Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World

194  The Rightful Owner

The capital of Aritreia quickly fell under Olaro's control. Zahra, who had been almost invisible in recent days during her first experience as a leader, led her team with precision, hunting down all those who dared to resist in the western part of the city. Throughout the campaign, both Henry and Olaro had largely forgotten about her, leaving her to grow closer to her team. Even when Henry entered the Screaming Valley, he left Zahra behind with Olaro and the remaining troops. During this time, Zahra made her team train relentlessly. She would rise before anyone else and finish long after the others had stopped. It was her way of asserting her authority and ensuring that her team would be prepared to react quickly in a crisis. Now, that hard work was paying off. Olaro had entrusted her with the responsibility of securing the western part of the city while he and the rest of the army handled the rest. It took Zahra and her soldiers only two hours to complete the task. "General!" Zahra called out as she approached Olaro, who stood in the middle of the plaza in front of the castle, surveying the crowd of citizens kneeling on the ground, surrounded by soldiers. Her sword was still tainted with blood as her team followed closely behind, and hundreds of defeated people, heads bowed and trembling, trailed after them.

"I have brought the captives," Zahra said, her voice steady. "Those who resisted are dead, as you ordered, General." Her soldiers forced the prisoners to their knees. There was no distinction, women, children, the elderly, all were lined up, facing the castle and the plaza. Mothers clutched their children, whispering words of comfort in their ears, while men knelt patiently awaiting judgment. They held themselves as straight as they could, trying to shield their families from Olaro and Zahra's gaze. They were afraid that their families would die before their eyes.

"You did well for your first mission, Zahra." Olaro said, his eyes lingering on her. Despite his attempt to remain distant, he had watched her push herself again and again, working harder than anyone else. The king had ordered him to give her room to grow, and she had exceeded his expectations.

"Thank you, General," Zahra replied, bowing her head slightly. Her tone was calm, almost indifferent, as if she expected nothing less. "What are we going to do with them?" She glanced at the thousands of kneeling residents, their faces filled with fear and uncertainty. Their eyes silently begged for mercy. "We'll wait for the king," Olaro replied. "Our orders were clear, kill the ones who resisted, capture those who surrendered. It's not in our interest to kill everyone. These people don't seem particularly loyal to their king, or to that runaway rat. They'll fall in line under our king's rule easily enough."

Zahra nodded, her gaze drifting briefly to the palace where the king had vanished, before returning to the captured citizens. Though the city had been taken, she felt unsatisfied. This didn't feel like a real victory to her. It hadn't been a battle. There was no real risk, no sense of proving herself. It felt more like caging a helpless bird than winning a war.

Olaro, noticing the fire still burning in her, simply smiled. "There will be other battles, other opportunities for you to prove yourself. This is just the beginning and we will soon march again for another war." He said. Zahra nodded, her eyes gleaming, like a child eager for the next game.

It wasn't long before the muffled sounds of screams echoed from the palace. All heads turned as Henry, Yngvi, and Leier exited the gates, striding toward the plaza. Behind them, a beaten woman with golden hair staggered forward, clutching two children, one missing a limb. In Henry's grasp was Latrel Silversin, dragged by his hair, struggling to free himself, his mouth open as if to scream, but no sound came out. "My liege!" "The king!"

The prisoners trembled at the sight, while all the soldiers, including Olaro and Zahra, dropped to their knees, eyes fixed on the handsome black-haired man who dragged the Duke through the dirt. Henry ignored their actions, continuing his steady march until he stood at the center of the plaza where all could see him.

He lifted the snake-like Duke higher by his hair, until Latrel's feet left the ground. The Duke thrashed, trying to break free, but Henry's grip was like iron, his legs could only kick uselessly. Henry's cold eyes scanned the crowd of kneeling citizens and soldiers, his face devoid of emotion. "People of Aritreia!" Henry's voice cut through the plaza "This is your Duke, Latrel Silversin! The man who betrayed your true king, Alonso Snowcrest. The man who stole the throne from its rightful ruler." Henry paused, watching as the captives looked at the Duke with a mix of emotions, ranging from fear to hate. This man put them into this situation. He deserved to die. They wanted to dash towards him and punch him to death, but the army's swords were ready to behead them at any movement.

"He called himself your king, the new king" Henry continued, his voice filled with disdain. "But he is nothing more than a snake, a coward who betrayed his own people for power. And there is no place in Stahl's world for traitors."

With one swift motion, Henry threw Latrel to the ground. The Duke hit the stone hard, his body crumpling at Henry's feet. His face was bloodied, his body trembling with fear and pain. He tried to crawl away, but Henry stepped on his back, forcing him down, before kicking him again and again, like a torturer.

"From this day forward, Aritreia returns to Stahl," Henry declared. "Your lands, your people, your throne, all of it returns to its rightful ruler. Let this traitor's fate be a warning to all who dare defy me." Henry reached down, his hand glowing with an ominous purple light. He grabbed Latrel by the hair again, pulling him to his knees. The Duke's eyes were wide with terror, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to scream, but no sound came out.

The purple light in Henry's hand grew, and flames ignited in Latrel's hair. The fire spread quickly, engulfing his head, his neck, and then his entire body. Latrel's muffled screams grew frantic, his body thrashing as the flames consumed him. His legs kicked violently, but Henry held him forcefully, not allowing him to move out or run.

The people watched in terror as the once-powerful Duke screamed in agony. The children began to cry and the women closer their eyes, that purple fire was something that would terrorize their nights for a long time. It was like the devourer of ancestors, ready to swallow their souls and suffocate the ancestors' fire.

Within moments, Latrel's body was nothing more than a charred husk. His skin blackened and cracked, and with a final flick of Henry's wrist, the Duke's remains crumbled to ash. The wind carried the ashes across the plaza, scattering them among the terrified citizens. Only a burnt head was left.

A disturbing silence followed.

Henry turned to his people, his expression cold and emotionless. "Prepare everything. We leave tomorrow."  n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

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