The morning after the victory over the bandits, the village felt different. No longer did fear hang over the wooden houses. No more children hid behind fragile doors. No more adults stared anxiously toward the forest.
That victory changed everything.
Arka walked across the village, studying the faces of his people. Smiles that had once been hidden were beginning to appear. They looked at him not only with respect, but with unwavering faith.
He stopped near the river, where Lyria was cleaning cooking utensils. She turned when she heard his footsteps.
"Morning, Arka." She smiled softly.
He returned the smile. "Morning. Did you sleep well?"
Lyria's cheeks flushed slightly. "Yes… thanks to the peace you brought."
Though her words were simple, Arka could feel their sincerity. He looked at the now livelier village and said, "Today we begin building our true foundation."
"Foundation?" Lyria asked.
"Yes," Arka replied firmly. "This village is no longer just a group of survivors. It will become the center of a kingdom."
Lyria looked at him for a few seconds, then gave a small smile. "I believe in you."
Arka gathered all the villagers in the central field. They were not many—around one hundred and twenty people. But numbers did not matter. Direction did.
"Everyone, listen!" Arka called out.
The atmosphere fell silent at once.
"Yesterday's victory proved that we can survive. But survival is not enough. If we want to live without fear, we must grow. We must become stronger. For that reason, today I will divide this village into three working groups."
He drew three symbols in the dirt.
— Agriculture
— Military
— Production (tools, wood, metal)
Then he pointed to each one.
"The first group: farmers. I will train you to cultivate the land using new methods. We will expand the fields, build a second irrigation channel, and construct storage warehouses."
The villagers exchanged astonished looks.
Arka continued.
"The second group: the military. Those who fought yesterday—and those who wish to protect the village—I will train you to become the core army. We will develop new formations, new weapons, and new strategies."
The young men who had tasted blood for the first time stood straighter.
"The third group: production. We need new houses, warehouses, workshops, and metal tools. We must also make use of the bandits' corpses—salvage their weapons and repair them."
Thalos nodded heavily. "A wise idea, Arka."
Arka looked at him. "You will lead the production group."
"With pride," the old man replied.
Everything proceeded smoothly… until someone suddenly raised a hand. A large man named Drakios—the strongest youth in the village—spoke in a firm voice.
"I have a question."
Arka looked at him. "Ask it."
Drakios stepped forward. "You are not from this village. You came from nowhere. You lead us, yes. But how do we know you won't lead us into greater danger?"
A murmur of unease spread through the crowd. Several people nodded.
Arka understood. This was not rebellion—only the concern of people who had lived in fear for too long.
He looked at Drakios sharply, but without anger.
"You are right to question it," Arka said. "But let me ask you this—when the bandits came, did you have a plan?"
Drakios fell silent.
"Did you have a formation? Weapons? Strategy?" Arka stepped closer. "Or would you have let them slaughter everyone in this village?"
Drakios clenched his fists but did not answer.
Arka paused before continuing. "I do not force you to follow me. But I offer you a future. Without me, you will continue living as before—in fear, in hunger, and without direction."
He raised his voice. "With me, you have the chance to grow stronger. The chance to wield power that even great nations will respect."
The crowd fell quiet again.
Lyria stepped forward and stood beside Arka.
"I see him working every day. He wants to make our lives better. You may doubt him, Drakios—but I believe he will take us far."
Drakios looked at Lyria for a long moment, then exhaled. "Fine. I will follow… but I want to join the military."
Arka gave a faint smile. "Of course. You will be one of my commanders."
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Arka knew one thing: he had secured his authority once again.
The following days were filled with hard work.
Agriculture became the main focus. Arka taught them simplified modern techniques adapted to this era:
• Contour-based plowing techniques
• Construction of secondary irrigation channels
• Use of wood ash as fertilizer
• Proper seed spacing
• Crop rotation systems to preserve soil fertility
The villagers were astonished when land that had once been as hard as stone transformed into fertile soil after proper treatment.
Arka also built a large wooden granary with a simple ventilation system to prevent the wheat from rotting. It was something entirely new to them, and the villagers called it "the house of the gods' food."
While agriculture progressed, Arka turned his attention to the army.
He introduced a new formation he called:
"Arka's Mini-Phalanx."
Unlike the large and heavy Greek phalanx, this formation was small, flexible, and swift—ideal for hilly terrain and forests.
He trained them daily:
• Endurance drills
• Charge exercises
• Defensive formation drills
• Effective thrusting without creating gaps
• Flanking strategies from two sides
• Use of short spears as secondary weapons
He also designed new shields made from oak reinforced with cowhide and bone.
When the soldiers raised their shields together for the first time, the impact of their synchronized strike shook the air.
"This is our strength," Arka said. "And this strength will conquer our first territory within days."
The soldiers roared in response.
That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Arka sat beside a small bonfire outside his hut, thinking about the next step.
"We need more land… more fields… more manpower…"
Soft footsteps approached. Lyria came carrying a wooden bowl of soup.
"You haven't eaten," she said gently.
Arka smiled. "Thank you."
She sat beside him, gazing at the flickering flames. "Everyone works hard because they believe in you. They're starting to see you as… something more than just a village leader."
Arka looked at her. "And you?"
"I…" Lyria's cheeks reddened. "I see you as someone more precious than that."
A warm silence settled between them.
The night wind blew softly.
Arka reached for Lyria's hand. She flinched slightly but did not pull away. Instead, she tightened her grip around his.
"I won't disappoint you," Arka said quietly.
Lyria smiled gently and rested her head on his shoulder.
That night, Arka felt something strengthen within him—determination, and something more personal: the first bond that would one day become the foundation of his future harem.
The next morning, before the sun had risen high, a scout ran into the village, pale-faced.
"Arka! You need to see this!"
Arka immediately gathered Drakios and his core soldiers. They followed the scout to a low hill.
Not far from the village—about three kilometers away—stood another small settlement.
But it was burning.
Houses were destroyed. Black smoke rose into the sky. Distant wails echoed through the air.
"These aren't ordinary bandits," the scout said, trembling. "It's a large group. I saw them. More than seventy men. They have a leader wearing bronze armor…"
Arka stiffened.
If yesterday's bandits had been a small gang, this was something far greater—organized, ruthless, and far more dangerous.
This was not a threat.
It was an opportunity.
Arka stood tall.
"We will defeat them," he said.
The soldiers looked at him with a mixture of courage and fear.
"We will strike before they discover our village."
"With fewer numbers?" Drakios shouted.
Arka gave a faint smile. "Numbers don't matter if our strategy is superior."
He looked at each soldier in turn.
"We attack at night. Our mini-phalanx will split their forces. We strike from two sides. And I will duel their leader."
The soldiers raised their spears and shouted in unison. Their cries echoed across the hill.
When night fell, Arka's force—twenty core soldiers—moved silently like shadows.
They slipped through the trees, approaching the large bandit camp.
In the center of the camp, forty bandits were drunk, while the rest stood guard. Their leader, a large man clad in bronze armor with a long scar across his face, was inspecting the loot.
Arka raised his hand.
"Wait… wait…"
Everyone held their breath.
Then Arka spoke the word they had been waiting for.
"Attack."
The twenty soldiers charged from two sides at once. Shields thundered. Spears thrust. Screams filled the air.
Arka's mini-phalanx worked perfectly.
The undisciplined bandits could not withstand the relentless thrusts from the small but trained force. They fell one by one.
Arka himself targeted the bandit leader.
The man swung his sword fiercely, but Arka deflected it with his shield and counterthrust with impossible speed for a man of that era.
Blood sprayed. The bandit leader staggered.
With one final motion, Arka slashed his neck.
The man's head fell to the ground.
The bandits' morale collapsed instantly.
It took no more than fifteen minutes to eliminate the entire group.
When it was over, Arka's soldiers stood tall—covered in blood, but victorious.
"We… we won!" Drakios shouted.
"We won!" the entire force roared.
Arka looked at the now-silent camp and smiled faintly.
"We will take all their equipment. And tomorrow… this territory is ours."
When they returned to the village, the people welcomed them with cheers.
Lyria ran toward Arka and embraced him tightly, not caring about the blood staining his body.
"You came back…" her voice trembled.
Arka gently stroked her hair. "I promised I would always return."
The villagers looked at their leader no longer as a minor chief—but as a man who delivered victory after victory.
That night, the village celebrated with a grand feast. Simple music played, food was shared, and everyone rejoiced at the dawn of a new era.
In a corner of the village, Arka stood watching.
Thalos approached him. "With this victory… you have become more than a village leader."
Arka looked at the moon shining in the sky.
"I've only just begun," he said.
Then he gave a small smile.
"This empire will be born from this small village."
And that night bore witness to the birth of a nation—destined to become the greatest kingdom in the history of the world.