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He gripped his sword hilt and smiled. The conquest had just begun.

The year was 1257, and the air in Calradia smelled of horse sweat and rusted iron.

His first recruit was a drunken farmer named Rolf, who claimed to be a noble. Together, they chased down a group of looters near Praven. Alaric didn't fight with grace; he fought with the desperation of a man trying to rewrite his own code. He swung his blade, and for a moment, the world slowed. The physics of the strike felt real鈥攖he weight of the steel, the thud against leather armor.