Chapter 349: The Treasury...

Darion left the palace after deciding to inspect exactly what he had conquered. The throne room, the halls, the walls, they were just stone and wood. They told him nothing about the true value of Vrethka. He knew the settlement had warriors, farmland, livestock, and supplies. He knew it had territory. But he had no idea how much wealth was actually sitting inside this place, waiting to be discovered.

He paused at the top of the palace steps and looked out over the settlement. The morning sun was climbing higher, casting long shadows across the rooftops.

The streets were quieter than they had been during the battle, but there was still movement. People were going about their business, cautiously, carefully, as if they were waiting for something else to happen. They knew their chief was dead. They knew their army had been defeated. And they knew the man standing at the top of the palace steps was the one responsible.

Darion didn’t want to wander around alone. He needed a guide, someone who knew the settlement, someone who could show him what he needed to see.

He scanned the courtyard below and spotted a group of surviving Vrethkan warriors huddled together near the gate. They were unarmed now, their weapons taken, their armor stripped. They looked defeated, their faces pale, their eyes hollow.

He walked down the steps, his boots echoing on the stone, and approached the highest-ranking warrior among them. The man was older than the others, his face lined with scars, his body still carrying the muscle of a lifetime of fighting. He straightened immediately when Darion approached, his body tense, his eyes wide.

"You," Darion said, his voice calm but firm. "What’s your name?"

The warrior swallowed hard. "Femorn, m’lord. I was... I was a captain under Chief Dross."

"Captain Femorn," Darion repeated. "You know this settlement. You know its resources, its wealth, its people. I want you to show me."

Femorn blinked, clearly confused. "Show you, m’lord?"

"I want to see what Vrethka possesses. Its wealth, its resources. You’ll be my guide."

Femorn nodded immediately, his head bobbing up and down. "Of course, m’lord. I’ll show you whatever you need to see."

Darion noticed the man’s nervousness, the way his hands trembled, the way his eyes kept darting toward the palace as if expecting something terrible to happen. He didn’t make a big deal out of it.

After everything that had happened, he understood why the man was still afraid. Darion had killed their chief, had defeated their army, had stood in the middle of their settlement and commanded them to bow or die. Fear was the natural response.

"Lead the way," Darion said.

The two began walking through Vrethka’s main square. Darion got his first proper look at the settlement now that he wasn’t sneaking through it disguised as a guard.

The streets were wider than he had expected, lined with buildings of stone and timber. Merchants were cautiously reopening their stalls, their movements slow and uncertain. Blacksmiths were checking weapons and equipment, their hammers ringing out in the morning air. Workers moved supplies around, their faces tired but determined.

Families remained close together, watching Darion whenever he passed. Conversations became quieter as he approached. Some civilians bowed or lowered their heads. Others simply stared.

Darion noticed the mixture of fear, respect, and submission in their expressions. He thought about how strange it was that only recently he was an enemy infiltrating this place. Now everyone knew that he was the person who had defeated their army and killed their chief.

He didn’t try to intimidate anyone further. He simply continued walking, his eyes scanning the buildings, the stalls, the people. He was already mentally noting places he might need to inspect later: the blacksmith’s forge, the merchant stalls, the storehouses.

Femorn walked beside him, his steps quick and nervous. He kept glancing at Darion, as if waiting for him to say something, to give some indication of what he was thinking. Darion remained silent, his expression neutral.

"The main square is one of the busiest areas of the settlement," Femorn said, his voice hesitant. "Merchants from all over the region come here to trade. We have blacksmiths, carpenters, tanners, weavers, all kinds of craftsmen."

Darion nodded. "Where is your wealth stored?"

Femorn paused for a moment, then pointed toward the center of the settlement. "There’s a fortified treasury near the center of Vrethka. It’s where we keep our gold, our silver, our valuables. Chief Dross had it built years ago, after a raid went wrong and we lost a significant amount of treasure."

"Show me," Darion said.

Femorn led him toward a large stone structure. Unlike many of the other buildings, this one looked heavily fortified. Thick stone walls, a reinforced entrance, minimal windows. Several armed guards were stationed around it, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the surroundings.

Darion immediately realized this wasn’t an ordinary storage building. It was a vault, designed to protect the settlement’s most valuable possessions.

The guards noticed Darion approaching. Their bodies stiffened. Some instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons. But nobody challenged him. They had heard what had happened in the palace. They knew who he was.

Femorn stepped forward. "Open it," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "The King wishes to inspect the treasury."

If Darion was another person, coming here and asking to casually see where Vrethka kept its wealth, they would have been so pissed off they would have killed him on the spot. The treasury was sacred.

It was the lifeblood of the settlement, the accumulated wealth of years of conquest and sacrifice.

No outsider, no stranger, no conqueror had the right to walk in and demand to see it. The guards would have drawn their weapons, would have fought to the death to protect what belonged to Vrethka. That was their duty. That was their honor.

But Darion wasn’t another person. He was someone who had walked into their palace, had stood in the middle of their war council, had drawn his sword and cut down their warriors without hesitation.