CHAPTER 189: THE TYRANT'S PAX

The blood on the cobblestones of Alban City was washed clean within days, replaced by the tireless movement of dark elf engineers and Arachne weaversmiths.

Caius did not claim the ducal palace as his capital. In his vision, Alban was merely a fortified threshold, an outer shield to guard the black stone of his true citadel back upon the steppe. He had far grander ambitions for his sovereign seat in the years to come.

Despite the terror his name carried, Caius was no mindless butcher. His first decree was not an execution, but restoration: the shattered iron gates were reforged, the breached stone ramparts were bolstered with kinetic wards, and the fallen inner masonry was completely repaired.

On the tenth day of the occupation, Steward Malakor stood upon the high balcony of the city plaza, flanked by four armored dark elf guards. His voice echoed across the crowded square via wind-elemental conduits.

"By decree of Sovereign Caius," Malakor proclaimed, his sharp voice ringing clear over the thousands of anxious human citizens. "All taxes upon trade, property, and grain within the Duchy of Alban are abolished for the next five years!"

A stunned hush fell over the crowd.

"In lieu of royal coin, each household and agricultural estate shall contribute a flat ten percent of their annual harvest to the city granaries to feed the border garrisons," Malakor continued. "Furthermore, all debt-slavery, noble bondage, and indentured labor within this province are hereby outlawed. Trade routes are now officially open and protected across the steppe, the dark elf territories, and the barbarian highlands."

Taken from NovelPhoenix, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Slavery was dead in Alban, save, of course, for those who raised steel against the Sovereign and found their foreheads marked with a pulsing black obsidian bead.

Within months, the people of Alban began to notice a startling shift. Without the exorbitant tithes previously demanded by King Alden's tax collectors and the local ducal lords, food became plentiful. Caravan tracks through the mountain passes flourished with rare barbarian furs, dark elf medicinal herbs, and raw ore from the Citadel’s mines.

Silently, behind closed doors, the common folk rejoiced. Though they knew Caius was an unyielding tyrant who crushed his enemies without a shred of mercy, under his shadow, they were richer, safer, and far more free than they had ever been under the human monarchy.

With the Duchy of Alban fully secured and its borders locked down, Caius rode out to the western border posts facing the inner territories of the human kingdom.

At every border crossing, garrison gatehouse, and major crossroads, the Obsidian Legion erected massive stone signposts carved from black granite. Chiseling deep into the stone, dark elf craftsmen inscribed Caius’s direct ultimatum, written in bold, crimson-lacquered runes for all travelers and royal scouts to see:

TO THE HUMAN KINGDOM:

SURRENDER KING ALDEN.

DELIVER THE HEADS OF THE FOLLOWING MEN WHO CAUSED THE DEATH OF CULLUM MACRAE:

1. DUKE VALERIAN OF OAKFORD
2. MARQUIS CORVIN OF THE NORTHERN MARCHES
3. GRAND COMMANDER TERYN OF THE ROYAL GUARD
4. CHANCELLOR OSWALD OF THE HIGH COUNCIL

YOU HAVE ONE YEAR.

IF THEIR HEADS ARE NOT PRESENTED AT THIS BORDER WITHIN THE ALLOTTED TIME, THE OBSIDIAN LEGION WILL MARCH UPON THE NEXT DUCHY.

Caius turned his horse back toward the Citadel, leaving the black signposts standing silent against the horizon. The clock for King Alden’s realm had officially begun to tick.