The land we had fought so fiercely to conquer was now in our hands, but it felt no more ours than it had before. The ground was still foreign, wild, and untamed. Though we had gained control, the real battle had just begun. Securing the land wasn't about marking it on a map, it was about transforming it into a stronghold, capable of withstanding the relentless tide of our enemies.
Inside the tent, the air was thick with the voices of the officers and military leaders. Their arguments echoed off the canvas walls, a cacophony of conflicting strategies and opinions. The debate was long and drawn out, as each leader pushed for their own priorities: settling civilians, reinforcing borders, stockpiling resources. It was an exhausting discussion, and every solution seemed to lead to more questions.
"We can't delay! The threat from the Zarathids grows with every passing day!" General Vered's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding.
"But the economy must be considered. Without stabilizing the civilians, we'll be no better than a nomadic force!" one of the civilian advisors retorted, his hands shaking slightly as he spoke.
I stood in the middle of it all, my head pounding from the noise. I had heard enough. The answer had been staring us in the face all along.
"Enough!" I barked, my voice silencing the tent. The room fell quiet, and every set of eyes turned to me. I met their gazes, my mind racing through the options. We needed to act fast. "We fortify. We build a military base here. This land is in a prime position to launch attacks on the Orcs and, most importantly, the Zarathids."
The weight of my words hung in the air, and slowly, the murmurs of agreement began to rise. The consensus was clear: military strategy had to come first. We would defend this land with everything we had.
The Zarathids. Their name sent a chill through me. I had only heard stories from the soldiers who had returned from the southern borders, their faces haunted by the horrors they had seen. The stories painted a terrifying picture: insectoid creatures, massive in number, moving as one under the control of a hive mind. They didn't fight as individuals; they fought as a single organism, as one unstoppable force.
We did not know their exact numbers, no one could, not with any certainty. But estimates put them well over 250 million, and that was enough to make any soldier tremble. A terrifying fact loomed over us: the numbers were not the only thing that made the Zarathids such a deadly force. Their hive mind made them an unparalleled threat. Each Zarathid was not an individual in the traditional sense; they were one, a collective army driven by a single will, a singular purpose. While Aeladria's population stood at 50 million, only a fraction of them were soldiers, trained and armed. The rest were civilians, unprepared for the brutality of the battlefield. We had conquered the gnolls, but even they were decimated by the Zarathid forces, their reckless assaults dwindling their numbers to almost nothing. Now, it seemed that the Zarathids were only biding their time before they struck again.
Immediately, preparations began. We cut down the forests that surrounded the land, the towering trees falling to the ground with resounding cracks. Their wood would serve a grim purpose, building the fortifications that could keep us safe, for as long as we could hold. The logs were used to raise guard posts and timber walls along the borders, a line of defense that would stand between us and the threat outside.
"We need more men on the west side," I called to my commanders, watching them as they surveyed the area. "Focus the defenses there."
Soldiers moved swiftly to obey, dragging logs and setting them into place. It was back-breaking work, and we were working against the clock. The Zarathids could strike at any moment, and every minute we wasted could cost us.
The fall pits were dug along the outer wall; deep, wide trenches filled with sharpened wooden spikes. The stakes would slow the Zarathids, who charged without fear. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best we could do with the resources at hand. It would take every last drop of blood, sweat, and effort to ensure these defenses held.
In the camp, the training continued, day in and day out. We had more recruits arriving by the day: farmers, merchants, and refugees, all thrown into the chaos of war. There was no room for doubt in their eyes, only the grim realization that survival meant shaping them into soldiers. I watched them train under the harsh sun, their bodies exhausted, their faces grim, as they learned the art of battle.
Meanwhile, the engineers worked tirelessly on siege machines: trebuchets and ballistas. The massive wooden arms of the trebuchets were hoisted into place, each one a testament to the effort of our people. They were a primitive solution, but they would serve. The ballistae, mounted on high towers, gave us a better view over the surrounding land, their crossbows powerful enough to pierce through the toughest armor.
"We'll need a few more," the lead engineer said as he inspected one of the trebuchets. "But they're on track."
I nodded, though doubt still lingered in my mind. The machines would help, but I knew they were just a part of the larger strategy. And we couldn't afford to be overconfident. Every day, the threat of the Zarathids loomed larger.
Three months passed in a blur. The fortifications were complete, the walls stood tall and proud, and the siege machines were positioned. Our men had trained relentlessly, their skills honed in the fire of constant drills. Armor was forged in the blacksmith's furnace, weapons were sharpened, and ammunition stored in excess. We had prepared as best as we could, but deep inside, I could feel the gnawing uncertainty.
We had heard the stories of what the Zarathids could do, how they destroyed entire villages in a single night, how they used their hive mind to organize and overwhelm. But stories were all we had. No one in this camp had seen them up close. I hadn't. I'd only seen fleeting images in my mind during the visions I'd experienced months ago. But those images were fading, replaced by the stark reality of our preparations. Even as I stood there, in the midst of the defenses we had constructed, I could feel the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me.
The day came. The tension in the camp was palpable. A small drawbridge was lowered, and ten men rode out on horseback. Their mission was simple: provoke the Zarathids, draw them toward our defenses. The men were ready, brave, skilled, but I couldn't shake the feeling that we were about to step into something far worse than anything we had prepared for.
I watched as they rode off into the distance, their silhouettes fading against the barren land. I had heard the stories of the Zarathids, how they tore through everything in their path, like a wave crashing against a cliff. I had seen the brutal images in my mind, the carnage they wrought.
But nothing could have prepared me for what would come next.