trading center of Jiopk in the early afternoon.

The journey had been about speed, not sightseeing, and they had pushed the horses hard to get here before the market began to wind down.

The roads had been dusty, the sun hot, but they had made good time.

Now, as they rode through the outer edges of the settlement, the buildings grew denser and the streets more crowded.

The trading center was not a castle or a fortress. It was a sprawling collection of wooden structures, open-air stalls, and livestock pens arranged around a central square.

The square itself was packed with people: merchants yelling out prices, buyers haggling, children running between legs, and animals being led to and from pens. The air was thick with dust, the smell of animals, and the low constant hum of commerce.

And it was heavily protected too. Guards stood at every entrance, their armor polished, their eyes scanning the crowd.

Armed patrols moved through the square, their hands resting on their weapons. Watchtowers were positioned at the corners of the market, each one manned by an archer who could see the entire square.

The message was clear: this place was not to be trifled with.

Darion wondered if this place had ever been robbed. It must have been at some point.

A place this wealthy, this full of goods and coin, would have attracted thieves and raiders from the moment it was established.

But with how heavily protected it was, he doubted that anyone who attempted to rob it would face anything less than severe consequences.

He listed the reasons in his mind. A lot of people traded here, merchants from different kingdoms and baronies, all of them with a stake in keeping the market safe.

If the market was attacked, those kingdoms and baronies would work together to take vengeance on whoever had done it. No one wanted their trade routes disrupted. No one wanted their merchants robbed.

The collective response would be swift and brutal. And beyond that, the guards themselves were well-trained and well-equipped. They weren’t just hired muscle; they were professional soldiers who knew how to handle a threat.

Darion dismounted and tied his horse to a post near the entrance. Garren and Seren did the same. The three senior knights fanned out, keeping watch. Their eyes scanned the crowd, their hands resting near their weapons. They were here to protect, not to trade.

Darion looked around, taking in the scene. This was not a military conquest. This was something simpler. Something more human. A transaction. Coin for animals. A fair exchange between strangers. It felt almost strange after everything he had been through, the battles, the negotiations, the politics. This was just commerce.

They found a livestock merchant who had a reputation for fair dealing. His name was Tormund. He was a stout man with a weathered face, a thick beard streaked with grey, and a voice that carried across the market like a drum.

He had been in the livestock trade for thirty years and had seen every trick and scheme in the business.

Thirty years.

That was a long time to be doing anything. He had started as a young man, learning the trade from his father, and had built his reputation slowly, carefully, over decades.

He knew the value of a good animal and the worth of an honest deal. He had seen merchants come and go, had watched fortunes rise and fall, and had survived through it all through sheer stubbornness and a refusal to cheat his customers.

He greeted Darion with a nod. ”Looking for stock?” His voice was gruff but not unfriendly.

Darion nodded. ”Yes. I need cattle for meat and milk, goats for breeding, chickens for eggs, and something large and fat for good eating. I don’t want the cheapest animals; I want healthy ones that will breed well and last.”

Tormund studied him for a moment. ”You sound like you know what you’re talking about. That’s rare around here. Most buyers just want the lowest price, quality be damned.”

”I’ve learned that cheap animals cost more in the long run,” Darion said. ”Sick animals don’t breed. Weak animals don’t survive the winter. I’d rather pay more now and have animals that last.”

Tormund nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. ”Wise. Follow me.”

The man must have been surprised that someone as seemingly young as Darion already knew which animals were worth buying and which were not. Most young buyers, and Darion looked young, even with the stubble that was finally starting to fill in, would have just pointed at the cheapest animals and hoped for the best.

They would have been easily swayed by a merchant’s smooth words, would have paid too much for too little, and would have walked away thinking they had gotten a good deal.

The cheapest animals always seemed to be the ones in poor health or something like that. Healthy ones were higher in cost, and there was a reason for that. A sick animal was a gamble, it might recover, it might not, and even if it did, it would never be as strong or productive as one that had been properly cared for from the start.

Weak animals didn’t breed well. They didn’t produce as much milk or meat. They were more likely to die in the winter, leaving you with nothing but a loss and an empty pen.

The cheap price was tempting, but it was a trap.

But Darion had been different.

Darion had seen the flicker of surprise in Tormund’s eyes. The old merchant had probably thought he was dealing with some wealthy young lord with more coin than sense, but Darion had proven otherwise.

He just wanted to act tough or something, to show that he wasn’t someone who could be easily cheated.

Though the truth was, he had studied something like this in agriculture back in his previous life.

He had taken a course on livestock management, not because he had any intention of becoming a farmer, but because it had been part of a broader curriculum.

He had learned about animal health, breeding practices, and how to assess the value of livestock. It had seemed useless at the time. Now, standing in a livestock market in another world, it was suddenly the most useful thing he had ever studied. Funny how life worked.

He led them through the pens, pointing out his best animals. The pens were well-maintained, the animals clean and healthy. Tormund moved among them with the ease of a man who had spent decades working with livestock, his hands checking, his eyes assessing.

Tormund showed them the cattle first. They were large, healthy animals with glossy coats and clear eyes. He had six good cows, three males and three females, for breeding. They were strong, well-fed, and had good breeding potential. They stood calmly as Tormund approached, their eyes placid, their bodies solid.

”How much?” Darion asked.

Tormund rubbed his chin. ”Twenty silver each. A fair price for good breeding stock.”

Darion considered this. It was not cheap, but it was reasonable. ”Last price?” he asked.

Tormund stood his ground. ”That’s the last price,” he said firmly. ”I could sell these cattle to a dozen other buyers before the day is out. But I’m offering them to you at a fair price because you seem like a man who values quality. Take it or leave it.”

Darion looked at the cattle, then back at Tormund. He weighed the cost, the quality, the need. ”Fine,” he said. ”I’ll take them.”