The wooden gates of Aretien did not simply break.They burst inward with a thunderous crash that echoed across the battlefield, sending shattered planks and iron fragments flying in all directions. The sound alone felt like a hammer striking the chest, and for a brief moment, every defender on the wall froze.Then the enemy came.Two hundred half-orc wolf riders surged through the opening in a violent tide, pouring into the city like a living storm that had finally found a way inside. The wolves beneath them were enormous, each one as large as a full-grown lion, their bodies thick with muscle and covered in coarse, dark fur. Their eyes gleamed with feral hunger, and their snarls sent chills through the air.Every leap shook the ground.Every claw tore deep into the soil.They did not slow down. They did not hesitate. They charged with raw momentum, savagery and killing intent fused into one unstoppable force.At the front of the Roman formation, the youth soldiers barely had time to r

“I challenge you, my lord.”The words carried across the battlefield without effort. They were calm, measured, and dangerously sincere.The young man did not raise his voice. He did not need to. Somehow, it reached every ear anyway.“I know what this means,” he continued. “I know that standing here like this is no different from inviting death. But there is no other path left to me.” He paused, drew a slow breath, then said more quietly, “This battle decides whether my people survive. So if there is any mercy in your heart, I ask for it.”The wind fell silent.Even the restless banners seemed to freeze.Kane, chieftain of the Luen tribe, stood beneath the blazing sun as though it had no authority over him. He was young, barely past his twentieth year, yet the pressure radiating from him made even seasoned warriors straighten their backs without realizing it.His hair was long and white as fresh snow, flowing freely down his back. It shifted slightly, though there was no breeze to expl

Part One: The Weight of Hope“Father!”Cain’s voice reached the gathering long before he did. It rang out clear and sharp, cutting through the restless murmur of the crowd like a blade. He slowed his pace only slightly as he drew closer, eyes fixed on a lone figure standing at the edge of the newly paved stone road.There he is.Something unfamiliar stirred in Cain’s chest. It was not fear. Not excitement either. It was closer to reverence, mixed with a quiet relief he had not realized he was carrying.“He has arrived,” Cain said softly, almost to himself, as he glanced toward the elderly man walking beside him.The old clan chief lifted his head.Time seemed to slow.Ares Valen stood beneath the pale desert sun, his shadow stretching long across the stone. He looked ordinary at first glance. Too ordinary, perhaps. No crown rested upon his head. No gleaming armor marked him as a conqueror. His clothing was simple, practical, worn by travel and command rather than ceremony.Yet there w

The hall fell silent the moment the severed head struck the stone floor.No echo followed. No gasp. The sound itself seemed swallowed by the air, as if the world had decided that silence was more appropriate.Blood seeped slowly from the torn neck, thick and dark. It spread across the stone like a living shadow, creeping outward inch by inch. The smell came soon after. Sharp, metallic, heavy enough to cling to the lungs. It crushed every half formed objection, every argument that had hovered in the air only moments before.More than a dozen Roman infantry captains stood frozen where they were.None of them dared to move.Ares Valen studied them one by one. He did not rush. He did not need to. His eyes were cold and steady, cutting through armor and pride alike. It was not the stare of a man seeking approval. It was the gaze of someone who expected obedience and would not tolerate hesitation.“There is no Senate in this world,” he said calmly.“And there is no Rome.”The words landed w

Some people entered a room quietly.The Marchioness was not one of them.She was the sort of woman who drew attention without effort, without intention, without mercy. Even those who tried to ignore her found their eyes betraying them. Most men did not bother pretending. They simply looked.Her crimson hair flowed down her back in thick waves, deep in color, like embers that refused to cool. The black gauze gown she wore only made it worse. It clung loosely, almost carelessly, as if it had no interest in modesty. The fabric followed the curves of her body where it pleased and parted where it pleased, revealing the smooth slope of her neck and a teasing glimpse of pale skin below. Not enough to offend. Not enough to be crude. Just enough to linger in the mind.She sat across from Ares Valen as though the chamber belonged to her. Not stiff. Not cautious. Relaxed in a way that suggested she had never learned to fear consequence. Her posture was elegant, practiced, and her confidence felt