Chapter 350: ...and the Vault

He was someone who had summoned an army of the dead: undead knights, undead wolves, undead creatures that should not exist, and had carved a path through their streets, leaving destruction in his wake.

He was someone who had chased their chief through the settlement, had beaten him, had dragged him to the tallest tower, and had beheaded him in front of the entire settlement.

He was someone who had commanded them to bow or die. And they had bowed.

The guards remembered. They had seen the undead. They had seen the green light. They had seen the massive creatures that moved like nightmares, that didn’t bleed, that didn’t fall, that didn’t stop. They had seen their chief’s head roll across the stone. They had heard Darion’s voice, cold and commanding, telling them to surrender or be destroyed.

They had surrendered. They had chosen life over death. And now, they stood in front of the treasury, their weapons drawn, their bodies tense, and they knew that they could not stop him. They could not fight him. They could not kill him. He was not just a man. He was something else. Something terrifying. Something unstoppable. And now he was their leader.

The guards immediately obeyed. They unlocked the heavy doors and pulled them open, revealing a dark staircase that descended into the ground.

Darion stepped inside, Femorn following close behind.

He expected to see a pile of coins. Instead, he found an enormous underground vault. The sheer amount of wealth caught him off guard.

The room stretched farther than he expected, with different sections dedicated to different kinds of valuables. Wooden chests were stacked along the walls, their lids closed, their contents hidden. Bags of coins sat in piles on the floor, their fabric bulging with the weight of silver and gold. Silver objects had been packed into crates, candlesticks, plates, goblets, ornaments. Gold bars were stored separately under heavy protection, their surfaces gleaming in the torchlight.

Jewelry filled smaller containers: rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, all carefully sorted and stored. Weapons and ornaments made from precious metals were displayed on racks along the walls. Strange artifacts sat among the treasure—objects Darion didn’t immediately recognize. Some appeared magical, their surfaces glowing faintly in the dim light. Others looked ancient, their origins lost to time.

Everything had clearly been accumulated over many years. The torchlight reflected off the treasure, filling the chamber with flashes of gold and silver.

Darion slowly walked farther inside. For a moment, even he was speechless. He had seen wealth before: the Emperor’s palace had been filled with gold and jewels, but this was different. This was a treasure hoard, a physical accumulation of years of conquest and plunder.

Darion approached one of the piles of gold. He crouched down and picked up a gold coin, turning it between his fingers. It was heavy, solid, stamped with the symbol of Vrethka, a wolf’s head with a spear through its eye. He picked up another, then another, letting them clink together in his palm.

Then he noticed an entire chest filled with gold. He opened the lid and ran his hand across the coins, feeling the cool metal against his skin. He couldn’t help but appreciate the sheer amount of wealth in front of him.

He joked internally about how Dross apparently wasn’t completely incompetent when it came to collecting money. The man had been a brutal warlord, but he had also been a practical one. He had understood that wealth was power, and he had accumulated it relentlessly.

Darion looked toward the gold bars and realized how much easier certain problems became when money wasn’t an immediate limitation. Paying soldiers. Buying food. Purchasing horses. Repairing walls. Funding farms. Hiring craftsmen. Buying weapons and armor. Improving roads. Supporting Percvale. Potentially financing future campaigns.

He began thinking beyond merely surviving. He had been focused on rebuilding Percvale, on protecting his people, on surviving the threats that surrounded him. But now, with this much wealth at his disposal, he could start thinking about expansion. About building something lasting. About challenging the Emperor himself.

"How did Dross build this fortune?" Darion asked, turning to Femorn.

The warrior hesitated before explaining. "Much of it came from the territories Vrethka conquered or raided. Taxes were another major source. Villages under Vrethkan control were required to provide money and resources. We also took valuables from defeated enemies."

Darion’s expression changed slightly when Femorn mentioned prisoners. "Prisoners?"

Femorn nodded, his face pale. "Some wealth came from selling prisoners. Chief Dross would capture people from defeated settlements and sell them to slavers or neighboring tribes. It was... it was a profitable business."

Darion said nothing. He had done terrible things himself, had burned villages, had killed people, had raised the dead to fight for him. But selling prisoners into slavery was something else entirely. It was a different kind of cruelty, a different kind of evil.

Femorn continued, his voice low. "Dross spent years building Vrethka’s reserves. Every successful raid added more. Every defeated settlement contributed more. Every captured caravan or valuable prisoner increased the treasury. He treated warfare as a way of continuously feeding Vrethka’s wealth."

Darion realized that the treasury was basically a physical record of Vrethka’s history of conquest. Every chest represented something that had happened somewhere else. Every gold bar was a life that had been destroyed, a family that had been broken.

Darion started mentally calculating what the wealth could accomplish. He didn’t know the exact value yet, so he didn’t pretend he did. Instead, he realized he needed an actual inventory. Every gold bar, chest, artifact, weapon, and valuable item needed to be recorded.

"Femorn," he said, his voice firm. "I want someone trustworthy to begin documenting everything inside this treasury. Nothing is to be taken without my knowledge. I want a full inventory, what we have, how much of it, and what it’s worth."

Femorn nodded quickly. "Of course, m’lord. I’ll find someone I trust. Someone who can read and write."

"And I want to know which items are ordinary wealth and which might have magical or historical value. Some of these artifacts look old. Some might be worth more than just their weight in gold."

Femorn nodded again. "I’ll see to it personally."

Darion looked around the vault one more time. The scale of his plans started changing. Percvale had been struggling to rebuild. Harrowhold had just been placed under Marrick. Vrethka had just been conquered. And now he had discovered that one of those territories contained enough wealth to potentially fund major development.

He stepped away from the treasure and looked toward Femorn. He realized that this was only one part of Vrethka. If the treasury was this wealthy, he needed to know what else the territory had. Food. Livestock. Farms. Weapons. Workshops. Roads. Natural resources.

He suddenly became much more interested in understanding the territory properly.

"Show me the rest," he said. "The farms. The storehouses. The workshops. I want to see everything."

Femorn nodded, his face pale but determined. "Yes, m’lord. Follow me."