Chapter 338: The Next Problem

With the immediate situation in Vrethka under control, Darion’s mind immediately shifted to the next looming problem.

Vrethka wasn’t the only territory affected by the recent events. Marrick was technically the rightful ruler of Harrowhold, but he was currently standing in Vrethka with no kingdom to return to.

The current governors and officials controlling Harrowhold: men Dross had installed, were unlikely to simply step aside just because the true heir had returned.

Darion realized they didn’t need a massive campaign to solve this. Marrick had the legitimate claim to the throne, while the current governors were essentially occupying his territory. It was a classic political setup.

Darion’s plan was straightforward: Take Marrick back to Harrowhold. Confront the governors. Force them out. Install Marrick as the ruler.

It should be a small, localized conflict rather than a major conquest. Darion wasn’t expecting thousands of deaths or some enormous, drawn-out campaign.

With Vrethka’s surviving warriors potentially supporting Marrick, and Darion’s undead army available if necessary, the governors shouldn’t be able to put up much resistance. They were bureaucrats and overseers, not warlords.

Darion mentally went over what needed to happen. He didn’t particularly want to spend weeks fighting for Harrowhold. The goal wasn’t to destroy the territory or raze it to the ground. The goal was simply to remove the people who had seized control and put Marrick where he belonged.

He thought about how strange the situation had become. A short time ago, Marrick was a prisoner, beaten and humiliated. Now, Darion was preparing to escort him back to his kingdom and help him reclaim it.

’At this rate, I’m collecting kingdoms,’ Darion thought with a hint of dry amusement. He didn’t take the thought too seriously, though. There were still things that needed to be handled in Vrethka before they could leave. The wounded needed to be treated, the surviving warriors needed to be organized, and the people needed to be reassured.

But while Darion was thinking about the next phase, a warrior approached.

The Vrethkan warrior walked toward Darion, his steps hesitant. He appeared unsure whether he should interrupt the new lord’s thoughts, but eventually, he approached and addressed Darion respectfully.

"M’lord."

Darion turned toward him. "What is it?"

The warrior explained that there was a problem that needed to be handled. The corpses.

There were still bodies scattered around the settlement from yesterday’s battle. Warriors from Vrethka. Warriors who fought Darion. People who died trying to defend the settlement. The bodies couldn’t simply be left where they were, rotting in the streets. But they also couldn’t easily be buried.

The warrior explained Vrethka’s custom. Their dead were normally burned. Their bodies were gathered together and burned so that the ashes could return to nature. It was how they sent their warriors off, a final honor for those who fell in battle. The warrior explained that the dead needed to be gathered and the pyres prepared.

Darion listened quietly. The mention of the corpses hit him harder than he expected.

Yesterday, he had been focused entirely on survival. Fighting. Commanding. Protecting Seren. Stopping Dross. Preventing Vrethka from reaching the Kulidii. During the battle, the dead had been enemies. Targets. Numbers. Threats that needed to be stopped.

But now? They were just bodies.

Darion thought about how many of them he had personally killed. Some had probably been young. Some had families. Some had probably believed they were defending their home from an invading monster. He had fought them because they were fighting him. He knew Vrethka’s leaders chose the war, and he knew what would have happened to Percvale if he had simply allowed them to march south.

But that didn’t mean seeing the consequences was easy.

’Yesterday, they were trying to kill me,’ Darion thought. ’Today, I’m deciding how their bodies should be treated.’ There was something profoundly uncomfortable about that. He didn’t want to become someone who could kill hundreds and feel absolutely nothing afterward. He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a mindless butcher either.

He looked toward the warrior. He didn’t refuse. "I’ll come."

Before Darion could leave, Marrick approached, noticing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Marrick asked where Darion was going.

Darion explained that they were going to deal with the dead. Marrick immediately asked if he could come along. Darion paused. He didn’t see a reason to refuse. Marrick was Harrowhold’s newly appointed king in a practical sense, and these were the people who fought for this settlement. It would make sense for him to see what happened to them. To witness the cost.

Darion simply answered, "Sure."

Marrick thanked him, falling into step behind the Vrethkan warrior who had come to inform Darion.

Darion and Marrick walked behind the Vrethkan warrior. The atmosphere gradually changed as they moved away from the populated part of the settlement. The noise of everyday activity faded. The bustling streets gave way to quiet alleys, then to the outskirts of the main settlement. There were fewer people around, and those who were out moved with their heads down, avoiding eye contact.

The smell of smoke began to become faintly noticeable in the distance. It wasn’t the chaotic, choking smoke of a burning building; it was the heavier, deliberate smell of preparations for the pyres already underway.

Darion didn’t say much, and Marrick was quiet too.

Darion’s thoughts returned to yesterday. He remembered the battle. The charging warriors, their faces twisted with fear and rage. The screams. His undead tearing through formations with relentless, cold efficiency. His own sword cutting down anyone who got too close. The moment Dross’s head fell. The moment Vrethka finally surrendered.

Now he was walking toward the result of all of that. He didn’t want to make himself into some tortured character who regretted defending himself. Defending his people was necessary. But he also didn’t want to become desensitized to it. Seeing the bodies would remind him that every number in a battle represented an actual person with a life and a family.

Marrick noticed Darion’s silence, glancing at him a few times, but didn’t question him. The young prince seemed to understand that some silences shouldn’t be broken.

The warrior continued leading them farther out. Darion noticed several Vrethkan warriors ahead carrying wood; large logs and thick branches.

Others were gathering bodies, carrying them on makeshift stretchers. Everything was being prepared according to Vrethkan tradition. It was organized, respectful, and grim.

Darion’s pace slowed slightly. Marrick walked beside him. Neither said anything.

The warrior finally stopped.

Darion looked ahead.

And saw where the dead had been gathered.