A new dawn broke over the eastern hills as the small village awoke to a bustle unlike anything it had ever seen before. The men carried spoils from the great bandit camp they had conquered. The women prepared food for the returning warriors. Children ran about, touching the knights' shields and spears with shining eyes.
The victory changed everything. No longer were they prey. No longer were they small shadows among the wild territories. For the first time in the village's history, they were the ones to be feared.
And all of it was because of one man: Arka.
Arka stood upon a small hill, gazing at the faint smoke rising from the bandit camp they had seized the day before. He closed his eyes, calculating distances, analyzing the terrain, considering its potential.
"That camp will become our first military outpost," he murmured.
He heard soft footsteps approaching. Lyria carried wheat bread and drinking water.
"You haven't had breakfast," she said.
Arka accepted the bread and took a bite. "Thank you."
Lyria looked at him gently. "What is your plan today?"
Arka pointed into the distance. "We will take control of that territory. After that, we'll build the first structure that will become the foundation of our future city."
Lyria nodded. "I will help… even though I don't know much."
Arka gave a faint smile. "You've already helped. Your faith is worth more than anything."
Lyria's cheeks flushed.
Moments like this—simple yet intimate—deepened their bond. But Arka knew that the long journey ahead would bring him many other women—something he needed to build a strong dynasty. Even so, Lyria would always remain a core part of the original foundation.
In the central field, the soldiers gathered. Drakios stood at the front, carrying a new shield made of oak wood and hardened cowhide.
"Arka," Drakios called, "the soldiers are ready."
Arka looked at them one by one. Twenty core warriors, all young and strong, now carried a different kind of confidence. They had tasted victory twice in a row.
"Listen!" Arka's voice echoed. "Starting today, we are no longer merely the army of a village. We are the first army that will build a kingdom."
Cheers erupted.
Arka continued, "We will move to the bandit camp. We will fortify it and turn it into a small stronghold. After that… we expand our territory."
Thalos, now head of production and logistics, stepped forward. "Arka, the craftsmen have prepared what you requested."
Arka nodded. "Show me."
Thalos brought forward a large wooden crate and opened it. Inside were simple yet crucial tools:
• Metal axes with modern cutting angles
• Heavy hammers with reinforced wooden handles
• A primitive distance-measuring tool made of fiber rope with knotted markers
• A new model of wooden nails
• Metal knives with sharper, more stable designs
Arka lifted one of the axes. Its weight was balanced. The cut was clean.
"With these," he said, "we can build new houses, fortifications, fences—even fell trees faster."
Thalos smiled proudly. "All your designs… they worked."
The soldiers and villagers moved toward the former bandit territory.
When they arrived, the camp was completely ruined. But Arka did not see destruction—he saw potential.
"Clear all of this," he ordered. "Build a wooden palisade. Construct watchtowers. With oak from the nearby forest, we can complete the initial fortification quickly."
The workers, now more disciplined, immediately got to work.
Arka stood at the center of the area, examining the soil. He scooped up a handful and squeezed it. The moisture level was good.
"This place is strategic," he murmured. "There's timber, a small river nearby, and the position overlooks the northern route."
He had a grand plan.
First: A fortress.
Second: A second village.
Third: The first small city.
He knew that a kingdom always begins with its first city.
Arka began drawing a layout in the dirt with a stick:
• The main fortress
• Workers' housing
• A food warehouse
• Watchtowers
• A logistical route to the main village
The soldiers and workers watched him as though witnessing something extraordinary. Never before had they seen such precise planning.
"We will divide the area into zones," Arka explained. "I want every building facing the main road so we can mobilize troops efficiently."
Drakios stroked his chin. "You speak as if you know the future."
Arka looked at him steadily. "Not the future. Just knowledge."
However, the work did not proceed smoothly. As the workers felled trees, two villagers—Laros and Kion—began whispering darkly.
"I don't like how he gives so many orders," Laros muttered.
"Exactly," Kion replied. "He acts like a king."
"And he's close to Lyria," Laros added bitterly. "Many girls in the village want him… but he only approaches Lyria."
Kion nodded angrily.
"Are we going to let him lead forever?"
Laros bit his lip. "Maybe we could—"
"If you want to die, keep talking."
The two men jolted. Drakios stood behind them, a large axe resting on his shoulder.
"W-we were just—"
"Arka is our leader," Drakios said coldly. "If you try to cause trouble, I will kill you myself."
They fell silent in fear.
Drakios turned away. But quietly, the two men exchanged resentful glances.
The seeds of intrigue had been planted.
By late afternoon, the mini-fort had begun to take shape. A wooden palisade stood two meters high. Two simple watchtowers had been completed. Soldiers practiced formations inside the now-cleared and leveled grounds.
Everything was proceeding well… until a shout rang out from the tower:
"People approaching! From the north!"
Arka immediately climbed the tower.
In the distance, around fifteen figures were walking toward them. They did not look like bandits. They carried a tattered cloth banner mounted on a spear.
Drakios stiffened. "Who are they?"
Arka narrowed his eyes. "People from another colony. They're… fleeing."
As the group drew closer, their injuries became visible. Their faces were pale; some were supporting others as they walked.
An old man stepped forward before Arka and collapsed to his knees. "Please… save our village…"
Arka crouched down. "What happened?"
The old man wept. "A great clan from the north… they destroyed our village. There are hundreds of them… they're coming here…"
Arka fell silent for a few seconds.
A great clan.
Hundreds of people.
Fully armed.
This was no minor threat.
This was the first true test of the kingdom he intended to build.
"You have brought valuable news," Arka said calmly.
He stood, looking at the soldiers, the workers, the half-finished fort.
"People…" his voice thundered. "We do not have time."
He pointed toward the road leading to the village.
"Drakios! Take half the soldiers back to the main village. Order everyone to prepare for defense!"
Drakios nodded. "Understood!"
"To the remaining workers and soldiers," Arka continued, "we accelerate the construction. I want the walls completed before sunset!"
Everyone moved at once.
Then Arka turned his gaze northward. The air felt cold, as if carrying an unseen threat.
"A great clan…" he murmured. "If they come, this will be our first large-scale war."
Lyria, who stood not far away, approached with a worried expression. "Is this dangerous?"
Arka looked at her gently, then took her hand.
"This is the beginning of our true war. And I need you to stay close to me."
Lyria nodded, though her eyes were filled with fear.
Arka looked far to the north, imagining the approaching enemy.
"Let them come," he said.
His voice as low as a whisper, yet as strong as steel.
"I will defeat them. And their land… will become part of our kingdom."
And beneath the light of the setting sun, Arka's first fortress rose higher and higher, while a great storm from the north prepared to strike—a storm that would determine the fate of the future kingdom.