After hours of waiting, the throne ship's lights flickered back on, and Mark pounded the button, opening the hatch.

Three acolytes waited for him and stiffened into a salute as the door opened.

“Good to see people alive,” Mark huffed as he exited. "So, we won then?"

“Yes, Imperator. The enemy broke shortly after your ship fell.”

“That's it?”

“Well, not exactly. There are still a few pockets of the cultists around, but they are greatly weakened. Arms-Master Henric leads the clean up.”

Well, that's about as good of an outcome as I could have hoped for.

The heavy thuds of quick steps turned their attention to a runner charging down the corpse-littered alley.

What now? Mark raised a brow.

Catching his breath, the runner doubled over as he reached them and gradually straightened as he caught his breath. “Imperator. Trolls,” he said, pointing in the direction he had come.

Trolls? You're kidding me, right? We don't stand a chance if another enemy army is attacking.

“The Imperator?” The largest of the five trolls said, standing in the middle of the group, his long dark hair flowing over his stone-like figure.

"There he is," Henric said, turning to Mark who he marched toward them. “About time you showed up.”

“Miss me?” Mark smirked as he walked up to the gathering. The five monstrous men standing before Henric and a couple of his mercenaries stood a good foot taller than them, but their width and stony facades were what truly made them intimidating. Their gray skin and hard, squarish features made them mistakable for humans up close.

“Tath Gorak,” the largest troll nodded at Mark and stepped forward. “I am chieftain of tribe.”

“These are trolls from the Dagger mountains, Lord Imperator,” Venjiman said, stepping toward Mark. He had accompanied Henric to meet the trolls when Callum came running—on account of him having some basic understanding of Trollish. However, the chieftain had a basic grasp of their language, so he didn't need to do much.

"Thank you, Venjimin," Mark said, not breaking eye contact with the intimidating troll.

“Atlas, Imperator in service to the Great Imperium,” Mark nodded in return. “I must ask if you’re allied with the wargs?”

Tath Gorak spat and growled.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

The troll chieftain nodded, his expression turning into a scowl.

“Apologies if I come off tense, but I have just barely managed to save my people from a much stronger enemy. So, please answer me. What have you come here for?”

“To defeat the wargs.”

“You wish to fight them?” Mark crooked his head.

Tath Gorak nodded. "I wish to save my people."

“Well, then..." Mark said hesitantly. "That’s certainly welcomed news. The wargs are our enemy. If you want to defeat them, then I guess that makes us allies."

"Good," Tath Gorak stepped forward and extended his stubby, muscular hand. His tough skin made it look like he had spent his entire life mixing concrete with his bare fingers. "Together, we crush them."

“Straight to the point,” Mark smiled. “I like that.”

Venjamin assisted with working out a more detailed alliance. Since the trolls came from a distant land and no longer had a home, they were offered land within Fort Winterclaw, which they accepted.

The physical prowess of the trolls was quickly noted when they helped rebuild the fort. There might have only been eleven of them, five of which were warriors, but each troll was stronger than Trayox, with the speed of a scout and sword skills almost on par with Henric. Not to mention their fabled healing, which Venjamin told Mark about. Unfortunately, he didn't think it appropriate to test their new alliance by asking them to show him.

Battles throughout the fort didn't last much longer. There were a few hold out groups but most fled when it was obvious they had been defeated. However, of the thousand or so camp followers who accompanied the army, hundreds remained after the cultists fled their camp and sought refuge with Fort Winterclaw after the battle.

Ultimately, most of these people had joined the cultists out of fear, and once the zealots had been defeated, they had little loyalty toward them.

looting began immediately and took several days. Priority was given to those who had fought, but it was beyond hard to keep track of everybody, and there was no doubt many were taking advantage of the chaotic situation that followed the battle. Not that it mattered too much. As long as the wealth of their fallen enemies went to the people of Fort Winterclaw, Mark saw it as a net gain.

With wealth flowing into the fort, the storeroom was quickly filled with all kinds of loot.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Unfortunately, even after a few days of searching, no evidence was found of the High Priest’s corpse. Mark and his people knew that some of their enemies fled, but he had been pretty confident that the priest had been badly wounded and possibly died. Not finding his corpse wasn't confirmation of anything since there was a good chance the fleeing cultists took it with them.

Regardless, whoever managed to flee the battle were but a meager fraction of their original force. Not only that, but much of the camp and its supplies were left in their flight, and with winter storming across the land, many would fall to weather alone without proper supplies and equipment.

Casualties from the battle saw Fort Winterclaw count its losses at 112, five of which were Imperial mercenaries. On the surface, it was a huge number, about a fifth of their entire population, but the sacrifices strengthened their image more than any manufactured press ever could. The camp followers who requested refuge alone outnumbered their losses from the battle, and within a couple of days, ferals were marching toward Fort Winterclaw from all around. One week after the battle, they counted almost 800 people either within Fort Winterclaw or camping around it.

The broken image of the cultists and the evaporating fear quickly spread across the fort. This was evident in the streets. Pride for Fort Winterclaw might not have been a new thing, but people were now openly talking about and cursing out the cultists. Mark understood how important this was. It meant that his people were not only not loyal to the cultists but that they weren’t afraid. Before the battle, people might have chosen to fight alongside him to save their children or because they didn't want to pray to the Wolf God, but the fear was still palpable. And that was an important change of mood.

Following the battle, Trumus and his men ran some witchhunts for cultist supporters, but Mark didn’t want to punish anyone who wasn’t undoubtedly guilty. Unfortunately, things got a little out of control as several people accused of supporting cultists turned up dead across the fort once they were released due to a lack of evidence. So, Mark put a temporary hold on arresting accused cultist supporters. If Trumus or his men suspected someone, they were to inform Mark and leave it as is.

The wall repairs were the first job completed, and once they were repaired satisfactorily, arrow production and other supplies were prioritized. Mark didn’t want to settle for what they already had, but he had to respect the enemy’s strength, and they needed to at least return the fort to its previous strength before moving on with plans to strengthen themselves further.

As the bodies were cleared out, the loot from a few thousand cultists was game-changing. Before the battle, his people had been barely any wealthier than the average feral across the frontier—with exceptions. Now, they were undeniably rich, at least by Frontier standards.

Iron weapons and equipment overflowed through the fort, and Mark ordered a new cabin built within the Imperial District to act solely as a treasury since they were minting more iron coins than they knew what to do with them.

Even with a master smith at his disposal, the need for smithed goods ballooned out of control. Now that people had wealth, they wanted goods they had only dreamed of in the past. Also, people were trading in rarer goods they had looted from cultists, including copper, silver, and even a few gold pieces of jewelry.

Elowen was quick to make a price list for the rarer metals, and within a week, they had either traded for all the rare metals or found a home for them within their new bank.

Getting rich himself was nice, but Mark understood the importance of his people getting wealthy. For Fort Winterclaw to have a healthy economy, it needed a strong middle class and maybe even wealthier people to help drive investment and growth. Which was exactly what he hoped their little bank would help to achieve. Few people out here in the Frontier even had iron, with any luck, his commoners that now had precious metal reserves in their bank accounts would hire others and create industry for Fort Winterclaw.

The only problem he had now was dealing with the looming threat of the wargs and winter. Even if he had set himself up as the premier town in the Central Frontier region, it wouldn't do much good for them if the wargs were to attack.

Mark had gone over scouts' reports that said the wargs' main forces had continued south, although they were separated into a few different armies to take out all their enemies at once. However, the main force had gone south, which meant that the wargs were likely headed to deal with the barbarian alliance.

This was something Mark wasn’t sure how to feel about. Ultimately, if he had to pick, he would rather test his luck against the barbarians of the Frontier than the wargs. That being said, he knew he didn’t stand a chance against either in his current state. The best outcome would be for them to weaken each other without either force coming out on top, but relying on an outcome like that seemed too risky. Not that there was anything he could do about it right now. He would struggle to string together a hundred men to send south in his current state, and without walls to protect them, he would be marching his people to their deaths with little chance to affect the battle's outcome.

What he needed to do now was to expand their influence as much as possible while their enemies were busy focusing on each other. He would aim to position himself to take advantage of the chaos stemming from the warg invasion and to grow his numbers and wealth as much as possible.

That and training. The battle had been a bit of a wake-up call. His people just weren't skilled enough to take on experienced warriors one-on-one. They had won against superior numbers entirely because of the defenses they had built, and that just couldn't be something they continued to rely upon.

**Priestess**

Wargs packed shoulder to shoulder, charging up the snowy cliffside toward the mountaintop temple, when a howling gust rushed through the mountains, swooping down across the white landscape and slamming into the army, bringing with it an avalanche that washed away hundreds of heavily armored wargs from the mountains to their deaths at the bottom of a jagged ridge.

“Your power amazes me every time, Body of the Goddess,” an armored man said as they watched from a stone balcony that overlooked the mountain pass.

“Keep your compliments for now, Warmaster. This war has only just begun."

"Let them come. I would like to see them pass this mountain with your breath of wind in our arsenal."

"Don't make me remind you again. It's getting annoying. We're not going to remain hidden here. We need to see what that wildcard has to offer.”

“So, you really do intend to seek this Imperator out?”

“I told you, Warmaster, he is not like those other abominations. I have felt my Goddess speak to me. This one is different.”

“You really believe he might be the key to defeating the wargs?”

“I do, Warmaster. And I’m not about to condemn my people to being trapped in this mountain. Even if it does mean our survival. If we can make a difference, then we must try."

“Then I shall prepare the expedition.”

“Please do, and do not question my decision again. Do it with haste. We cannot allow our enemy to realize what is happening before we are able to make a difference. This is a great opportunity, but our victory is far from guaranteed. We cannot risk wasting this chance.”

“Understood, Body of the Goddess,” the armored man bowed. "I will see it done immediately."

"Oh, and Warmaster."

"Yes?"

"Prepare a wagon for me."

"You're planning to come with us?"

"Of course. This is our chance to seize victory."

The stubborn Warmaster swallowed. He wanted their Priestess to remain home and defend their people but knew better than to question her. All he could do now was to pray they weren't condemning their people.