Dawn broke over the eastern ridges, spilling a muted gold across the plains. Alaric stood atop a high outcrop, his black cloak brushing against the wind. Below, his forces assembled — nearly sixty now, a mix of original mercenaries and integrated villages, each man disciplined and alert. Their movements were synchronized, a reflection of weeks of rigorous training and constant drills under Alaric's meticulous guidance.
Alaric's target was Li Shou, a cunning bandit warlord whose reputation for ambushes and traps had kept him dominant over smaller settlements for years. Unlike previous targets, Li Shou's forces were fragmented but unpredictable, making a frontal assault risky. Alaric had already studied the terrain, observing paths of approach, escape routes, and the location of natural chokepoints.
He called his lieutenants together. "We strike not with brute force, but with coordination. Li Shou relies on surprise and disorganization. We will remove both advantages. Flanks, reserve, and observation teams — know your roles. Any hesitation will be fatal."
The plan was executed with precision. Alaric's frontal team moved through a narrow valley, drawing Li Shou's attention. The bandit lord's men took the bait, rushing forward, expecting an easy confrontation. But Alaric's hidden flanking units, positioned in the hills, cut off escape routes and attacked from above.
Alaric himself remained unseen, subtly manipulating the battlefield with spatial distortions and minor ice wards, creating disorientation among the enemy. He observed the chaos carefully, noting which of his forces hesitated and which adapted. The rookies from the newly integrated villages struggled at first, but under the watchful eyes of his lieutenants, they adapted quickly.
Li Shou's men attempted to retreat through a side path, only to encounter Alaric's reserve force. With a sweep of wind magic combined with precision ice shards, the escape was blocked. Panic spread like wildfire.
Finally, Alaric revealed himself, appearing behind the bandit lord in a ripple of spatial energy. Li Shou barely had time to react before an ice blade sliced cleanly through his defenses, freezing his qi pathways and leaving him paralyzed in terror. Alaric's men moved in, but he stopped them with a subtle hand gesture. The point had been made: resistance was futile, discipline and coordination ruled the battlefield.
The remaining bandits surrendered immediately, recognizing the futility of opposing a force operating as one. Alaric allowed them to kneel and swear allegiance, turning potential enemies into loyal subjects, and further consolidating his growing power in the plains.
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That evening, as fires flickered across the captured encampment, Alaric addressed his men. "Strength alone does not ensure survival. The real power is cohesion. Every strike, every movement, must be part of a larger strategy. Today, you learned that lesson. Tomorrow, we extend our influence further.
The men looked to him not just as a commander, but as a visionary — a leader who combined power with cunning, discipline with foresight. His name, still whispered cautiously in surrounding villages, was already beginning to carry the weight of inevitability.
Alaric, standing atop a ridge as the moon rose, cast his gaze toward the distant silhouette of Ashenfall. Though still hundreds of miles away, the city loomed in his mind as a prize, not just of conquest, but of control, influence, and legacy.
> "Every village, every minor lord, every skirmish is a step," he whispered to himself. "And when the city finally falls, the Blood Legion will rise from the plains, unchallenged."
The winds of the Scorched Plains carried his words southward, stirring distant settlements and leaving faint tremors of fear and anticipation. Alaric Vardar was no longer merely a rising commander — he was a force reshaping the land in his image.