Chapter 113: The Foundations of Empire
The afternoon sun of the following day was beginning to tinge the frozen peaks with gold when the Overlord Tribe’s column crossed through the thick palisades of the Black Skull Tribe’s central camp. Behind Kellar marched Krag, Grok, the six hunters equipped with their crossbows, and Mark’s faction, whose shields and spears still bore the marks of combat from the upper plaza.
The four teenage guards who had been left behind to watch the bastion dropped to their knees the moment they saw the victorious force and the severed head of the enemy shaman hanging from Krag’s belt. No one offered any resistance.
"Secure the perimeter and gather all the supplies," said Kellar, stepping toward the center of the settlement. "Mark, take your men to inspect the blacksmiths and armories. I want an exact count of every iron ingot and every tool."
"Right away, Great Shaman!" said Mark, offering a bow before leading his men toward the workshops.
Kellar walked beside Krag toward the back of the camp, where the reinforced wooden cages and stone pits stood. As they approached, dozens of emaciated, terrified faces pressed against the bars. These were the captives from neighboring tribes whom the barbarians had captured over months to use as slave labor in the mines.
"Open the cages," said Kellar, pointing to the iron latches.
Krag used his great war mallet to shatter the padlocks in a single blow. The wooden doors swung wide open, but none of the prisoners dared to take a step outside, fearing it might be a new form of cruelty.
"You are no longer slaves of the Black Skull," said Kellar, raising his voice so it echoed throughout the compound. "As of today, this territory belongs to the Overlord Tribe. Those who wish to work and swear loyalty will have food, shelter, and the protection of the Bear God’s fire. Those who prefer to leave may take rations and go in peace."
An awesome silence reigned for a second, followed by sobs of relief and whispers of devotion as the captives slowly stepped out of the pits, bowing deeply before their deliverer.
While the hunters distributed dried meat and water among the freed captives, Grok approached Kellar, pointing toward the northern slope of the mountain.
"Shaman, I found the entrance to the extraction tunnels," said Grok, showing a chunk of dense, reddish ore in his hand. "The iron veins run deep. They have primitive smelting furnaces built right at the mouth of the mine."
Kellar took the ore, weighing it in his hand as a calculating smile formed on his lips.
"Excellent," said Kellar, looking over the mine structures and the crowd of new workers. "With this iron reserve, Lennis’s tools, and the wheeled carts, the Overlord Tribe’s production will double in weeks. Today we didn’t just destroy our enemies; we secured the foundations of our empire."
"What shall we do with them?" said Krag, pointing toward the group of Black Skull women and children cornered near the huts.
Kellar observed them in silence. In the faces of the adult women, he could see a burning hatred and contained fury; however, among them were mothers holding newborns in their arms and pregnant women trembling in panic. For a brief instant, the shaman’s cold resolve faltered. A knot formed in his throat as he realized what the relentless logic of this savage world demanded—an atrocity he did not wish to order with his own lips.
Noticing that subtle hesitation on his leader’s face, Krag offered a faint smile of relief. Knowing that his shaman was not an omnipotent being or an unfeeling monster, but a man with limits, proved to him that he and the warriors were still useful.
"Do not worry about insignificant details," said Krag, stepping in front of Kellar to block his view. "Head back with the supplies and the freed captives. We will take care of this and catch up with you later."
Kellar nodded in silence, feeling a massive weight lift from his shoulders. Without uttering another word, he gave the order to march, and the caravan began its journey back to the village.
Krag and Brak remained behind alongside Mark and his men, watching the shaman’s figure fade into the snow.
"Our Shaman has a good heart," said Krag, turning toward Mark as he patted the handle of his great mallet. "Regrettably, someone has to do the horrible things that must be done for the tribe to survive. You know what to do. I don’t want much noise."
Mark and his men nodded with somber expressions, tightening their grips on their spears as they turned around to carry out the order without hesitation.
Hours later, as the caravan maintained a steady pace along the snowy path, the rearguard group led by Krag, Brak, and Mark’s men caught up with the main contingent.
Kellar slowed his stride, taking in the shadows and dark stains on the garments of the warriors who had just rejoined the march.
"What... what did you do back there?" said Kellar, pausing for a moment before shaking his head bitterly. "Forget it. I don’t want to know."
"Do not worry, Shaman," said Krag, stepping beside him with a calm, steady voice. "The things that are necessary to do—the horrible things that guarantee this tribe’s survival—you can leave in my hands. You need only concern yourself with leading us."
Kellar remained silent and offered a faint nod, resuming his stride as the caravan pressed onward toward the valley.
At the rear of the formation, Mark walked alongside Brak, keeping his eyes fixed on their leader’s back.
"You should speak to the Shaman on our behalf," said Mark in a low voice, addressing the young hunter. "Tell him that my men and I are not just useful for the front lines. We want to be of service in whatever the tribe needs."
"You don’t need anyone to speak for you," said Brak, glancing sideways at the former noble. "You can tell him openly. The Shaman is merciful to those who show genuine loyalty."
Mark let out a bitter laugh and shook his head.
"I am the brother of the former leader, and my nephew used to torment him every single day," said Mark, tightening his grip on his spear shaft. "It is clear that I do need help for him to trust me."