The sun rose over the devastated lands.
A lone rider, clad in a tattered cloak, guided his steed across the broken plains. The weight of destiny pressed upon his shoulders—along with the power of the legendary emperor that now surged within him.
Beside him rode his only companion, a young man from his homeland, one of the few whose loyalty he could trust.
The scene before them was worse than he had imagined.
Abandoned fields stretched toward the horizon, their soil cracked and lifeless. Villages lay in ruins, charred by fire and stripped of anything of value. The air was thick with the scent of ash and decay. And in the distance, perched atop a hill like a vulture surveying its prey, stood the region's only fortress.
It had long since fallen into the wrong hands.
The bandits had made it their stronghold, ruling over the land like self-proclaimed lords. To the people who remained—those too weak or too broken to flee—they were not mere outlaws. They were kings.
The survivors lived in fear, hiding in the remnants of their homes, dreading both the bandits and the uncertainty of tomorrow.
Reining in his horse at the crest of a hill, the young noble gazed down at the ruined town below. His eyes were sharp, unreadable. His fingers tightened around the reins.
"First, we reclaim the fortress. Without a base of power, we cannot rebuild anything."
His companion hesitated. "But… it's just the two of us. How can we possibly take it?"
The young noble smiled—not in amusement, but with quiet certainty.
"We are not just two. We are the first of many."
Without another word, they descended the hill, heading toward the nearest village.
The streets were empty. Shattered windows and broken doors lined the pathways, silent testaments to the suffering that had taken place. The scent of old blood lingered in the air.
But they were not alone.
Shadows moved within the ruins. Watchful eyes peered from behind makeshift barricades. Fearful, uncertain. The town was alive—but only just.
Then, from one of the ruined homes, an old man emerged. His beard was unkempt, his clothes little more than rags. Months—perhaps years—of hardship were etched into his gaunt features.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse with suspicion.
"Who are you?"
The noble dismounted, pulling back his hood. "My name is—"
He hesitated.
His family name had once held power, but here, it meant nothing. No, worse—it was a reminder of those who had abandoned this land.
He met the old man's gaze. "I am the new lord of this territory."
A bitter, humorless laugh rasped from the old man's throat. "Lord? There are no lords here, boy. Only bandits and corpses. If you don't want to become one of them, turn back."
**"And what if I told you I came to change that?"**His voice did not waver.
Something in his tone made the old man pause. There was no arrogance in his words. No naivety. Only a quiet, unwavering authority—one he himself had not fully realized until now.
"I will take back this land," the young noble continued, "and I will drive out those who have defiled it."
The old man's eyes narrowed. "Bold words. But words mean nothing without strength. The bandits control the fortress. They rule the roads. You have no soldiers, no gold, no allies. How do you intend to do this?"
The noble turned to his companion. "How many survivors are left here?"
"Twenty, maybe thirty at most. Many fled into the forests. Others died resisting."
He crossed his arms, deep in thought. Then, with quiet finality, he spoke.
"Then we start with what we have. If we lack soldiers, we will make our own. If we lack weapons, we will take them from our enemies."
The old man scoffed. "You expect starving peasants to fight trained killers? That's suicide."
The young noble knelt, picking up a broken branch.
"It's not a battle."
He pressed the tip of the branch into the dirt, sketching out a rough outline of the fortress.
"It's a hunt. And we will be the predators."
Something in his voice sent a chill through the air.
It was not the bravado of a reckless youth. It was something colder, sharper—something that made even the old man hesitate.
From the ruins, others began to emerge. Faces hollowed by hunger and despair.
For the first time in months—perhaps even years—hope flickered in their eyes.
And with that, the first move in his war to reclaim this land had been made.