Chapter 2.3: First Encounter 3

In that short span of time, Garrick spent nearly every waking hour accelerating Vladimir’s education, pulling back the veil on a world the tankers had blindly stumbled into.

Garrick pointed, named, and relentlessly corrected Vladimir’s stiff pronunciation.

Vladimir had struggled initially, fighting against a torrent of unfamiliar names, fluid borders, and too many moving pieces. But his military mind, trained to read topography and threat vectors, adapted with frightening speed, thanks to years worth of experience of fighting.

By the first nightfall, he could roughly recall all the major nations of the continent, their relative positions, and, more importantly—

Exactly who hated who.

At first, the currency sounded simple, but then came the intricate layers of systemic power. Merchants controlling the flow of goods across borders. 

Guilds holding enough political influence to rival local lords. Some regions were immensely rich in raw resources, while others survived entirely off precarious diplomatic deals.

"If you and your men had absolutely nothing... how would you earn your bread here?"

"...Information. Skill. Force if needed." 

Garrick hadn't praised the answer. But he hadn't disagreed, either.

He gestured loosely to the open air. "Different types. Fire. Water. Air. Earth. Some are far rarer than others."

Silence followed the correction. It wasn't an argument, just two radically different worldviews staring at the exact same phenomenon. To the native, it was life; to the soldier of a global war, it was ammunition.

Dieter had tried and failed to pull anything out of his radio frequencies one last time before finally giving up; his focus having now changed and his energy on observing how the villagers communicated and passed information. 

Werner, to everyone's surprise, had gotten along famously with the locals, helping them lift massive timber loads and clear rocks as if the heavy labor were nothing. 

Karl spent most of his time isolated on high ground, silently watching the treeline, calculating distances, sightlines, and defensive parameters.

Now? It was a massive chessboard full of moving pieces. Kingdoms. Power. Lethal risks. Unknown opportunities.

"Well. You've learned what I can teach. At least... enough so you don't walk straight into your own deaths the moment you leave my sight."

The lessons were officially over. The basic safety net was gone. 

"Work. Need money. As a start." 

His gaze shifted over his shoulder, landing on his crew. Unaware of their commander's watchful eye, the men were interacting with the locals in their own ways. 

Werner boisterously laughed at a joke one of the villagers had made, while Dieter was halfway into a passionate argument with a local youth, desperately using wild hand gestures and broken words to communicate.

 Nearby, Hans stood like an unshakeable pillar, calm as ever, while Karl remained on the periphery, watching everything with quiet precision.

“Not big. But big enough to host a local guild branch.” Garrick glanced at the crew again—analyzing the sheer efficiency of their movements and the natural tactical spacing they maintained even while relaxed. Then, he looked back into Vladimir's cold eyes.

Vladimir nodded in return, understanding what Garrick's trying to convey. 

"Though..." Garrick uttered, his eyes flicked briefly toward the massive, angular silhouette of the Tiger tank parked by the wall. "You bring something else entirely.”

“But it will also give you attention. People will ask questions. Where you’re from. What you can do. And that thing—” he nodded toward the Friedrich again, “—they will notice it.”

“If you go… go careful. Start small. Learn how the local laws and contracts operate there first.”

"Depends." Vladimir replied smoothly to the elder's previous question before transitioning into his next request.

"I guess... Join others. Like caravan?" he asked, doing his best to explain the tactical concept with a few precise hand gestures. "Please put good word. To caravan for us. We protect. Protect great."

Garrick listened, arms loosely crossed over his chest, following Vladimir’s broken explanation and watching his hands move.

“…A caravan,” the old man repeated. He nodded once, a pragmatic glint in his eye. “That can be arranged.”

He turned his gaze toward the edge of the village, calculating the logistics in his head. “Every few days, traders pass near here on the main road. They don't come inside Edrin Hollow, we're too small for real business really but they pass close enough.”

He paused, looking back at Vladimir. “I can speak to the leader of the next one. Put a word in for you.” Then, his tone grew more direct. “You offer protection… they’ll listen.”

Garrick’s eyes flicked over the battle-hardened tankers, then briefly toward the looming, lethal silhouette of the Tiger tank resting in the twilight.

“…More than listen,” the elder added dryly.

A faint hint of dark humor hung in the cool evening air. Because honestly? Whatever a "caravan guard" usually looked like in this world—a few desperate sell-swords with rusted iron blade, a well formed adventurers group, maybe but this?—This certainly wasn't it. A seventy-ton rolling fortress was about to become an escort.

"They will feel safe," Vladimir noted flatly, his lips twitching into the ghost of a confident smirk. "Very safe."