Absolute Sovereignty
Chapter 38: The Iron Fist

Chapter 38: The Iron Fist

Dawn broke over Vernal Keep, painting the sky rose and gold. The prince, his face pale but his eyes burning with an unsettling intensity, had returned from the Whispering Woods.

The remnants of the Silent Guard, now reborn as something... more, followed in his wake, their movements silent and purposeful, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

The hunt had been brutal, efficient.

The forest floor was littered with the carcasses of animals, their souls harvested, their essence consumed, their life force fueling the growing power of the Silent Guard, and by extension, the prince’s own terrifying ascent.

The System’s cold, emotionless voice echoed in Kaelen’s mind, a constant reminder of the pact he had made, the price he was paying.

His corruption level was higher than it had been at this point in his previous timeline, at nearly 20%, he felt his memories slipping away faster than ever, replaced now by the clarity of his mental demise.

It was, at the very least, a means to survival.

He immediately summoned a council meeting, an unprecedented gathering of all provincial leaders, even those who had never before set foot within Vernal Keep.

The message was clear: things were changing in Caldris, and the Ash Prince, the once-mocked drunkard, was now holding the reins of power.

The whispers of his deeds, the massacre at the Golden Barrel tavern, had already begun to make its rounds through the city.

It was time to cement his power.

The council chamber buzzed with a nervous energy as the provincial lords filed in, their faces a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

They had heard the rumors, the whispers of the prince’s transformation, of the dark magic he now wielded.

They had dismissed them as exaggerations, the ramblings of frightened peasants. But the sight of the Silent Guard, their eyes glowing with unnatural light, their very presence radiating an aura of menace, gave them pause.

Kaelen entered the chamber, his movements fluid and graceful, his gaze sweeping across the assembled lords.

He did not sit on his father’s throne.

Instead, he stood before them, his figure silhouetted against the backdrop of the stained-glass windows, and he spoke, his voice resonating with an authority they had never heard before, a force far more than anyone in the room could ever dream to achieve.

"Things are changing in Caldris," he announced, his voice echoing in the chamber, each word a hammer blow against the old ways, the established order.

His eyes were like chips of ice, cold and sharp, devoid of the warmth or humor they had once held.

"And those changes... begin now."

He laid out his decrees, his voice ringing with an unquestionable authority.

"There will be no more private forces within Caldris," he declared, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the provincial lords, some of whose personal forces were more than a handful.

"All military forces, all militias, all guards... will now answer directly to the crown. Your soldiers will become my soldiers. Their strength mine to control. And your loyalty unwavering. You all exist because of the crown. And without it, you are no longer Lords of these fine lands. Your protection now and forever, comes from us. Do I make myself clear?" He turned his gaze towards one particular Lord, his glare enough to have him fidget and adjust his seat.

A few of the lords shifted uncomfortably, their faces flushed with resentment. Lord Elric of Alderanth, a stout man with a florid complexion and a reputation for stubbornness, spoke up.

"Your Highness," he began, his voice laced with a hint of challenge. "With all due respect, I believe this is a drastic measure. The provincial militias have always been under the control of their respective lords. It is... tradition."

"Tradition is a crutch for the weak, Lord Elric," Kaelen retorted, his voice cutting through the lord’s words like a shard of ice, his voice far from the gentle touch of his father.

"And Caldris... Caldris cannot afford weakness. Not now. Not when our very survival is at stake." He paused, his gaze piercing. "You’re correct in one aspect, this truly is a drastic measure. But you know what they say about drastic times don’t you?"

He continued, his voice rising slightly,

"There will be no more unauthorized trades or business dealings within Caldris," he declared. "All economic activities, all transactions, will be overseen and approved by the crown. The flow of resources, the distribution of goods, the very lifeblood of this kingdom... will now flow through my hands.

This is no longer a council, where you may come and discuss as though you have more authority, where the fate of others is decided by your own petty squabbles. Caldris needs order, and that order begins now." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the assembled lords, letting the implications of his words sink in.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"But Your Highness..." Lord Gareth of Eldoria began, his voice hesitant, "this will disrupt the established trade routes, the flow of goods between provinces... It will cripple our economy."

"Perhaps it will," Kaelen conceded, his voice calm and steady. "This disruption is the very cost of our survival. But perhaps," he paused his eyes narrowing,

"Perhaps this so-called disruption is nothing more than a much-needed correction." He knew they could survive.

He continued, his voice rising in intensity,

"The crown is reclaiming its rightful authority over Caldris," he declared. "There will be no more dissent. No more insubordination. No more... weakness. Every city, every village, every farm... will answer to me as i answer to the king. Caldris will be united. Strong. And ready for war. We will take back what was ours. We will not let this kingdom fall into oblivion. The time of cowards and the corrupt is at its end."

Lord Alaric of Sunstone, a young, ambitious lord with a reputation for ruthlessness, rose to his feet, his face flushed with anger.

"And what if we refuse, Your Highness?" he challenged, his voice laced with a hint of defiance. "What if we choose to... resist your... authority?"

Kaelen smiled, a cold, predatory smile that sent a shiver down the spines of the assembled lords.

He turned and gestured towards Commander Lyra, who stood silently beside him, her eyes glowing with an unnerving light. Without a word, Lyra drew her sword, a flash of polished steel in the dim light of the chamber, and with a single, swift stroke, she severed Lord Alaric’s head from his body.

The head rolled across the floor, coming to rest at the feet of the horrified lords. Blood spurted from the severed neck, staining the polished stone floor a deep crimson, the scene and the very silence that followed enough to silence any and all objections from the other lords.

They had just witnessed the cost of disobedience, their fear quickly replacing their arrogance.

Kaelen gazed at the headless corpse for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the remaining lords.

His voice, when he spoke, was soft, almost a whisper, and far worse than the scream that preceded the young man’s death.

"Anyone else?" he asked, his gaze sweeping across their faces, a dark promise echoing in his words, making the very silence turn cold.

"Anyone else wish to perish with such foolish defiance?"