As soon as those words were spoken, several Rangers who had just been observing for amusement couldn't help but turn their heads.
As survivors of the fallen Kingdom of Arnor, they knew all too well the power of such creatures, these barrow-wights had played their part in Arnor's destruction.
Summoned by the Witch-king, they came with all manner of vile sorcery and were immune to ordinary blades and strikes. On the battlefield, they were nearly unstoppable; even the once-formidable regular army of the Dúnedain had great difficulty dealing with them.
To encounter such an enemy on your very first battle?
Surviving was nothing short of miraculous.
"Barrow-wights?"
The recruits committed the name to memory.
In this world, there were not many official records of barrow-wights, most accounts existed in vague rumors or bedtime stories meant to frighten children. Very few had ever seen one in person.
And fewer still had seen one and lived to tell the tale.
However, a few observant soldiers glanced at the Ranger instructors from the corners of their eyes.
The instructors' reactions to the name seemed telling, perhaps they could be questioned later.
"All right, carry on with your training. I won't disturb you any longer."
With a wave of his hand, Garrett headed straight for the exit. The soldiers instinctively moved aside to make way.
From this brief inspection, he now had a rough measure of the recruits' capabilities. Even without completing their training, they already possessed decent combat prowess.
Anyone who entered the barracks was trained to the highest standards possible. After all, food and resources were plentiful, and if injured, one could be brought near the beacon for rapid recovery.
If they couldn't die, then they were pushed to their absolute limits.
Under such a system, everyone improved at remarkable speed.
And as each soldier felt themselves growing tangibly stronger day by day, with visible progress to show for it, something deep within them was ignited.
In short, they were devoted to their training.
Within the barracks, the rigorous training that pushed them beyond their limits continued.
Garrett, meanwhile, wandered around the territory, eventually making his way near the school.
Just after finishing a lesson, Taber emerged from the classroom, struggling to carry a stack of books. Breathing heavily, he craned his neck forward to check if anyone was walking ahead, lest he accidentally bump into someone.
At that moment, a pair of hands reached out. He felt the weight in his arms lighten, and when the upper half of the stack was lifted away, he finally saw who was standing before him.
"I can carry them myself, my lord."
"I don't doubt your strength, but this way is a little easier."
Garrett took half of Taber's load and walked alongside him. Glancing down, he noticed that each book had a different name written on the cover.
They weren't books at all, they were notebooks.
"Do you carry this much every day?"
"Yes. These are the students' assignments. I need to review them carefully and provide corrections."
"I see."
With one hand free, Garrett opened the top notebook and flipped through it as they walked. Soon he understood.
It was a grammar course, and the material was quite practical.
Aside from grammar, there was some arithmetic as well.
By this world's standards, someone who could write, had some literary skill and structure, could perform calculations, and even understood basic law would be able to survive almost anywhere.
But here at Wayfort, that was only the foundation, skills every person would be expected to master in the future.
With a soft snap, Garrett closed the notebook and asked, "Do you always carry all these notes by yourself?"
"No, usually as soon as I step outside, some of the students will come over to assist me."
"Then why hasn't anyone shown up today?"
At this question, Taber merely tilted his head to the side. Garrett followed his gaze and saw a row of small heads peeking out from the window.
There was liveliness and wonder in their gazes, along with a hint of reverence.
"They seem reluctant to approach."
Garrett smiled at the children, somewhat puzzled.
Am I really that intimidating?
By comparison, the children in Dale were far more open. When they saw their lord passing by, they would come right up to chat without hesitation, even offering small gifts of their own making, without the slightest trace of shyness.
That little gift box, in fact, he still hadn't opened; it remained in his inventory, taking up one slot.
Sensing Garrett's confusion, Taber explained, "Please understand. When parents tell stories, they always let their emotions influence the telling."
"There are many children who have never met you and believe you're a giant as tall as a mountain, able to slay a dragon larger than a castle with a single blow."
Garrett covered his face with his free hand.
"Well, now they've seen me, and I'm no different from any ordinary man."
Taber was silent for several moments before giving a small shake of his head.
When someone accomplishes a single feat worthy of song, they are regarded as a beloved hero.
But when someone performs deed after unfathomable deed, and saves countless lives of their people in the process, in some hearts they cease to be merely a hero; they become a perfect legend, surpassing all heroes.
Especially when that person is rarely seen in person, shrouded in mystery.
And when, alongside that mystery, the "miracles" they've wrought still linger around the people, present at every moment, that makes them all the more mysterious. Mysterious to the point of reverence.
I need to spend more time with the children, Garrett thought.
And with the townsfolk as well.
Though Wayfort had been established for some years now, he had been away far too often.
Ask around, and the answer was always "He's not here."
Within a few minutes, the two of them arrived at a smaller study, the place where Taber usually worked and graded assignments.
Half of the stack of notebooks was in his arms, the other half in Garrett's.
This was Garrett's first time reviewing student work. Fortunately, the material wasn't complicated, just basic foundational knowledge.
Though the times were different and the curriculum not quite the same, Garrett's years of reading hadn't been for nothing.
Taber stole a glance and couldn't help but feel astonished.
Drawing from his past studies, the books he'd absorbed during several weeks of reading at Isengard, and the insights from his arcane knowledge, Garrett offered unique perspectives on many points.
Thanks to his vision far ahead of the current age, even in unfamiliar territory his corrections stood out, like bright red flowers against a field of green, striking in their distinctiveness.
Truly worthy of being the lord, Taber thought.
Many of Garrett's methods for arithmetic and his grammatical observations were remarkably advanced and worth learning.
But then... he rubbed his head as he looked at Garrett's notes.
If the children grew curious and started asking about one of those obscure terms, he'd be in for it, forced to talk himself hoarse explaining concepts he barely understood himself.
Before long, all the notebooks were corrected.
He set Garrett's marked ones aside, intending to hold onto them for now, until he figured out what a few of those words actually meant, before handing them back to the children.