March to the southern kingdoms. Secure the towns and cities. Free the enslaved. Recruit those willing. Link with the Warden of Recruits. He will prepare the ground, and you will carry the conquest.
That was the command.
Chaghan did not question. He never had.
He marched out from Tidescar with two legions of Stormguard, one full legion of Stormriders, and a cohort of Qorjin-ke scouts. Each legion carried with it a dedicated cohort of stormcasters and a full complement of Stormguard Hospitaliers. The hospitaliers were not mere healers. They had been trained to work under fire, to extract the wounded from burning fields, and to silence pain long enough for the body to stand again.
The columns moved day and night. They crossed into the southern borderlands under sun and wind. At the river crossing, stormcasters raised stone from the bed, sealing layer by layer until a ramp formed. The legions passed in formation. Not a single command was shouted. No banners flared. The march carried only purpose.
The first town met them with silence. Chaghan had prepared for defenders, for slave-hunters and chainmasters rallying to hold their ground. Instead, he found slave soldiers standing in the open square—uncertain, disoriented. Some still held their weapons, but none raised them. Their eyes flicked from the soldiers to the sky, as if unsure what world they had woken in. A few wore manacles. Others had already stripped them off and cast them into the dust.
A scout stepped forward and confirmed what Chaghan already suspected.
"The Elixir was poured here. The bindings are unraveling."
They moved through the gates unopposed.
The second town was no different, only more unsteady. Guards had fled. The old commanders were missing or barricaded in homes. Slaves wandered alleys without direction. Some cried openly. Others sat in silence, staring at their hands like strangers. In one alley, a group of freedmen stood around a fire, watching the last of the southern kingdom's banners burn.
By the time they reached the third city, there were no defenders at all.
The Stormguard entered in silence. Cohorts moved into position without delay. Units secured street crossings and placed hospitaliers in key courtyards. The Stormriders controlled the outer roads. Qorjin-ke scouts climbed the towers and rooftops to watch for distant movement. All of it was done with discipline and without noise.
In the city square, a crowd had gathered. Dozens of freedmen at first. Then hundreds. Their clothes were torn. Their feet were bare and blistered. Some had healing wounds on their backs or necks. They stood in silence, watching the soldiers surround them.
Chaghan walked forward. He wore no crests, no badge of rank. His armor was battered but clean. His voice, when it came, carried across the square with quiet authority.
"You are not Gale soldiers. Not yet. But you are no longer slaves."
He waited. There was no movement.
"If you wish to follow, follow us. You will not be slaves again. You will be freedmen with purpose."
No one answered at first.
Then one man stepped forward and dropped his sword.
Then another followed.
By dusk, tents had been raised across the courtyards. The hospitaliers moved among the wounded. Squires distributed broth and dried bread. A few of the freedmen began to copy the movements of Stormguard drills, awkward at first but eager. Others stood in rows and began repeating the breathing forms shown to them by squires.
They were not soldiers yet, but they were willing.
That night, Chaghan met with his captains inside the magistrate hall.
"First phase is complete," said one of his officers. "We've secured four towns. The next three are inland. Scout reports say they're lightly held."
"Move at first light," Chaghan replied. "Use the freed to hold the supply roads. Train them to defend their own homes. Skirmisher units only. No full integration until they're ready."
"And the command post?"
"Here. Until we meet the Warden."
A stormhawk arrived before dawn. The message bore the Warden of Recruits' seal.
Zhaqarin tribes joined us. Oasis has grown. Water flows. The desert rises. We march to meet you.
Chaghan read it once and burned it. The ashes scattered over the command table.
"They're ahead of schedule," he said.
"Do we push to meet them?"
Chaghan nodded. "We ride tonight."
By midmorning, they reached the largest city yet. It was walled, though the gates stood open. A few fires smoldered inside. The streets were empty, save for groups of freedmen dragging former guards into public squares. One of the guards had been forced to drink the Elixir. His screams echoed from a stone basin.
Chaghan did not stop them.
Instead, he walked to the center of the main courtyard and turned to face the gathering crowd.
"If you would fight," he said, "you will be trained. You will not wear chains again. But you will wear discipline. If you cannot bear that, leave now."
No one moved.
He turned to his officers.
"Begin drills. Feed those who join. Brand no one. This is not a slave army. They are the Freedmen Legion."
That night, fires burned low across the courts and squares. The Stormguard and Stormrider cohorts passed between buildings like shadows, moving with precision. The freedmen watched them and began to mimic their posture, their rhythm, even their silence.
They had no oaths yet. But they were learning.
Chaghan stood on the wall and looked across the desert. He did not smile. He simply watched as the wind began to change direction.
On the seventh day, scouts brought word.
"A column approaches. Three legions. Desert formation. Stormguard banners. Zhaqarin riders with them."
Chaghan mounted without delay. His captains followed. They rode out to meet the incoming force.
What they saw as they crested the ridge was no longer a scattered host.
Three legions marched behind the Warden of Recruits. Two of his own Stormguard divisions, and one formed entirely from freedmen and Zhaqarin warriors. They moved in proper formation. Their ranks were held. Even the Zhaqarin riders kept rhythm with the march.
Their banners bore no names. Just black thread on red cloth.
Chaghan dismounted and walked forward. The Warden of Recruits did the same.
They met in the center of the field and clasped forearms.
"You did well," Chaghan said.
The Warden gave a short nod.
"The cities fell without full resistance," Chaghan continued. "The wells were awakened. The freed were already moving. That was your work."
He paused.
"And now, you're no longer Warden of Recruits."
The older man's expression remained steady.
"Altan sent the order. You are now Deputy Warden of the Stormguard. Third in command, beneath me. Effective immediately."
The Warden held his gaze. "I will not fail."
Chaghan answered with only one line.
"Then let's finish this war."
By nightfall, the fortress city was under Stormguard control. The last slave barracks had been opened. The chainmasters had been dragged from their towers. The freedmen began to settle. The newly formed legion took up camp outside the city walls. Stormcasters raised wards. Hospitaliers treated the wounded. Scouts rode out toward the next target.
At sunrise, the storm moved again.
And this time, it marched with unity, silence, and command.
Southern Campaign Force Composition:
As of Chapter 134, the Southern Campaign now involves a total combined force of approximately 109,000 troops.
This includes:
Chaghan's Forces from Tidescar:
2 Stormguard Legions, 1 Stormrider Legion, 1 cohort of Qorjin-ke Scouts, Stormcaster and Hospitalier support.
→ Estimated total: 27,500Deputy Warden's Forces (formerly Warden of Recruits):
3 Stormguard Legions (including "The Old Guard"), 1 Stormrider Legion, 2.5 legions of trained freedmen warriors, Qorjin-ke scouts, Stormcasters, Hospitaliers, and the full tribal host of the Zhaqarin (10,000 desert riders).
→ Estimated total: 65,500Newly Formed Freedmen Legions:
Freed slaves from liberated towns and scattered territories have been organized into 2 full Freedmen Legions, each 8,000 strong.
→ Total: 16,000
These forces now move under the formal campaign command of Supreme Warden Chaghan, with the Deputy Warden (formerly Warden of Recruits) now serving as third-in-command of all Stormguard forces in the southern front.