CHAPTER 31: A CONCUBINE AS SUBMISSION

The night had fallen like a shroud of black velvet over the Split Spine.

All around the fortress, the circle of my troops could be guessed at by the scattered glow of torches.

The dry air carried a scent of dust and oiled leather, mingled with the more carnal odor of bodies ready to kill.

The ramparts, down below, seemed deserted, but I knew that behind those stones cowered men and women too weak to attempt a sortie. Their silence pleased me. It was the silence of prey that knows the night will be its last.

At my side, Kaelira stood tall, her armor half-open on her bare chest, as if the night’s chill had no hold on her. The torchlight caressed her long, taut muscles, and slid into the hollow of her breasts, making the sheen of sweat there glimmer. She did not take her eyes off me.

— Everything is in place, she murmured in a low voice that vibrated like a warning. Nyss to the south. The big brute, Varkash, waiting for your signal in the west, and your five hounds holding the east. Each with two hundred soldiers.

I nodded, still observing the fortress. Even the torches on the battlements had lost their glow, as if the fire itself refused to burn for them.

Kaelira bent, seized a torch resting against a shield and handed it to me. The movement made a dark strand slip over her shoulder, and her scent — a blend of leather, warm skin, and an almost sweet perfume — mingled with my breath.

Behind her, a soldier approached, carrying an earthen vessel steaming with a thick, blackish liquid. Without a word, I seized an arrow, its fletching brushing my hand like a caress, and plunged it into the mixture until its tip was soaked.

She brought the torch close, her fingers deliberately brushing mine. The liquid caught fire at once, a vivid orange blaze devouring the metal. The flames danced, projecting a shifting light over my face that drew a smile from the demoness at my side.

I bent the bow, feeling the string tighten until it bit into my fingers. In the tense silence of two hundred warriors holding their breath, I saw her sketch that carnivorous smile she kept for moments when blood was about to flow.

The arrow split the air with a dry hiss and climbed high, very high, until it became an ember suspended above the world. Then it fell, tracing in the sky a fiery trail that every front would see as a promise: the hour had come.

A rumble rose from the darkness.

Not the rumble of a storm, but of eight hundred male throats, a deep, guttural choir rolling through the valley like an earthquake. The voices chanted a martial litany, each syllable striking the air like a hammer on an anvil:

~Blood and stone, break the chains, Dark is the night, red is the plain, We are the fangs, we are the hate, Kneel... or burn in our chains.~

The echoes ricocheted off the cliffs, mingling with the metallic crash of shields struck in cadence.

The ground vibrated beneath the steady pounding of boots, and in the shadows, the torchlight carved demonic faces, horns and fangs gleaming as if hell itself had opened its gates.

From four sides, the armies advanced in unison.

The massive silhouettes of battering rams swayed on their supports, carried by demons whose taut muscles glistened with sweat.

Ladders rose against the walls, grappling hooks whistled through the air before biting into stone.

Wood groaned beneath the repeated impacts of the rams, each blow tearing a scream from the weakened hinges.

I marched at the front, Kaelira at my side. Her chest, free beneath the half-open plates, rose with the rhythm of her steps, and her sinewy thighs advanced as if already crushing the corpses to come. The wavering light threw copper flashes across her dust-gilded skin, making her seem almost unreal.

On the battlements, defenders finally appeared, wavering silhouettes with hollow eyes. Their guard was slack, their movements too slow. A bolt loosed from the ramparts clattered off a shield before me, but the shot had no force. Others tried to push back the ladders with weary gestures; a demon in my line grabbed them, yanked them into the void, and sent them crashing below.

Some still tried to strike. Those died quickly, impaled on a pike or crushed under a hammer’s blow. Many already fell back, panting, toward the center of the fortress, like wounded beasts sensing the pack closing in.

The torches, raised by the dozens, lit fiery streaks across faces twisted in rage. The chants did not falter, drowning the screams of agony:

~Blood and stone, break the chains, Dark is the night, red is the plain, We are the fangs, we are the hate, Kneel... or burn in our chains.~

Kaelira cast me a sideways glance, her smile stretching her lips like the promise of a bite.

— We could stop here, she breathed, stepping over a still-warm corpse. This battle is already won... before it even began.

My gaze slid over the walls where our banners were already being fixed, over the gates that buckled, over the enemy silhouettes scattering like dead leaves.

— No, I answered. You don’t win a war by stopping the blade before it reaches the heart.

She let out a low, rough laugh, almost sensual, then resumed her march at my flank, her shoulder brushing mine as the fortress prepared to yield.

The chants had never ceased.

They rolled through the great central courtyard like a storm trapped within the walls, swelling and pounding against the ears of the last defenders. The shield blows, slow and steady, hammered the air like monstrous heartbeats, until they made the dust on the ground tremble.

The four armies converged, tightening the noose. Each rank advanced with precise steps, spears and swords forming a forest of points. The survivors fell back, pressed against one another, pushed inexorably toward the center. Some staggered, dizzy. Others coughed blood, their skin marbled with cold sweat. The poison had done its work.

I stood at the front, Kaelira on my right, her armor half-open, sweat glistening on her firm breasts.

Her yellow eyes gleamed with a predatory light, as if she savored the slowness of this massacre.

Two supple shadows slipped from the ranks and came to me. Sae, hips swaying in the flickering torchlight, a playful smile at her lips; Syra, feline stride, eyes burning hotter than the flames behind her. They placed themselves on either side of me like twin blades.

I did not bother to lower my voice.

— Well done with the water and food... They were already dead before we arrived.

Sae brushed my forearm with her fingertips, her nails gliding like a caress too long drawn out.

— It was... a pleasure, she murmured, her smile widening as her eyes followed an enemy soldier collapsing to his knees, unable to stand.

Cries and sobs filled the air. Pleas rose like desperate waves:

— Mercy...

— Don’t kill us...

— We surrender...

Some reached out their hands, others fell to their knees, foreheads pressed to the earth, unable to meet my gaze. The torches danced around us, projecting deformed shadows across my figure. The light hollowed my features, lengthened the horns of my helm, magnified every movement of my arms. To them, I was no longer a man. I was a demon, a judge, an executioner come to claim their lives.

I stepped toward them, the chant rising louder behind me:

~Blood and stone, break the chains, Dark is the night, red is the plain, We are the fangs, we are the hate, Kneel... or burn in our chains.~

Their eyes reflected both fear and certainty. None could ignore they had already lost, before my blades even touched them.

The uproar fell silent, as if someone had smothered the world beneath a thick shroud.

The drums stopped. The shield-blows ceased. The chants died in the throats of eight hundred warriors now fixing their eyes on me.

The only sounds that remained were the crackle of torches and the ragged breathing of the survivors.

I took a step.

Then another.

Each strike of my boots against the stone echoed in the courtyard like a hammer on a coffin. The ranks parted before me. Kaelira remained at my right, Sae and Syra behind, their figures draped in shadow and fire.

I halted a few paces from the huddled mass at the center. The torches behind me cast my shadow immense against the blackened walls. Dozens of faces lifted toward me — sick, exhausted, fever-burnt. Some still tried to stand. Most dared not raise their eyes.

My voice rose, deep, slow, each word hammered into the silence.

— You are not here by chance. This siege, this night... your deaths... all of this was but a test. A culling.

I let the silence weigh, fixing them one by one.

— The world is changing. The weak will be swept aside. The strong will crush everything in their path... and I... I am neither.

I stepped closer, my shadow engulfing the first rows of prisoners.

— I am the one who decides. The one who writes what will remain in the chronicles... and what will be erased forever.

Nervous murmurs rose. I raised a hand, and all fell silent again.

— Tonight, I offer you two choices. The first... you bend the knee, you swear loyalty to my army, and you march beneath my banner. You fight for me... and together, we will crush this world until nothing remains but ashes.

I let my hand fall.

— Or... you die here. Now. And your name... your families... your stories... vanish as if you had never existed.

My tone had not changed. No anger, no passion. Just the cold certainty of a judge delivering the final sentence of a trial already closed.

— I do not speak as a merchant. I speak as a master. As a conqueror.

I let my gaze drift over them, slowly.

— You have three heartbeats to choose. After that... your heads will fall before your bodies even understand.

Behind me, the soldiers slowly took up the muffled rhythm of shield blows, like an hourglass of flesh and steel.

A movement split the huddled mass.

A silhouette straightened, upright despite the fatigue, despite the sickness clinging to her skin. Her steps were slow, calculated, as if each one had to be an act of politics.

The torchlight fell upon her face.

Rakmar.

The mistress of the Split Spine. Tall horns curving back, black hair plastered with sweat, amber eyes burning with pride and defiance mingled. Her chest, still heaving with heavy breath, glistened with dampness beneath a half-open breastplate, revealing the firm swell of breasts etched with fine scars — memories of battles.

She stopped three steps from me. Not a word. Her eyes did not waver.

I fixed her, and my voice cracked the silence:

— You are not here to beg.

A faint smirk touched her lips.

— No.

I stepped toward her, my shadow covering hers.

— Then listen well, Rakmar. You may rule these walls... but by tonight, they will be mine. And you... you will be mine as well.

Her pupils narrowed, but she did not step back.

— You want my submission?

My gaze slid downward, slowly, over her body still rigid with pride.

— Not only that. I want your loyalty... and your body. You will become one of my concubines. Not as a captive... but as a living seal of our pact. You will lie in my bed, bear my marks, and every demon in this valley will know that the former mistress of the Split Spine now belongs to me.

A murmur swept through the survivors. The torches crackled louder, as if to underline my words.

Rakmar drew a deep breath. Her breasts rose, brushing almost against my breastplate. Her lips parted, and her voice, hoarse, rolled through the courtyard:

— I accept.

She did not lower her eyes. Not for a second.

Then, with a slow gesture, she unfastened the leather strap holding her breastplate. The piece of armor slipped to her feet, revealing the full curve of her shoulders, the sweat tracing fine rivers along her ribs. Her hands remained dutifully joined behind her back, but her bared torso was both oath and provocation.

A cry of victory burst from my ranks.

Then another.

Then a thousand voices, all merging into a thunder of clamors. Shields slammed, lances lifted, guttural chants that made the walls tremble.

Kaelira threw her head back to the sky, howling with the others. Sae, behind me, smiled like a lover who had seen her man crush a rival. Nyss, farther away, watched with a calculating look, already weighing what this victory meant for our future.

The Split Spine, that so-called unbreakable fortress, had bent the knee... and its former mistress had bared herself to me before her own soldiers.

The Split Spine no longer existed.

Not under that name. Not under those walls.

In less than a week, a fortress once deemed impregnable had fallen, and its stones now echoed with the name of my army. No major breach, almost no blood lost on our side. A siege conducted like a dissection: precise, methodical... cruel.

The survivors stood there, aligned in the great courtyard. Some still tried to hide the gauntness hollowing their cheeks. Others, too weak to remain upright, bent their knees, hands joined as if to ward off a sentence already pronounced.

I walked before them, Kaelira at my right, Nyss at my left, Sae and Syra a step behind. The torches cast our towering silhouettes against the façades, giving me the aspect of a horned beast in the dancing light. Eyes lowered as I passed.

— Raise your heads, I ordered in a harsh voice. Those who bow before me will do so by choice... not by fear.

They obeyed. Slowly. And, one by one, they spoke.

"I swear an oath to Sora."

"I fight beneath your banner."

"I belong to you until death."

Each voice sealed my power further. The youngest still trembled, but the veterans knew they had nothing left to gain by defying me. They had seen the speed with which I shattered their command, the efficiency of my men, the precision of my arrows. They had breathed fear for nights on end... and they knew there would be no reprieve.

The smile came without my holding it back.

My banner now flew over the Split Spine. The survivors formed an extra battalion. Four hundred soldiers became six hundred in one night. And not only bodies... but souls shaped by defeat, ready to be molded by my will.

Behind me, Kaelira whispered, low enough for only my allies to hear:

— You didn’t just take their walls... you took their hearts.

Nyss curved a sensual smile, her eyes sliding over the lined-up warrior women.

— And you could take their beds as well, if you wanted.

Sae laid a hand on my arm, her fingers gripping a bit too tight.

— Patience, Nyss... there’s an order to everything.

A brief laugh escaped me, and I raised my hand.

Shields struck the ground in unison. Victory cries rose, hoarse, powerful, filling the courtyard like a tidal wave breaking against the walls.

That night, the Split Spine became a trophy.

And I... I became a name whispered in taverns and in beds, in hushed voices, with either fear or burning desire that one day I would come knocking at their door.

The throne room doors opened with a heavy creak, driving out the stale air of the fortress.

Bare stone, lit by tall torches, bathed in a red glow that seemed made to welcome sentences, not negotiations.

At the far end, seated on a chair as wide as a parade bed, Rakmar awaited me. Her powerful thighs spread in a posture of defiance, her hands resting on the armrests like two claws ready to snap shut. Around her, her five closest women: all different, all built to please and to command. Some still wore scraps of armor, others light fabrics that hinted at flesh.

Farther back, leaning against the walls or kneeling, the captives. Twenty perhaps, maybe more.

Fallen warriors, servants, wives... all had their eyes fixed on me, wavering between mute hatred and pure fear. The torches revealed faces marked by dust, sweat, and sleepless nights of the siege.

Some still tried to stand tall, others covered their breasts with crossed arms, as if that could change the fate awaiting them.

I advanced alone, my steps resounding on the stone, until I halted halfway to the throne.

[System – LUST v2.01]

Mission: Make the Split Spine an example to the whole valley.

Reward: ????

Failure: ????

My eyes slid across the interface, then rose back to the scene before me.

Rakmar did not blink. The five women framed her silhouette like a warrior harem, and the captives... they seemed to wait for me to speak before daring to breathe.

I let the silence stretch, long enough for discomfort to gnaw at every face.

Then, slowly, a smile carved itself onto my lips. Not a smile of victory — a predator’s smile.

And in that smile, there was already the promise that the example would be carved into their bodies before it was etched into their memory.