Path of Dragons

Roman stood on the balcony, looking out over the city. In the wake of his campaign of conquest, which had swept through seven city-states over the past year, Easton had changed so much as to be almost unrecognizable. There was nothing left of its humble origins. No more hastily-constructed buildings. No eyesore of a wall made of random debris. And no more rebels.

No - the city was a metropolis that blended both old and new, with a loyal population that knew precisely how lucky they really were. There were a few pockets of dissidence, but they were rare. More importantly, Roman’s people knew exactly where to find them. If they progressed past a few muttered complaints, he wouldn’t hesitate to use them as fuel for his army’s progression.

In any case, Roman wasn’t concerned with that. The system currently ran like a well-oiled machine, churning through those malcontents to push his loyal soldiers to new heights of power. Of course, there were limits. Killing prisoners, no matter how strong they were, wouldn’t help any of them progress past level thirty-five. Fighting the undead minions of the Necromancer was a little better in that slaughtering those abominations came with no arbitrary limitations. Yet, even that wasn’t a perfect situation. Each kill only gave a whisper of experience, which meant that thousands needed to be slaughtered for every potential level. Most of the time, it would be more trouble than it was worth, but there were two reasons the program continued.

First, the situation down there had gotten a little out of control. Unless they continuously culled the creatures, there was a chance that the Necromancer’s minions would break free and overrun the city. They’d even stopped throwing bodies down there for a while, but the man simply reanimated the slain creatures that were already down there. Roman had considered sending his people in to kill the vile former gravedigger, but the tunnels were far too dangerous for that. It would require thousands of men, and even that could prove insufficient.

So, in the end, he’d chosen to forego that strategy.

The second reason he hadn’t stopped the program was that it still provided a steady trickle of experience that he hoped, over time, would set his people apart. It wasn’t the backbone of his training program, but it provided his people with experience – and not the kind that came from killing monsters – which was invaluable. After all, if they could stand up to an undead horde, they wouldn’t flinch before living soldiers.

Still, he had plans in place to deal with the Necromancer if he ever escaped his lair. Most of it hinged on the authority that he hoped would come with his ascension into Lordship. He’d had one of the Scholars do some research for him, so he knew that it would come with what it referred to as a limited Sphere of Authority. At the lowest level of Lordship, it would only give him the ability to enforce his will in his capitol city, and even that was limited based on the relative power – if someone was stronger than him, then it wouldn’t be nearly as effective – as well as time. The latter was there because the system seemed uninterested in letting a weakling with a title bully a truly powerful person.

Still, the nature of the title was such that it would help even against some of the monsters at the top of the power ladder. Plus, by the time Roman actually acquired the title, he would be strong enough to stand among them. After all, the quest required it.

The first step had been the easiest step to complete, and he’d managed it after defeating Arbor’s army. The second had occurred after his first public execution, a performance he’d repeated each week over the past few months. Aside from satisfying the terms of his quest, it was also a great reminder that Easton was a city of law and order, and one where dissention would not be tolerated.

And it worked.

People not only aceepted it, but they showed up in droves to see justice meted out. They jeered and insulted the prisoners, and they cheered when Roman killed them. It was a grim reminder of how barbaric and tribal people could be, but it served Roman’s purposes quite well.

Even if he no longer got experience from the executions. No – if he wanted to continue his progression, he’d need to venture into the local tower and put his skills to use. He’d even put together a team of some of the most powerful – and loyal – members of his army to do just that. However, he’d so far found himself hesitating because he knew from experience just how quickly loyalty could be turned on its head.

After all, Alyssa had been loyal right up until she’d made it clear that she opposed him. Sure, she pretended she was his friend. But he knew the truth. Without her, the rebellion had been mostly toothless, which only proved that he’d made the right choice.

He pushed those thoughts out of mind.

The population under his control had grown by leaps and bounds, but he knew that continued expansion was contingent on further conquest. There were plenty of options, too. The only issue was that his army was becoming quite spread out. Trying to rule an empire that spanned thousands of miles – even with some of the transportation advances his Tradesmen had come up with – was incredibly difficult. At present, he was dependent on much of those city-states’ old power structure to run the cities. And he knew how dangerous that was. At any moment, they could turn on him.

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But for now, they were under control, and he could only hope to hold on long enough to meet the terms of his quest.

Thankfully, his policies usually resulted in a better life for the population. Food was no longer an issue. Safety ceased to be a concern. And he gave the local fighters a means of growing stronger. Certainly, it came with harsh penalties for anyone who rebelled, and the situation wasn’t great for the worthless vagabonds who lacked drive. Those people gave nothing to society, so they got nothing in return.

But they didn’t matter. Anyone with power looked upon his system with favor, and theirs were the only opinions that Roman truly cared about. Although, even that was only true insofar as they played their roles and submitted to his authority.

“What do you want?” Roman asked, sensing Fiona behind him. That was his latest ability, called Assassin’s Awareness, and it gave him some sense of his surroundings up to a radius of around ten feet. It wasn’t perfect, but it was useful enough that he didn’t feel it was a wasted ability.

“The name change has been approved by the council,” she said. At least she had ceased trying to climb into his bed.

“Good,” Roman said, not bothering to face the woman. Instead, he remained standing on the balcony, his hands behind his back as he stared out at his city. The notion that the council could have refused his motion was laughable. They knew better than to oppose his wishes. “What do you think of the city’s new name?”

“It is proper. The city deserves a majestic name.”

Roman agreed. Easton had always been a small name for a small town. So, now that his kingdom had grown to encompass a huge population across multiple cities, he’d taken that as an opportunity to adopt a more fitting moniker for the capital of his budding empire.

“Valoria,” he said. That was the name he’d chosen for the city – and his kingdom – and he felt that it fit well. It had gravitas that Easton never would. “Inform the council that I approve. Then, make plans for a celebration of the formation of our new kingdom. We need games. Feasts. We need the people to feel pride in their homes.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Fiona said. “It will be as you command.”

Indeed it would. As was proper for a man who’d been chosen by the divine system as Earth’s savior.

* * *

The smell of death filled the air, pervading Benedict Emerson’s nostrils, but it was a smell he preferred to the rotting aroma of the city above. Certainly, it wasn’t literal. By all accounts, Easton was a clean enough city. Yet, he could smell the societal and cultural rot all the same.

He was used to it, though.

It had been present in the old world, and nothing had really changed in the wake of the apocalypse. Sure, the setting was different. Monsters and magic now existed. But for him? It was just more of the same.

That was why he’d always preferred the company of corpses. After medical school, he’d taken a job as a medical examiner so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the living. He’d even worked the night shift to avoid social interaction as much as possible. Not because he had some psychological issue that made him uncomfortable. No – he was fine with company.

His issue was that other people were all so disappointingly petty, judgmental, and small. For most of his life, he’d been the victim of bullying, largely because he didn’t fit the mold of what they deemed acceptable. It had only gotten worse as he grew older, culminating in him becoming an outcast.

He didn’t mind it, either. In fact, he preferred to simply be left alone. So, his status as a social pariah had become a boon.

Even so, he didn’t forget his history, and his heart was filled with hatred he rarely acknowledged. So, when the apocalypse hit, he saw his opportunity to take revenge – especially when his Sorcerer archetype had led to his powerful class:

Those first few levels had been difficult, especially when he was forced to lob Ethereal Bolts at monsters in order to level. However, he’d made it work, and he’d taken revenge on more than a few of his old bullies. And their families. Some neighbors, too. When he’d finally acquired his Warlock class – and the signature ability, which was called Animate – those bullies had joined his army.

He gained experience just by keeping them around. However, doing so came at the cost of his Regeneration. The more he maintained, the bigger the detriment. It had taken him a long time to establish the formula for cost versus reward, but he’d figured out the optimal balance.

That had been further changed when he’d found the natural treasure – a hunk of rock that radiated ethera. The guardian that had stood sentry over it had slaughtered all but one of Benedict’s army, but in the end, he’d been victorious. And he’d used that natural treasure to fuel his first steps along the path of cultivation, establishing his Opal Mind.

In his moment of weakness, though, he’d been accosted and captured by Easton’s soldiers. He’d been incapable of resisting, and having seen him in action, they knew the scope of his abilities. After that, they’d thrown him in a dungeon to take advantage of his unique skills.

He could have escaped.

He intended to once he’d met his goals. But for now, he was content with biding his time and growing stronger. Because for his purposes, there wasn’t a better situation. The mere act of keeping his minions empowered gave him a trickle of experience, and he got even more on the occasions when they managed to kill one of the soldiers.

The only issue was that he felt every blow against his minions. Each death felt like his own. And every wound came with significant pain. Over the months since his imprisonment had begun, he had learned to endure, though. And just as he’d taken revenge on his bullies, he intended to make his tormentors pay.

That would wait until he’d wrung every level he could out of them, though.

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