The morning after the first great war, the atmosphere within the fortress felt like a new world. Not only because of the victory—but because of the realization that they now possessed real power. They had defeated their first great clan, slain the most feared enemy leader in the northern region, and defended a fortress that was only half completed.
The fortress stood scarred across its walls, yet it had not fallen. And for Arka's people, that alone was enough to be called a miracle.
Arka rose earlier than anyone else. He walked slowly among the enemy bodies that had been gathered in one place. Workers were busy clearing the remnants of battle. Soldiers guarded the perimeter. The morning air was thick with the smell of drying blood, mixed with the scent of burnt wood and damp earth.
Drakios approached. His right arm was wrapped in cloth, but his face was full of spirit.
"Leader… all remaining enemies have been gathered," he said. "Fifty-seven surrendered or were captured alive."
Arka nodded. "Good. We must decide their fate."
Drakios frowned. "You want them executed?"
Arka looked at him. "That is the easiest way. But not always the best."
Drakios bowed respectfully. He knew Arka was thinking far ahead.
Arka stepped toward the line of prisoners. They were held in the fortress courtyard with their hands bound. Some were badly wounded. Some still glared with hatred. But most were afraid. Without a leader, they were no longer wild bulls—only sheep without a shepherd.
Among them stood an adult woman, different from the others. Her long black hair was tangled with dust and blood, but her gaze was strong and burning. Her leather attire marked her as more than a common villager—she was a warrior.
Her eyes fixed sharply on Arka. No fear. No submission. Even as blood trickled from her lips, she held her head high.
Arka gave her a brief glance, then stepped to the center of the prisoners.
"I am Arka," he declared firmly. "Leader of this territory. Your clan has lost. Your leader is dead."
Some prisoners lowered their heads deeply. Some sobbed. Others clenched their teeth.
"I give you two choices."
He raised two fingers.
"First: death. Here. Now."
A heavy silence fell.
"Second: life… by serving the new state I will build."
Several prisoners immediately looked at him with hope. Others still hesitated.
Arka scanned them one by one. "I do not need slaves. I need citizens. I need soldiers. I need workers. I need people willing to live under my protection."
He pointed north. "If you choose to stand with me, your land, your families, and your future will be secure."
"I will teach you how to live better. The Vordak Clan will cease to be raiders and become part of a new nation."
A middle-aged prisoner sobbed and prostrated himself. "We… we choose life!"
The others followed.
"We will serve!"
"Please spare us!"
"We choose Arka!"
But not all of them.
A small group—around eight men—snorted in hatred. One spat onto the ground near Arka's feet.
"We will never bow to a child playing king."
Drakios stepped forward in anger. "You—!"
Arka raised his hand to stop him.
He stared coldly at the eight. "Then… you die."
Before they could flee, Arka moved with lightning speed and drove his short spear into the rebel leader's throat.
Blood sprayed onto the ground.
Arka's soldiers quickly finished the rest. There was no mercy.
Because Arka knew one thing: in a world like this, a small spark of chaos could destroy a great nation.
The remaining prisoners trembled in fear. None refused again.
Arka struck the butt of his spear against the ground. "From this day on, you are my people."
A small cheer of gratitude rose.
After settling the matter of the prisoners, Arka returned to the main village to announce the results of the war. The villagers ran to greet him with loud celebration.
Some women scattered wildflowers. Children shouted his name joyfully. Even the men looked at him like a guardian deity.
Lyria, standing among the crowd, gazed at Arka with pride. She stepped forward and embraced him tightly.
"You came back…" she whispered.
"I promised, didn't I?" Arka smiled.
Yet as he held Lyria by the waist, he felt something—warmth. But behind it, he knew his role as leader would bring more women into his life. Tradition, politics, dynastic necessity—all would require multiple wives.
Lyria seemed to understand that. Still, she believed in him. She still wished to stand at his side.
That night, Arka gathered all the people in the central field.
From the original villagers, to the survivors of neighboring settlements, to the former Vordak prisoners who had sworn loyalty.
He stood in the center, holding a wooden staff he used to point at a rough map drawn in the dirt.
"Starting tonight," Arka said, "we form the structure of a state."
The people looked at one another in confusion.
A state? In this era, the concept itself barely existed.
Arka explained:
"I will divide our territory into two main zones:
– The Main Village Zone, the center of agriculture and production.
– The Northern Fortress Zone, the center of military power and expansion."
"There will be three primary positions."
He pointed to Thalos.
"Thalos — Head of Production and Development."
He pointed to Drakios.
"Drakios — Military Commander."
Then he pointed to himself.
"And I… Arka… am the Leader of the State."
The crowd erupted.
"Leader!"
"King!"
"Emperor!"
Arka raised his hand to quiet them.
"Not yet," he said. "I am not worthy of being called emperor. But one day… we will reach that point."
At that moment, the people looked at Arka with hopes greater than their own lives.
The next morning, Arka returned to the Northern Fortress to oversee construction of the first city. This time, he brought additional workers and the former prisoners who had chosen to live under his rule.
As he observed the work, a shout suddenly came from one of the tents.
"Leader! Someone refuses treatment!"
Arka hurried over and saw the black-haired prisoner woman he had noticed earlier, restraining a soldier who was trying to bind her wound.
She growled like a tigress. "I don't need help!"
Arka stepped forward. "Stop."
She turned, her dark eyes locking onto him. There was anger, pride, and something else—a determination not easily broken.
"You again," she said coldly.
Arka met her gaze. "What is your name?"
She lifted her chin. "My name is Kaelia. A warrior of the Vordak Clan. Second daughter of the chieftain before Garok seized power."
Arka understood. Garok had not been the rightful leader. He had taken control by force.
Kaelia looked at him with challenge in her eyes. "If you want my life, end it now. If you want my body, I will kill you first."
Arka was not offended.
Instead, he gave a faint smile.
"I want neither," he said calmly. "I want your loyalty."
Kaelia was taken aback.
Arka continued, "You are a warrior. You have influence. You can help integrate your people."
Kaelia scoffed. "I will not bow to—"
"If I intended to treat you as an enemy," Arka cut in, "you would have died last night."
Kaelia fell silent.
Arka looked at her directly. "You wanted revenge against Garok for destroying your rightful tribe? I gave you that."
Kaelia clenched her fists.
"And you want your people to live free from slavery? I gave you that choice."
She remained silent for a long moment before finally lowering her head slightly—not a full submission, but a sign of acknowledgment.
"I will consider it," she said.
Arka nodded. "Consider it quickly. I need a female leader among the Vordak people."
Kaelia looked at him again, her eyes glinting with something complex.
That was the beginning of their relationship. A relationship unlike his bond with Lyria. Wilder. Harsher. Built on strength and constant testing.
The candidate for a second consort had emerged.
Meanwhile, far to the north, a new threat began to stir as news of Garok's death spread.
And Arka knew…
His victory had just opened the door to a far greater war.
If he wished to become emperor, it was time to expand his territory.
And to build a city…
that would become the heart of a future empire.