Three days after the resounding victory over the Vordak Clan, Arka took his next monumental step: the construction of the first city that would serve as the seat of his power.
The Northern Fortress, previously a mere shelter, was now replanned to become the inaugural city under his rule. Arka named it:
Vordania
(A symbol that glory is born from the ruins of the clan that once conquered the northern territories.)
Amidst the frantic bustle of construction, the world seemed to move at a rapid pace. Workers from the home village and former captives labored side by side, erecting timber houses, reinforcing palisades, digging defensive trenches, and laying out the main thoroughfare.
Yet, beneath this progress...
A new threat emerged.
A threat from within.
That morning, Arka stood upon a makeshift wooden platform, inspecting the construction of the new buildings. The main road was being leveled, and houses with small stone foundations began to take shape. Food warehouses were relocated to strategic positions.
Thalos approached, carrying a parchment filled with notes. "Arka, we have enough oak timber for one more week. But to build permanent fortifications, we need more stone from the southern river."
Arka nodded. "Command a group to begin extracting stone from the southern cliffs. Use the two-wheeled carts I designed a few weeks ago; that will expedite the process."
Thalos smiled with pride. "Your designs truly change everything."
Arka gazed at the rising city. "We must move quickly. Within two weeks, we must have a complete defensive structure."
He looked toward the rows of Vordak captives at work. Some toiled hard, some seemed reluctant, and others watched Arka with a mixture of respect and fear.
However, Kaelia was different.
She worked without complaint—lifting heavy timber without assistance, issuing orders to the captives, and ensuring everything was orderly.
Arka approached her. "You lead them well."
Kaelia turned, sweat trickling from her temples, yet her eyes remained sharp. "They are my former people. If I do not show strength, they will not respect me."
Arka gave a thin smile. "I want you to be the leader of the Vordak group."
Kaelia furrowed her brow. "I haven't decided if I will follow you completely."
"Time waits for no one," Arka replied calmly. "If you do not take that position, someone else will. And they will not treat your people as well as I do."
Kaelia stared at him for a long moment... then let out a short sigh.
"I will consider it."
Arka knew that meant yes—Kaelia was simply reluctant to admit it.
However, as Arka walked back to the center of the fortress, he saw Drakios detaining two village men: Laros and Kion—two men who had shown signs of rebellion weeks prior.
Kion had a bruise on his cheek and blood flowing from his nose. Laros tried to explain.
"Arka! This is just a misunderstanding!"
Arka stared coldly. "What have you done?"
Drakios shoved Kion forward. "I caught them rubbing poisonous herbs onto our military spears."
The surrounding workers were instantly shocked.
Arka looked at the two men expressionlessly. "Is this true?"
Kion was terrified. "N-no! We were just—"
Drakios cut him off. "I caught them red-handed. They panicked and tried to flee."
Arka looked into Laros's face. "You tried to poison my troops?"
Laros bit his lip. "I... I didn't want you to become a tyrant... I—"
Arka's hand moved swiftly, seizing Laros by the collar.
"A tyrant?" his voice was low, yet menacing. "You live, eat, and breathe because I lead. You have safe land because I lead. You still have a life because I did not finish you then."
Laros trembled, his face turning pale. Arka released him, leaving a mark where his hand had gripped the fabric.
"There are two types of people I cannot tolerate in this nation," Arka continued. "Traitors from without... and traitors from within."
He gestured.
"Drakios. Drag them to the square."
Every worker and soldier gathered. The two men were held in the center of the field. Arka stood on the platform, addressing the people.
"We are building a new nation," he said, "and a nation cannot survive without discipline."
He looked at Laros and Kion. "Both of them attempted to sabotage our military from the inside."
The crowd murmured in anger.
Arka raised his hand. "In war, a traitor is poison. And poison must be purged."
He signaled to Drakios. Drakios raised a massive axe.
Laros wept. "Arka! Forgive me! I—"
Arka cut him off. "I gave you a chance once. But you chose to stab me in the back. Your mistake is a threat to hundreds of lives."
Kion screamed in terror. "Nooo—!!"
With a single swing, Drakios cleaved Laros's head. Blood sprayed, and the body slumped. A second swing ended Kion's life.
The crowd fell silent—not out of shock, but because they understood one thing:
Arka was not just a leader.
He was the law.
He was the supreme authority.
Kaelia watched everything from a distance. She did not react, but her eyes flickered with something new—a growing respect.
Lyria, standing near the platform, looked slightly horrified, yet she gazed at Arka not with fear... but with conviction. Because she knew: to build an empire, hands must sometimes be stained with blood.
Once the punishment was concluded, Arka returned his focus to the city's development. Three major projects began simultaneously:
* Construction of the Moat: A two-meter-deep trench was dug using iron hoes modified by Arka. Water from the river was diverted into the moat to deter attackers.
* Permanent Stone Housing: Rocks from the southern cliffs were transported via two-wheeled carts. Soldiers' quarters, armories, and the command office were built with stone foundations for fire resistance.
* The Main Road to the Home Village: Arka ordered the construction of a dirt road reinforced with crushed stone—a simple technology that accelerated troop mobilization.
While everyone worked, two women remained in Arka's orbit: Lyria, who provided emotional support... and Kaelia, who watched him from afar with questioning and piercing eyes.
In the late afternoon, as the sun began to set, a scout ran toward Arka, his face pale.
"Arka! We've spotted something to the north!"
Arka stood immediately, Drakios following close behind.
"What is it?" Arka asked.
The scout trembled. "Not an army... but an envoy."
"An envoy?" Arka narrowed his eyes.
"Yes. He carries a white flag. And... he brings a message from a Great Tribe beyond the northern valley."
Arka stared toward the sunset. A cold wind blew from the north.
"A Great Tribe?" he murmured.
The scout nodded. "They say... they wish to meet you."
Arka tilted his chin up slightly. A Great Tribe from the northern valley. They came not for war, but to negotiate—or perhaps, to warn.
Arka smiled faintly.
"Finally... international politics begins."
And at that moment, unbeknownst to them, a massive movement began to take shape—one that would determine whether Arka would rise as a great king... or fall before reaching his dream.