CHAPTER 52: PREPARATION RITUALS

## **Chapter 5: The Laws of Conquest**

The courtyard was a battlefield. Arthur’s enhanced soldiers moved through the defenders like wolves among sheep, their supernatural speed and strength making the fight brutally one-sided. But the orcs were brave, fighting with desperate fury even as they fell.

"Enough," Arthur said, and though he didn’t shout, his voice somehow reached every corner of the stronghold.

The fighting stuttered to a halt. All eyes turned to see Arthur standing at the cave entrance, shadows clinging to him like a living cloak. Beside him, Urzara Bloodfang stood tall, her axe resting casually on her shoulder.

"Your Majesty!" Hawklight’s voice cut through the sudden silence. The commander stood near the main gate, Flamestrike still burning in his hand, surrounded by Arthur’s elite forces. They’d formed a perfect perimeter, trapping the remaining defenders. "Is that...?"

"Urzara Bloodfang," Arthur confirmed, stepping forward. The orcs recoiled as his presence washed over them—not the crushing weight he could unleash, but enough to make their instincts scream that they faced an apex predator. "Daughter of Chief Bloodfang, warrior-shaman, and prophet of their oldest legends."

A roar of fury echoed from the ramparts. "SISTER!"

Gorak Bloodfang stood atop the stronghold’s highest tower, Dragonrend glowing with pale fire in his grip. Even from this distance, Arthur could see the young warchief’s rage and betrayal.

"You dare betray our blood?" Gorak’s voice boomed across the courtyard. "You stand with the enemy who defiles our sacred places?"

Urzara stepped forward, addressing not just her brother but all the assembled orcs. She spoke in Common, ensuring Arthur’s forces understood as well. "I betray nothing! I fulfill what was foretold! The Mor’gath has come—the Demon King of prophecy stands before you!"

The reaction was immediate. Some orcs dropped their weapons, eyes wide with recognition. Others gripped them tighter, looking to their warchief for guidance. Grashk, standing among a group of scouts who’d already surrendered, fell to his knees with a cry of vindication.

Hawklight moved closer to Arthur, voice low. "Your Majesty, what’s the play here?"

Arthur watched the dynamics unfold, his tactical mind already three steps ahead. "By orc law, she has the right to challenge her brother for leadership. Single combat. Winner takes the clan."

"And if she wins?" Hawklight’s scarred face showed he was already working through the implications.

Arthur’s characteristic smirk appeared. "Then by the same law, she can offer her victory to another. Make them chief through right of conquest and prophecy."

Elliott, who’d descended from the wall to join them, caught on immediately. "There’s more to it than that." His voice carried a note of resignation—he’d seen this pattern before.

"Perceptive as always, Elliott." Arthur didn’t bother hiding his amusement. "Yes. The one who accepts such an offer must seal it through *grathar’nok mei’tash*—the deepest bond their culture knows."

"Marriage," Hawklight said flatly. "You’re talking about marriage."

"Among other things." Arthur’s eyes never left the drama unfolding between the siblings. "It’s rather more... comprehensive than human marriage. Body, soul, and blade, as they say."

Through his bond, he felt Beatrice’s sudden spike of concern. *"Arthur? I can feel something happening. What—"*

*"Politics, little one,"* he responded mentally. *"I’ll explain later. Trust me."*

Her worry didn’t fade, but he felt her acceptance. She knew him well enough to understand that sometimes the game required unexpected moves.

Urzara’s voice rang out across the courtyard. "By right of blood, I challenge Gorak Bloodfang for leadership of our clan! By right of prophecy, I name the Mor’gath as my cause!"

Arthur’s system chimed:

**[CULTURAL RITUAL DETECTED]**

- **Challenge Type:** Grathar’mok (Leadership Duel)

- **Stakes:** Clan Leadership + Prophecy Fulfillment

- **Victory Condition:** Submission or Death

- **Complication:** Victor’s Offering Requires Bonding Ceremony

- **Political Impact:** EXTREME

Gorak leaped from the ramparts, landing with an impact that cracked stone. His youth and strength were obvious, but so was his rage. "You would bind our people to this... this human?!"

"Look closer, brother," Urzara said calmly. "Use the sight father taught us. See what he truly is."

For a moment, Gorak’s eyes unfocused as he engaged his mystical senses. Arthur let more of his true nature surface, allowing the young orc to perceive what lay beneath the human facade.

Gorak staggered back a step, face paling beneath green skin. "What... what are you?"

"I am what your prophecies foretold," Arthur said simply. "The question is: will you accept that truth, or die denying it?"

The courtyard erupted in murmurs. Orcs who’d been ready to die fighting suddenly looked uncertain. Even Arthur’s own forces seemed taken aback by the supernatural weight of the moment.

"The prophecy is real!" Grashk shouted from among the converted. "I’ve felt his power! He offers strength, not slavery!"

More orcs began to lower their weapons, but Gorak snarled. "Lies! Tricks! Sister, you’ve been corrupted by human magic!"

"Then prove it," Urzara challenged. "Face me in grathar’mok. If your cause is just, you’ll win. If the prophecy is true..." She smiled fiercely. "Then the Mor’gath will lead us to glory."

Arthur addressed his forces, his voice carrying absolute authority. "Form a circle! No interference! This is their way!"

As soldiers and orcs alike created a fighting ring, Hawklight leaned close. "And if she loses?"

Arthur’s smirk turned predatory. "She won’t. She’s already been enhanced by proximity to my power. Gorak doesn’t know it yet, but he’s fighting both his sister and a fraction of what I am."

His system confirmed it:

[Passive Enhancement Detected]

- Target: Urzara Bloodfang

- Bonus: +15% All Physical Stats

- Special Trait:** Mor’gath’s Chosen - Immune to Fear

- Family Combat Bonus: +25% vs Blood Relations

Elliott watched the siblings take their positions, his expression troubled. "You’re collecting wives like trading cards."

Arthur’s voice turned serious for a moment. "I’m building an empire that will last, Elliott. Every bond I forge creates unbreakable loyalty. Would you prefer I slaughter them all instead?"

The knight-captain had no answer to that.

In the circle, Urzara and Gorak faced each other. Brother and sister, tradition and prophecy, the old ways and the new. Dragonrend hummed with ancient power in Gorak’s hands, while Urzara’s axe seemed to drink in the shadows that followed Arthur.

"Begin!" someone shouted, and the duel that would decide the fate of the Bloodfang Clan commenced.

Arthur watched with calculating eyes. This wasn’t just about taking a stronghold anymore. This was about proving that his empire would be built on conversion, not conquest. That even the proudest warriors would kneel when shown a greater strength.

And if it meant adding an orc warrior-shaman to his growing collection of powerful women? Well, that was just another piece falling perfectly into place.

The game of empire had many moves, and Arthur intended to play them all.

The clash of steel rang across the courtyard as brother and sister danced their deadly dance. Urzara’s axe met Gorak’s *Dragonrend* in showers of sparks, each impact sending tremors through the packed earth. The assembled forces—human and orc alike—watched in tense silence as prophecy battled tradition.

Arthur observed with calculating eyes, noting every detail. Gorak was stronger than expected, his youth and rage lending him power. More concerning was how *Dragonrend* reacted to Urzara’s enhancement—each strike left traces of anti-magic that flickered like pale fire, temporarily disrupting the supernatural speed Arthur’s presence granted her.

She was still winning, but not decisively. The watching orcs were beginning to mutter, their faith in the prophecy wavering as their warchief held his ground.

*Time to tip the scales,* Arthur thought. But not with power—with psychology.

He made the slightest gesture, just a subtle shift of his fingers that his forces had learned to watch for. From the ranks of his army, Queen Isolde emerged, moving with the unhurried grace of someone attending a garden party rather than a death match.

She wasn’t alone. Two servants flanked her, carrying an ornate chair between them—the same chair she used for court sessions back in Lyranth. The absurdity of it made several orcs blink in confusion.

"What’s she doing?" Elliott muttered beside Arthur.

"Watch and learn," Arthur replied softly.

The servants placed the chair at the edge of the dueling circle with ceremonial precision. Isolde settled into it, arranging her traveling dress with careful attention to the fall of fabric. Then, to the bewilderment of every warrior present, she pulled out an embroidery hoop and began stitching.

The fighting continued, but now half the audience was staring at the human queen who’d decided a death duel was the perfect backdrop for needlework. Even some of Arthur’s soldiers looked confused.

Hawklight leaned closer. "Your Majesty, is the queen feeling well?"

"She’s perfect," Arthur murmured, watching Gorak’s movements. The warchief had noticed too—how could he not? During a brief blade lock with Urzara, his eyes flicked to the bizarre scene. That flicker of distraction nearly cost him as Urzara’s knee came up toward his ribs. He twisted away just in time, but his form was sloppier.

Then Isolde held up her embroidery to check her progress in the torchlight, and the design became visible. Even from across the circle, the image was clear: an orc warrior kneeling before a human figure, with more kneeling figures sketched in outline behind.

She was embroidering their surrender. During the duel that would decide their fate.

"Clever," Hawklight breathed, understanding dawning.

Gorak saw it too. His next swing came with a roar of pure fury, *Dragonrend* leaving a trail of white fire as it carved through the air. "You DARE—"

"Eyes on your opponent, Warchief." Arthur’s voice cut through the rage, carrying those supernatural harmonics that made reality itself pay attention. "Or have you already forgotten the first rule of *mak’gorah*?"