The sky was streaked with the first hues of dawn, casting an eerie glow over the battlefield that had become Hans' Stronghold. The scent of blood had begun to fade, replaced by the damp earth and lingering smoke of the previous night's fires. Around him, goblins, lizardmen, and ogres stirred, some celebrating their unexpected unity while others remained wary of the new order.
Hans stood atop a rocky outcrop, surveying the land that now fell under his rule. He had seized power through war, but holding it was an entirely different challenge. He was no tyrant, nor did he desire to rule with an iron fist. He needed something more than brute strength. He needed stability.
And he needed a plan.
Zharka was the first to approach him, her golden eyes watching him closely. The daughter of the slain ogre chieftain had not yet accepted him as her leader, but she had not challenged him either. That alone meant something.
"You can't rule a broken people," she said bluntly. "You need to give them purpose."
Hans exhaled. "And what do you suggest?"
Zharka crossed her arms, her muscles tensing. "We have warriors. Strong ones. But warriors without food are just starving beasts. The ogres rely on hunting, but the lizardmen are used to fishing and farming along the river. The goblins… they live off scraps and theft."
Hans nodded. He had seen it himself. The goblins were cunning, the lizardmen disciplined, and the ogres brutal. But they had no unifying force, no system, no city.
"We need a home," he said at last. "A real one."
Zharka arched an eyebrow. "You mean to build a kingdom?"
Hans shook his head. "Not yet. A kingdom needs more than just warriors. We need a foundation first."
She smirked. "And you expect them to follow you into this dream?"
He glanced at the mixed crowd below—goblins arguing over stolen weapons, lizardmen sharpening their spears, and ogres watching everything in silence.
"They don't have a choice," he said. "Either we build something, or we die as scattered tribes."
Zharka studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Then let's start."
By midday, the work had begun.
Hans divided the tasks among his people. The lizardmen, skilled in gathering and basic agriculture, were sent to the riverbanks to establish farmlands and fishing posts. The goblins, small and agile, were tasked with scavenging ruins and crafting tools from whatever they could find. The ogres—strong and tireless—were ordered to construct simple fortifications, using fallen trees and stone to form a rudimentary village.
At first, there was resistance. The ogres scoffed at the idea of farming, the goblins whined about working in the open, and the lizardmen hesitated, unsure if this alliance would last.
Then, Hans intervened.
He worked alongside them, carrying wood with the ogres, learning the goblins' strange crafting techniques, and even wading into the river with the lizardmen. He fought beside them in war, and now he toiled beside them in peace.
And slowly, something changed.
They saw him not just as a conqueror but as one of them.
Zharka watched this transformation with an unreadable expression.
"You're not just leading them," she muttered one evening as they sat near the central fire. "You're shaping them."
Hans looked around at the growing village—the wooden walls rising, the first signs of real homes being built, the hunters returning with gains, and the young goblins laughing as they crafted simple tools.
"That's the point," he replied.
Zharka grinned. "Maybe you aren't as weak as I thought."
But peace never lasted long.
Days passed, and Hans' new settlement began to take shape. The different factions—once divided by old rivalries—started working together. Yet, despite their progress, there were shadows growing beyond the valley.
The goblin scouts brought troubling news: an army was moving through the Forest of Darkness. Not just one faction, but many.
Minotaurs, Werewolves and remnants of goblin tribes that have gone rouge—all drawn by the rumors.
Hans sat in his newly built war tent, surrounded by Zharka, the Irontail Chieftain, The young goblin lord and the old goblin shaman.
"They don't march under one banner," the goblin shaman said. "But they have a single purpose—to either serve you or destroy you."
Hans clenched his fists. He had expected opposition, but not so soon.
"We're not ready for war," he admitted.
Zharka leaned forward, her golden eyes gleaming. "Then we make them kneel before they bring war to us."
Hans looked at her. "You want to face them head-on?"
She shook her head. "Not all of them. Some can be reasoned with. Some can be broken before they ever lift a blade."
Hans understood. They didn't need to fight an army. They needed to turn that army into allies.
It was a gamble.
But he was willing to take it.
As the rogue forces approached, Hans prepared his strategy. He sent emissaries—goblins, fast and cunning—to spread the word. Any who wished to join him would be given a place. Any who sought his death would find their own instead.
Days passed, and the battlefield was set.
The first warband arrived, led by a towering minotaur wielding twin axes. Hans met him in the open, flanked by Zharka and his strongest warriors.
"You are the one they whisper about," the minotaur said, his voice like grinding stone. "The heir of the former Demon Lord Marlic's will."
Hans didn't deny it.
"And what do you plan to do with us?" the minotaur demanded.
Hans lifted his head, his gaze unwavering. "You have two choices. Stand with me and help build a land where we all thrive—a place where you'll find purpose and strength. Or resist, and throw your life away for nothing. Choose wisely."
The minotaur's eyes widened, nostrils flaring as Hans' demand echoed in his mind. A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, his fingers twitching toward his weapon. For a moment, defiance burned in his gaze—but then, he hesitated. The weight of his warriors' lives pressed upon him. Was this truly a fight worth dying for?
With a sharp exhale, he bared his teeth, frustration and respect warring within him. Then, slowly, he dropped to one knee, his massive frame trembling with the choice. One by one, his warriors followed, their weapons clattering to the ground. The battlefield that once thick with tension, now hummed with the quiet surrender of those who chose survival over senseless death.
One by one, the other bands arrived. Some challenged him. Some tried to kill him. But others, like the minotaur, swore fealty the moment they saw the truth. The werewolf pack leader, sensing a power in Hans that dwarfed her own, swallowed her pride and bent the knee—but only for now. if she will given the chance, she would uncover his weaknesses. The rogue goblins, however, needed no such convincing. The moment they saw their former lord and shaman standing at Hans's side, their defiance crumbled, and they submitted without a fight.
Hans was no warlord.
He was a ruler.
And by the time the dust settled, his numbers had doubled.
That night, as Hans stood overlooking his growing territory, Zharka joined him.
"You did it," she admitted. "They follow you."
"For now," Hans said. "But this is just the beginning."
Zharka hesitated before speaking. "I was going to kill you," she said at last.
Hans turned to her, unsurprised. "And now?"
She smirked. "Now, I think I'll wait and see if you're worth keeping alive."
Hans chuckled. "High praise."
She stepped closer, her voice lower. "You're different. You don't rule like my father did. And… I don't hate it."
Hans met her gaze. For the first time, there was no challenge in her eyes.
Only curiosity.
And something else.
Before he could respond, the goblin shaman approached, his face pale.
"My lord," he whispered. "There is something you must see."
Hans followed him toward the edge of the camp. There, standing beneath the pale moonlight, was a figure cloaked in black.
Their glowing eyes locked onto Hans.
"You are not ready," the figure said.
Then they vanished into the shadows.
Hans' grip tightened.
The past was watching him.
And the future was waiting.
But he would not falter.
He was not just building a temporary camp.
He was building a place for him and his followers.
And nothing would stop him.