Chapter 352: Acceptance of the Conquered

A butcher cut meat with efficiency, his knife moving through flesh and bone with ease. Another worker carried the meat away, their arms straining under the weight.

Herdsmen guided animals between pens, their voices calm, their movements steady. Someone checked a young horse’s legs, their hands running along the animal’s limbs, feeling for any signs of injury. Another worker threw feed into a cattle enclosure, the animals moving toward the food with eager lowing.

Families might even be involved in some of the work. Darion noticed a woman with a child on her hip, her free hand carrying a bucket of feed. A young boy helped his father guide a calf back to its pen. A group of children watched the horses, their eyes wide with wonder.

Darion noticed that ordinary people were the ones keeping the entire system alive. The warriors might be the face of Vrethka’s power, but these civilians were what actually kept that power functioning.

Watching the workers made Darion think about how territories were actually acquired in this region. Villages and settlements didn’t necessarily have much control over who ruled them. Their leader could change because of a war, conquest, succession dispute, or political struggle. The civilians were often left hoping that whoever won didn’t decide to destroy them.

He thought about how terrifying that reality must be for ordinary people. One day, they could wake up under one ruler. The next, another army arrived. If the new leader was cruel enough, the civilians could lose their homes, their livelihoods, or even their lives.

They couldn’t simply choose another territory and leave whenever they wanted. They had families, farms, animals, businesses, and homes tied to the land. Their survival depended heavily on whoever held power.

Darion looked around at the civilians working around him. He realized that this was part of what being a ruler actually meant. Conquering territory wasn’t just taking walls and soldiers. It was taking responsibility for everyone who lived behind those walls.

He started thinking about Percvale. Percvale had been rebuilding from a much weaker position. Their farms and livestock were valuable, but they didn’t yet have anything close to the scale Vrethka had developed. The animals here could help tremendously.

Breeding stock could strengthen Percvale’s own livestock. Horses could help expand Darion’s cavalry and transportation. Meat could support Percvale’s soldiers. Leather could be used for armor, equipment, and other necessities.

He began thinking about eventually moving animals or establishing breeding programs between his territories. The more he looked around, the more he realized that Vrethka wasn’t simply another piece of land. It was an entire support system that could help Percvale recover and grow.

Darion looked back across the massive livestock grounds. Yesterday, these animals belonged to Vrethka.

Now, indirectly, they belonged to him. The thought made him realize just how much responsibility came with conquering a territory. He couldn’t simply take the treasury and leave everything else unattended. He needed to understand how everything worked. He needed to preserve what was already functioning and improve what wasn’t.

The livestock operation was already doing something right. Darion didn’t intend to destroy it. He intended to make it more efficient.

Darion turned toward Femorn. "Take me somewhere else."

Femorn bowed. "Yes, m’lord."

Darion looked across the livestock grounds one final time. He had already seen Vrethka’s wealth. Now he had seen the system keeping its people fed. And he began wondering: what else had Vrethka built to keep its army alive?

After inspecting the livestock grounds, Darion turned his attention to another obvious part of Vrethka’s strength: its weapons. Gold and silver were useful, and livestock kept the settlement fed, but weapons and armor were what allowed an army to fight. He needed to understand how Vrethka produced its equipment, where it stored it, and how much of it remained after the battle.

He turned to Femorn, the surviving warrior who had been his guide. "Where do you keep your military equipment? And where are the weapons produced?"

Femorn immediately understood what Darion wanted to see. He gestured toward a section of the settlement to the east. "The armory district is nearby. You can already hear the forges from here."

Darion listened. Sure enough, a distant rhythm of metal striking metal carried through the air. He nodded and gestured for Femorn to lead the way.

Even before reaching the district, Darion began hearing the unmistakable sound of metal being worked. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The repeated hammering grew louder as they approached, a steady, rhythmic pulse that seemed to vibrate through the ground itself.

Smoke rose above the buildings, thick and dark, curling into the sky. The air became noticeably hotter, the heat radiating from the forges like an invisible wall. The smell changed from livestock and wet earth to charcoal, burning metal, smoke, and sweat.

Darion saw workers carrying buckets of material, their arms straining under the weight. Blacksmiths moved between different workstations, their bodies bent over anvils, their hammers swinging in practiced arcs. Sparks flew through the air like fireflies, brief and bright.

He realized this wasn’t simply one blacksmith’s workshop. It was an entire armory district.

The warrior led Darion into a sprawling compound filled with massive forges. Several large furnaces burned continuously, their flames roaring, their heat intense.

Smelting pots sat over roaring flames, the molten metal inside glowing a fierce orange. Metal tools hung from walls, their handles worn smooth from years of use.

Weapons were stacked in organized racks, their blades gleaming in the firelight. Shields were arranged in rows, their surfaces polished. Armor was stored on wooden frames, its metal plates reflecting the flames.

Raw materials were piled in separate areas: iron ingots, bars of steel, bundles of wire, stacks of leather. Some blacksmiths worked on swords, their hammers ringing out as they shaped the blades.

Others repaired armor, their tools moving with precision. Some worked on spearheads, their files scraping against metal. Others repaired shields, their hands moving quickly as they patched holes and reinforced edges.