Chapter 325: The Conqueror’s Territory

Marrick had spent days being treated like an object. He had been beaten, starved, and paraded around like a trophy. He had seen people beaten down because they were weak. He had watched Dross’s warriors treat prisoners as nothing more than tools. He had learned exactly what happened to people who lost in this world. They were crushed. They were forgotten. They were discarded.

And then Darion appeared.

A man who had walked into Vrethka alone. A man who commanded an army of the undead. A man who killed Chief Dross. A man who could have killed Marrick’s father himself without even thinking about it, yet offered a sincere apology when he thought his monsters had done the deed.

Marrick’s respect for him skyrocketed.

He lifted his head slightly, looking up at the man who had destroyed his world. To Marrick, Darion wasn’t simply a powerful noble anymore. He wasn’t just a conqueror. He was something almost impossible to comprehend.

A man who can command the dead. A man who defeated Vrethka. A man who could have killed me, but instead gave me a kingdom.

Marrick started wondering if this was what a true ruler was supposed to look like.

Dross had ruled through fear. He had been powerful, yes, but his power was loud. It was brutal. It was fragile. His own father had ruled through pride and poor decisions. He had sent Marrick to die, all because he was too arrogant to see the reality of the war.

But Darion? Darion had fear too. The undead standing in the streets were proof of that. But he didn’t need to constantly prove it. He didn’t need to scream or threaten. He simply stood there, and everyone obeyed. He had the power to take everything, yet he chose to give.

Marrick’s respect became almost worshipful.

Then Darion’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Follow me."

Marrick immediately scrambled to his feet. He didn’t even think about his father’s body, leaving it behind on the cobblestones. "Yes, my lord."

He followed without hesitation.

---

Darion turned his attention back toward the settlement.

The battle was over. Now came the part he actually had to deal with. The adrenaline had completely worn off, replaced by the cold, heavy weight of administration and logistics. He couldn’t simply leave hundreds of warriors kneeling in the streets while he figured out what to do next.

So he started issuing orders.

His first command was to the surviving Vrethkan officers, the ones who had thrown down their weapons but still looked like they knew how to command men. "Gather the dead."

The officers immediately moved, snapping to attention as if a spell had been broken. They began shouting orders to the kneeling warriors, their voices echoing through the ruined streets.

Darion watched them for a moment. Then he gave another order. "Separate the wounded from the dead. Get them treated. And nobody touches the civilians."

The officers froze for a second, exchanging glances.

"You heard me," Darion said, his voice dropping an octave. "Anyone who harms a civilian without my direct order will answer to me personally."

The officers immediately acknowledged him, their faces pale. They quickly relayed the orders.

The surviving warriors moved with a frantic, terrified energy. The same people who had been fighting him only moments ago were now carrying their dead comrades and helping their wounded. It was a surreal sight. The men who had tried to kill him were now saving the lives of their fellow Vrethkans, all because he had told them to.

Some of them were still terrified of him. They kept their eyes glued to the ground, their hands shaking. But others were beginning to look at him differently. Not merely as the Necromancer who had defeated them. But as their new lord. As the man in charge.

As Darion walked through the streets, inspecting the cleanup, several Vrethkan warriors lowered their heads.

"Yes, m’lord."

"Of course, m’lord."

"We’ll handle it, m’lord."

Darion noticed the change. It felt strange. Almost unnatural. Yesterday, these people would have happily marched against him. They would have burned his farms and slaughtered his people. Now they were calling him ’m’lord’ and jumping at his every command.

Such was the nature of the world. The strong took control, and the weak obeyed.

Once the immediate orders were given, Darion decided to inspect Vrethka’s main keep.

Seren naturally followed him, her bow resting comfortably on her shoulder. She hadn’t spoken much since the bat ride, but her eyes were constantly moving, analyzing the settlement, watching the reactions of the Vrethkans.

Darion looked around at the settlement as they walked. The place was damaged from the battle: shattered walls, broken doors, scorch marks from the fires. But beneath the fresh destruction, the foundations were solid. Vrethka wasn’t some poor, miserable little village. It was far more developed than he had expected.

It had infrastructure. Storage buildings. Armories. Training grounds. Workshops. Food supplies. And a proper fortified keep at its center. Darion realized that Dross had been preparing Vrethka for war for a long time. Years, maybe. This was a settlement built entirely around military expansion.

They entered the main keep. Darion paused, turning to Marrick. "Wait here."

Marrick immediately stopped, standing straight. "Yes, my lord."

Darion left him with one of the surviving Vrethkan guards, who looked absolutely uneasy to be left alone with the Marrick.

Marrick didn’t complain. He didn’t ask questions. He simply stood there and watched Darion disappear into the keep with Seren.

Inside the keep, the air was cooler. The stone walls muffled the sounds of the cleanup outside. Darion and Seren explored the corridors, passing empty barracks, storage rooms, and what looked like a dining hall.

Eventually, they discovered the room Dross used to plan his wars.

Darion pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside.

The room was massive. A huge oak table dominated the center, its surface entirely covered in maps. Large maps of the surrounding territories. Percvale. Harrowhold. Nearby settlements. Trade routes. Roads. Rivers. Mountain passes. Everything was meticulously drawn and marked.