Chapter Three: Fire and Doctrine

  Lucien established a simple rule: obedience or death. No exceptions.

  He gathered the entire village at the square. Men, women, children, the old and crippled alike. None were spared the sight of what came next.

  The old priest, a withered man who had once wielded influence through superstition, was dragged before the crowd. Lucien didn't waste words. He drove a dagger through the priest's throat and nailed his body to the remains of the torn-down idol.

  Then he set fire to the priest and the temple behind him. Smoke and ash filled the sky. Cries of despair and horror rippled through the gathered villagers.

  Lucien stood at the heart of the blaze, silhouetted like a demon.

  Each act wasn’t just cruelty—it was methodology. It was the dismantling of an old, useless belief system.

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  Fear would be the foundation of his new world.

  He rewired their instincts.

  Food stores were confiscated and redistributed—but only to those who swore loyalty, not with words, but with blood oaths carved into their flesh. Those who refused received nothing. Those who hesitated—disappeared.

  He selected the children, particularly those with anger or cunning in their eyes, and taught them to wield daggers. They learned quickly. Fear was a superb tutor.

  He forced the village blacksmith, once a proud artisan of ancestral swords, to melt down relics and forge weapons marked by a sigil: a crown of thorns wrapped in heavy chains—his symbol of dominion.

  When nearby beasts attacked—great hulking things with hideous maws—Lucien allowed them to ravage the outskirts, killing the weak and hesitant. Only when the terror reached its peak did he intervene, cutting down the beasts with surgical precision.

  Controlled chaos bred loyalty faster than peace.

  By the end of the week, the people no longer looked to their old gods.

  They looked only to Lucien.

  Each morning, they gathered in the square, heads bowed low, chanting the words he had taught them:

  "Long live the Sovereign."

  Their voices trembled with fear—and devotion