Under the dim glow of a campfire, Rohan stood in the center of a clearing, flanked by Mark and Alex, who had now pledged their loyalty under the iron grip of his authority. Around him, a group of mercenaries—more than fifty in number—stood in tense silence, their faces a mix of fear, curiosity, and forced submission. These were the hunters who had once sought to claim his life, now gathered to hear his words.
Rohan addressed them, his voice steady and commanding. "You all came here under orders to hunt me, believing I was a weak prince with no awakened power. Now, you stand before me not as hunters, but as my subjects. Know this: your lives are no longer your own. I hold your fates in my hands."
A murmur ran through the crowd, but none dared to speak out.
Turning to Alex, Rohan gestured toward a crude drawing etched into the dirt. "You said you could find someone to make a proper rendition of my face?"
Alex nodded. "There's a skilled artist in the group. I'll have him draw it immediately."
Rohan smirked. "Good. I want every mercenary who sought to kill me to see my face and learn my name. When they do, my power will ensure their submission—or their death."
As the artist got to work, Rohan turned his attention to Mark. "Tell me about this world. I need to understand the power structure if I am to survive and thrive here."
Mark hesitated for a moment before speaking. "This world is vast, ruled by power and hierarchy. There are three primary paths of strength: Knights, Mages, and Wizards. Knights rely on physical prowess and the ability to channel mana into their bodies, enhancing their strength, speed, and endurance. They're divided into five tiers: Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, and the legendary Adamantine Knights."
Rohan nodded, absorbing the information. "And the Mages?"
Mark continued, "Mages are scholars of magic, wielding spells that can decimate armies or heal mortal wounds. Their power is measured by their mastery over elemental forces: Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Master, and Archmage. Wizards, on the other hand, are rare and mysterious. They study the very fabric of reality, bending space, time, and existence itself. They're categorized as Lesser Wizards, High Wizards, and Grand Wizards."
Alex interjected, "But there's more. Beyond these paths are those who possess unique abilities or blessings—things that can't be categorized. People like you, with an Authority, fall into that group. The churches call them 'Miracles,' and the Seven Churches often hunt them out of fear or greed."
Rohan's eyes narrowed. "So, the churches are the true power?"
Mark nodded grimly. "Yes. The Seven Churches rule over most of the world, each worshiping a different god. They maintain order but also suppress anything that threatens their dominion. Your power makes you a target."
Rohan smirked. "Let them come. By the time they realize the extent of my power, it will be too late."
The artist finished his drawing and presented it to Rohan. It was a detailed depiction of his face, capturing every feature with precision. Rohan studied it for a moment before nodding in approval.
"Spread this image among the mercenaries who haven't seen me yet," Rohan ordered. "Let them know my name: Rohan Arthur Atlantia. Once they know and see, they'll be bound to me."
The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances but complied, distributing copies of the drawing among their ranks. Rohan watched them go, a satisfied smile on his face.
As the camp settled for the night, Rohan sat by the fire, his mind racing with plans. He now understood the world he had been thrust into—a world of power, politics, and peril. With his Authority, he would carve a place for himself, no matter the cost.
In the shadows, Alex and Mark exchanged a glance. They had thrown their lot in with a man who was no longer just a prince. He was something far more dangerous. And as they looked at the face etched into the paper, they couldn't help but wonder if they had made the right choice—or a fatal mistake.
The next morning, as the first light of dawn crept through the dense forest canopy, Rohan stood at the edge of the camp, staring into the horizon. The world around him seemed to hum with possibility, but his mind remained focused. He had a plan, and every step he took was carefully calculated.
Mark approached him cautiously. "The drawings have been sent out. By now, every mercenary who came to hunt you should know your face and your name."
Rohan nodded without turning. "Good. Their greed brought them here, and now their ignorance will bind them to me."
Alex joined them, his expression tense. "But what now? We've secured the mercenaries under your control, but there are still threats. The Seven Churches will hear of this. They won't let someone with your... capabilities roam free."
Rohan turned to face them, his expression calm but resolute. "Let them come. Before they reach me, I will have built a force so loyal and unshakable that even the churches will think twice about interfering. But first, we need to test the loyalty of those who now serve me."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "How do you plan to do that?"
Rohan smirked. "By giving them a task that will separate the loyal from the treacherous. There's a fortress not far from here, occupied by a smaller mercenary band. We'll move against them, and those who hesitate or betray me will be dealt with accordingly."
Alex frowned. "That's risky. If they rebel, you might lose control of the group."
Rohan's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll remind them why rebellion is futile. My power isn't just for show, Alex. I will use it when necessary."
---
By midday, the camp was alive with activity. Rohan addressed the gathered mercenaries, his voice carrying authority and conviction.
"There's a fortress to the west," he began. "It belongs to a rival band, and it holds supplies and resources we need. Those of you who prove your loyalty in this mission will earn my protection and favor. Those who hesitate..." His gaze swept over the crowd, cold and unyielding. "Well, you've seen what happens to those who oppose me."
The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to speak out. They had witnessed his power firsthand, and the fear of death was a strong motivator.
---
The march to the fortress was tense, every step filled with uncertainty. Alex and Mark walked at Rohan's side, their weapons ready.
As they approached the fortress, Rohan raised a hand to halt the group. "Mark, take a few men and circle around. Cut off their escape routes. Alex, you'll lead the charge with me."
Mark nodded and disappeared into the shadows with his team. Alex tightened his grip on his sword, glancing at Rohan. "Are you sure about this?"
Rohan's smirk returned. "Trust me, Alex. This is just the beginning."
The assault began with a calculated strike. Arrows flew, and battle cries echoed through the forest as Rohan's forces stormed the fortress. The defenders fought back fiercely, but Rohan's mercenaries outnumbered them.
In the chaos, Rohan moved through the battlefield with purpose. Every time one of his mercenaries faltered, he would appear, his voice cutting through the noise. "Do you value your life? Then fight for it. Fight for me."
The tide of battle shifted quickly. By nightfall, the fortress was theirs. Rohan stood atop the ramparts, looking down at the gathered mercenaries.
"You've proven your loyalty," he said. "From this day forward, you are no longer just mercenaries. You are my army."
The men cheered, but Rohan's mind was already moving to the next step. The fortress was just the beginning. He now had a base, an army, and a reputation. The Seven Churches would come, but when they did, they would find a man who was no longer just a prince.
He was a ruler, a leader, and the bearer of an Authority that could not be denied.