Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World

198  Falmer

An eerie silence covered the capital of Luak as three city guards patrolled the streets, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. The citizens, seeing the guards approach, quickly lowered their eyes, their faces pale with fear. They trembled, avoiding any movement that might draw attention. It was as if they hoped to melt into the shadows, to disappear entirely.

The guards marched, stopping in front of a small wooden door. One of them pounded on it so hard the door shuddered, nearly breaking apart.

"Jason Morn!" one of the guards called, his voice echoing through the quiet streets. "You've been summoned to join the army in the North to fight the invaders. You are ordered to leave immediately."

No response came from inside. The guards exchanged annoyed glances before nodding to each other. With a swift kick, the door was forced open, the wood cracking and breaking into pieces.

A moment later, screams erupted from within the house, reverberating down the streets and alleys. "Let go of me, you bastards! You have already taken my father and brothers to the North! I can't leave my mother and sisters!"

The guards dragged a struggling teenager, no older than fifteen, out of the house. His face was bruised, the skin around his eyes swelling where they had struck him with the pommel of their swords. He thrashed against their grip, but they were much stronger than him. He was only a kid.

"They will die without someone to take care of them!" the boy shouted, still struggling to break free from them. One of the guards, fed up, struck him hard across the mouth with the hilt of his sword. The blow knocked out several of his teeth, and blood spattered onto the ground.

"Shut your mouth!" the guard snapped, his patience gone. "You should consider it an honor for you and your family to be called by the king to fight for the crown."

After the attack, the boy's screams disappeared into desperate gasps as he was dragged further down the street. Blood dripped from his lips as his eyes desperately reached for the broken doorway of his home. There, his mother stood, clutching his three young sisters, their faces filled with tears and colored by helplessness. The boy's father and brothers had left him with the responsibility of protecting them, and now, despite his struggle, he was powerless to fulfill that promise. Around them, the neighborhood was silent. Men, women, the elderly, and children all kept their heads bowed. The women, many of them mothers and sisters, knew the pain of watching loved ones be taken. The men, meanwhile, silently thanked their ancestors that today, it was not yet their turn to be dragged into the conflict.

Scenes like this played out not only within the capital but across the entire kingdom of Luak. Fathers and sons were being pulled from their homes, forced to march north to face Luther's troops. It was the second time in half a decade this had happened, the first being when Luak had launched its failed invasion of Stahl. The impact was felt everywhere: fields lay untended, food grew scarce, and villages suffered without enough men to hunt or work the land. With half the kingdom's male population sent to the front lines, even the nobility could not escape conscription.

-x-

Inside Luak's royal palace, King Falmer sat at a long dining table, slicing into a slab of beef. The dim firelight flickered over his face, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Across from him, his trusted advisor and right-hand man was holding dozens of parchments. "Any news?" Falmer asked, his voice calm as he focused on his meal.

"We dispatched another thousand troops north and another thousand will soon follow, my king." his right-hand man replied, reading from the parchment in his hand. "According to the latest reports, we lost another thousand soldiers this week. They attacked another village, but thankfully, no significant casualties among our own."

Falmer continued eating, but his long-time advisor, who had served the king for decades, could notice the subtle difference in the king's mannerism. The knife dug into the meat with more force than necessary as he continued to eat.

"What about the nobles?" - Falmer asked, trying to keep his tone neutral and hide his emotions - "Have any of the high houses joined the fight? Have they pursued the enemy?" The advisor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The high nobles remain near the border villages, my king. They have sent commoners to fight in their stead. As for the lower-ranked houses, they have dispatched some of their distant kin, but most of them are barely trained."

The king's eyes darkened. In a flash of anger, he threw his plate across the room. It shattered against the wall, fragments flying all over the room as a thin cut appeared on his advisor's cheek.

"I told them to engage and end this quickly!" Falmer roared, his face reddening. "We don't know the strength of their forces, and we can't afford delays. They wiped out our entire army during the invasion, and that damn general Luther is with them. If he reaches the capital, it's my head on the line. It's my throne they will take."

He pointed a finger at his advisor. "Send a letter to every one of those nobles. Tell them if they don't bring me the heads of those Stahl soldiers, I'll put their heads on pikes myself. I don't care who they are." The king's fury flared up, and his hands clenched into fists as he paced. His mind flashed back to the mysterious mage who had promised him the lands of the North. The mage had sworn that all the Cold Iron mines and territories would fall into his grasp, and Falmer, tempted by the wealth and power, had believed him. He had sent thousands of soldiers north on that promise. But the mage had died, leaving him to face the consequences, and the loss of a valuable subordinate.

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"All for nothing," Falmer muttered bitterly, his voice low and seething. "I want their heads, every last one of them!"