The battlefield still reeked of blood and burning flesh. The cries of the dying had faded into silence, leaving only the whispers of the wind as it swept through the corpses. Black Ridge was ours, but victory always carried a price.
I sat atop Aether, my black stallion, surveying the remnants of the clash. The dead of Varyon lay scattered, their steel and banners broken. Among them were my own men—loyal warriors who had bled for Solmaris.
"How many did we lose?" I asked.
Hadrian rode up beside me, his armor dented, his face smeared with dirt and sweat.
"Seven thousand, My Lord. Five thousand more wounded."
A heavy toll.
War always demanded its due.
But for the first time, it was my war. My decision. My burden.
---
The Cost of Leadership
As we marched back to Solmaris, the weight of responsibility settled upon my shoulders.
The soldiers cheered my name, but I felt the eyes of the widows and the wounded upon me. They had fought for me. Died for me.
I was their Emperor.
I had to make their sacrifices mean something.
Inside my war tent, I removed my bloodstained armor, staring into the polished silver mirror. My reflection was that of a warrior, not a ruler. Not yet.
Then came the messengers.
One by one, they delivered their reports.
The nobles in the capital had begun to question the campaign.
The priests of Solis whispered that I had provoked the gods.
Varyon was regrouping, and King Edric was rallying reinforcements.
War was far from over.
---
Council of War
That night, my commanders and advisors gathered around a map of the region. The candlelight flickered across their faces—some weary, others eager for the next battle.
Hadrian, ever pragmatic, spoke first.
"Varyon will not sit idle. Edric will seek allies. If we wait too long, we risk facing an army twice the size."
"Then we strike first," said General Caius, his eyes gleaming. "We press into their lands, force them into submission before they can regroup."
A bold move. But reckless.
I turned to Elias the Grey, my spymaster. "What news from our informants?"
He leaned forward, placing a dagger on the map. "Edric has sent envoys to the Western Kingdoms. He seeks their aid."
"And what of his army?" I asked.
"Scattered but reforming. He will have twenty thousand men within a fortnight."
A smaller force, but if he gained allies, the balance could tip.
I studied the map, tracing the borders of Varyon and the surrounding kingdoms.
"We cannot fight a war on multiple fronts. We must either crush Edric swiftly or ensure he finds no allies."
Silence filled the tent as the weight of the decision settled.
Conquest was not just about battle. It was about strategy, politics, and deception.
---
The Shadows of the Gods
Before I could decide, a voice interrupted.
"You forget one thing, My Lord," came a smooth, measured tone.
All eyes turned to Priest-Lord Varian, the high priest of Solis. His golden robes shimmered in the dim light, his expression unreadable.
"The gods are watching. And they do not favor hesitation."
I met his gaze. "And what do the gods say, Priest-Lord?"
"They say the time for half-measures is over."
With that, he placed an obsidian talisman upon the table. The mark of an ancient power, one not seen in battle for centuries.
"There is another way to win this war, My Lord. But you must decide if you are willing to use it."
The flames flickered. Shadows danced on the walls.
The war had just begun.
And the gods had chosen their players.