Chapter 322: The Law Of The Strong

Darion’s expression changed. ’Of course.’ Garren.

The man had already proven himself. He knew how to manage Percvale. The knights respected him. He understood logistics. He understood defenses. He understood the people. And more importantly... Darion trusted him.

If Darion placed someone in charge of Vrethka, it couldn’t simply be some random warrior. He needed someone capable. Someone loyal. Someone he could trust with an entire settlement. Garren could do it.

Darion nodded slowly. ’This could work.’

It wasn’t simply giving Garren another responsibility. It was a promotion. A massive one. Darion was effectively telling him: I trust you enough to govern territory for me.

That wasn’t something Darion gave lightly.

His thoughts returned to the crowd. He had been so deep in his own thoughts that he almost forgot they were still there.

Darion looked up. Hundreds of warriors remained on their knees. The silence returned. They were watching him. Waiting. Some had fear in their eyes. Others looked completely exhausted. A few looked toward their fallen comrades. The Harrowhold prisoners were watching him too. And beside Darion stood Seren.

She hadn’t said anything. She simply observed.

Darion knew this was the moment. If he hesitated now, they would see it. If he looked uncertain, they would notice. If he acted like he didn’t know what to do with them, they would question him. He had won. Now he had to own that victory.

Darion stepped forward. His boots pressed against the blood-stained ground. The movement alone made several warriors tense.

Darion raised his voice. "Listen to me."

Every eye turned toward him.

"Chief Dross is dead."

The crowd remained silent.

"The warriors who fought me are dead."

Darion’s eyes moved across the kneeling men. "The men who planned to march on my home are dead."

He paused. "I am the one who defeated your army."

His voice became firmer. "I am the one who took your chief’s head."

Nobody moved.

Darion pointed toward himself. "My name is Darion."

He let the name settle. "Baron of Percvale."

Another pause. "And as of this moment..."

His eyes swept across Vrethka. "I am your new leader."

The words struck the crowd. Some warriors exchanged glances. A few looked uncomfortable.

Darion continued. "You may find that strange." A faint smirk appeared on his face. "Then again, considering what just happened tonight, I doubt anything about tonight is going to feel normal."

A few warriors swallowed nervously. Darion’s expression returned to seriousness.

"But me taking control of Vrethka?" He shrugged slightly. "That shouldn’t be surprising."

He gestured toward the settlement. "Dross did the same thing to Harrowhold."

The Harrowhold prisoners looked up.

"He took their territory." Darion’s eyes hardened. "He took their people. He made them his prisoners. And I’m sure Vrethka has done the same thing to other villages before."

Nobody contradicted him. Because they knew it was true. This was how their world worked. The strong took from the weak. Dross had simply believed he was strong enough to remain on top. He had been wrong.

Darion stepped forward again. "I killed your chief. I defeated your army. And I now possess the strength to destroy what remains of Vrethka."

He looked at the warriors. "But I’m not going to."

Several heads lifted.

"You surrendered. And because you surrendered, you will live."

Darion’s voice became colder. "But understand something."

His eyes moved slowly across the crowd. "I will not tolerate rebellion. If you serve me, you will live. If you obey my orders, you will live. If you help me protect this territory, you will live."

He paused. "But if you decide to pick up your weapons and fight me again..."

The undead behind him shifted. Hundreds of empty eyes seemed to stare into the crowd.

Darion’s voice dropped. "You will die."

Silence. No one dared move. Darion looked at them.

"This is your choice."

It wasn’t really a choice. And everyone there knew it. They had seen what happened when Vrethka fought him. They had seen hundreds of their warriors fall. They had seen Dross die. They had seen Caef die. And behind Darion stood an army of undead that had barely seemed affected by the battle.

One warrior slowly lowered his head. Then another. A third followed.

And finally... One man placed both hands against the dirt. He bowed. Another followed. Then another.

Soon the entire street began moving again. Hands touched the ground. Heads lowered. One after another. Until every surviving warrior had bowed before him.

Darion stared at them. His face remained cold. Unshaken.

But inside, his mind was already moving. He needed to speak with Garren. He needed to secure Vrethka’s borders. He needed to understand exactly what resources the settlement possessed. He needed to determine how many warriors remained.

And then there was Harrowhold. Darion’s eyes moved toward the prisoners. He needed to speak with their leader. Perhaps they could become allies. Perhaps Harrowhold could be useful. He could take control of it too. He would figure that out later.

For now... Vrethka had fallen. And Darion had gained his first territory.

He looked across the kneeling settlement. His empire had not been built yet. But for the first time... he could see the foundation.

Darion watched the hundreds of undead standing perfectly still in the ruined streets again. A faint, ironic smile crossed his face this time.

He remembered his early days in this world. Back then, he had actually been a disappointed in his class.

He used to daydream about what it would be like to be a Summoner, imagining himself calling down massive, flying Dragons that could level a kingdom with a single breath. He had thought mages with flashy elemental magic or warriors who could summon mythical weapons were the real peak of power.

Compared to them, raising dead bodies felt incredibly lame.

But standing here now, looking at the absolute obedience of his vast army, he realized how foolish that thought had been.

’Summoning a dragon is cool,’ Darion thought, looking at the absolute terror in the eyes of the kneeling Vrethkan warriors. ’But a dragon is just one creature. It breathes fire, and then what? It gets tired. It dies.’

He looked at Ghet Ulg, his massive battle axe resting on his shoulder, and the hundreds of silent knights behind him.

’I command an army that doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, and doesn’t feel fear.’

Darion’s smile widened. ’Necromancy is peak. I wouldn’t trade it for a hundred dragons.’