chapter 8

Vaelion looked at the elder kneeling before him, bloodied and trembling. Berengar knew his life was hanging by a thread, but he still found the strength to lift his gaze and face the strange, sharp-eared being with a merciless countenance.

"Speak," Vaelion commanded, his voice as cutting as the wind that swept through the ruins of the village. "Where exactly are we? Who controls this land?"

Berengar swallowed hard, trying to stay calm as blood trickled from his broken nose.

"You are... on the Isle of Haven," he answered in a hoarse voice. "This island is ruled by the King of Haven, who governs all the lands in the southern continent of Eryndor. This place... is the heart of the Kingdom of Haven, but it is only a part of what exists on the continent."

Vaelion frowned, intrigued by the information. He gestured for Lucas to ease the tightness of Berengar's bindings. The elder gasped but continued:

"Eryndor is divided among kingdoms and territories. To the north, in the Darklands, there are frozen lands, treacherous mountains, and human realms constantly at war. In the center, in Myrfal, lie fertile plains and the great free cities governed by merchants and mercenaries. To the east are the Border Kingdoms, marked by dense forests and isolated villages, ruled by barons who live in fear of invaders."

He paused for a moment, coughing, while Vaelion kept his gaze fixed on every word coming from the elder's mouth.

"But here, on the Isle of Haven, everything belongs to the king. His armies patrol the seas, and the coastal cities are wealthy and well-protected. However..." Berengar hesitated, his tone bitter. "Here in the interior, no one cares. The forests and mountains have hindered development. There are no roads. No profits. Merchants only come here to demand grain at double the price charged in the coastal cities. We... are invisible."

Vaelion remained silent for a moment, absorbing the information. He looked to the horizon, where calm waters surrounded the island, and then back at the dense, silent forest around him, like a forgotten labyrinth. Lucas, at his side, smiled coldly.

"You seem to know a lot for a simple peasant," Vaelion said, leaning slightly forward. "Who are you?"

Berengar hesitated, but Vaelion's icy gaze forced him to answer. Before he could say anything, Lucas moved closer, pressing the cold steel of his short sword against the elder's neck.

"I am a bastard, my lord," Berengar replied, his voice trembling. "I came to the interior so I wouldn't pose a threat to my father's inheritance... and so I wouldn't be killed."

Vaelion narrowed his eyes.

"And who controls these lands?" he asked, his voice laced with distrust.

"No one, my lord," Berengar said desperately. "Each village governs itself. The nobles don't care about us. There are no nobles here in the interior. We are just peasants... forgotten by the world."

Vaelion observed the old man for a moment longer, the silence around them making the scene even more suffocating. Then, he gave a slight nod.

"Thank you."

Without looking back, Vaelion turned and began walking slowly away. Lucas, still pressing the short sword against the elder's neck, smiled cruelly.

"Don't waste his generosity." Those were the last words Berengar heard before Lucas, with a precise strike, severed his head.

The elder's head fell to the ground with a dull thud as Lucas wiped the blade with a torn piece of fabric. He stood, aligned himself with the other soldiers, and followed Vaelion into the forest.

Berengar's body remained there, a grim reminder of the fate of those who dared to cross the elf's path.

Vaelion mentally opened the system, and the translucent blue interface appeared before him, softly glowing. He reviewed the point balance and began the summoning process. His expression was firm and resolute.

"Summon two knights," he said in a low but commanding voice.

Before him, golden light began to shine, and two mounted figures slowly emerged. The horses neighed softly, their manes gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the trees. The knights dismounted gracefully and knelt in perfect synchronization, pounding their fists against their chests in a gesture of loyalty.

"Your Majesty, we are at your service," they said in unison.

Vaelion observed them for a moment, impressed by their imposing presence. Their light armor was intricately adorned, and their lances gleamed like starlight.

"You will assume my personal guard. I want you always by my side."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the knights replied, rising with solemnity.

Satisfied, Vaelion turned back to the system.

"Summon a commander."

This time, the light that appeared was even more intense, filling the surroundings with a palpable energy. When it dissipated, an elf of commanding presence was kneeling before him. His armor was magnificent, with gold and silver details highlighting his authority. The helmet in his hand revealed a serious face, marked by experience.

"Commander Vicente reporting, Your Majesty," he said firmly, kneeling in respect.

Vaelion nodded, appraising him for a moment.

"Rise, Vicente. You will lead my forces."

The commander stood with a fluid motion, holding himself steady before Vaelion.

Continuing his summoning, Vaelion spoke to the system again:

"Summon five spearmen."

The golden light shone once more, and five soldiers emerged, each holding a long, sharp spear. They formed a line, kneeling before Vaelion in perfect synchronization.

"Summon three archers."

Finally, three additional figures appeared. They were equipped with longbows and quivers filled with arrows. Their stances were agile and alert, their eyes already scanning the surroundings.

Vaelion looked over his newly summoned troops. Now, with the two knights as his personal guard, Commander Vicente, and the soldiers, his army had grown to 21 warriors. He took a deep breath, feeling the growing strength at his command.

"Vicente, you will lead the spearmen and archers. Organize the formations and prepare the troops for the upcoming missions."

The commander knelt once more.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I will do what is necessary."

A new notification appeared in the system:

**Army Created**

- Name: Army One

- Commander: Vicente

- Troops: 21/21

Vaelion studied the system report and smiled faintly. He knew this was just the beginning. His small army would be the foundation of an unstoppable force destined to conquer not just the Isle of Haven but every territory beyond it.

Stepping forward, Vaelion addressed his assembled forces with conviction:

"From this day forward, you will be known as the First Legion of the Imperial Army."

The soldiers immediately knelt in unison, their weapons in hand as a gesture of absolute respect. Vicente lowered his head, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and determination.

"It is an honor, Your Majesty, to lead the First Legion. We will fight to our last breath to bring you glory and achieve your goals," the commander declared, his voice echoing through the area.

Vaelion smiled slightly, crossing his arms as he observed his newly formed force.

"You are not just soldiers but the heart of the future empire we will build together. This island is only the beginning. Remember: each of you represents the strength, discipline, and superiority this land has never seen before."

The soldiers struck their weapons against the ground, a unified sound that reverberated through the forest like the heralding of something monumental.

A notification appeared in the system:

**Army Renamed**

- Updated Name: First Legion of the Imperial Army

- Commander: Vicente

- Troops: 21/21

Vaelion closed the system and turned to Vicente.

"Prepare yourself. I want your legion to advance through the island's interior. Explore, map out, and secure the best strategic points. If you encounter enemies, deal with them without hesitation."

Vicente stood, raising his sword as a sign of loyalty.

"Yes, Your Majesty. The First Legion will not fail."

With the orders given, the troops quickly organized under Vicente's command. The spearmen marched at the front, while the archers held the rear, covering all flanks.

Vaelion watched them disappear into the forest, their march symbolizing the birth of something greater. An empire was beginning, and the First Legion would be its spearhead.

He turned to the horizon, feeling the weight of power growing in his hands.

"The First Legion is only the beginning. Soon, the world will know the true meaning of an empire."