When Corvus entered Valerius' barrack with heavy footsteps, the silence inside was suddenly replaced by exuberant movement. His uncle's eyes lit up when he recognized him, jumped to his feet with joy and threw his strong arms around his nephew. His embrace was so fierce that Corvus felt his bones almost crushed.

  “Well done, Corvus! Well done!” roared Valerius, his voice thick with pride. “That Nabuk cur cowers in his den! Did you hear? He dares not step beyond his own threshold! Once more, the fools of Rhazgord are reminded—none play games with the Tiamats!” Valerius crowned his words with a hoarse, coarse laugh. Then he beckoned Corvus over to him, gesturing to the feast-like food on his table.

  “I thank you, Uncle, but my duty calls. Varek’s men must be sorted, and I cannot delay. Have you any orders for me?” Corvus replied in a polite but firm manner.

  Valerius would have liked to spend more time with his nephew, but duty came first. He sat down slowly, a serious expression settling on his face. "There will be those among Varek's soldiers who will leave you. Let me know what you need and I will take care of it. Don't worry about the salary! Our tribe will support you.You must take care of your warriors," he said, fixing his eyes on Corvus'.

  "But remember that you are now under my command! I don't want any slack! You will come to me when I call you. Keep your soldiers well trained, choose the best. Let me know who among them has the potential to become Sharazir. You may leave now."

  Corvus felt the weight of the order. Kaelyra wasn't too hard on Corvus, but Valerius seemed to be tightening his grip. "Yes, sir!" he replied in an obedient voice and walked out of the barrack and into the silence of the camp. After a few minutes of walking, he reached the place reserved for him and his soldiers. Here he was met by Zarqa and two warriors. They had been taking care of Corvus' unit since morning.

  Zarqa, in his early twenties, had earned the title of Sharazir, which was not an easy achievement. Although he was not a Tiamat, his family had been swinging swords for generations for the Tiamat Tribe. That tradition had led him here, to the center of the camp. Zarqa had been under Corvus since he became Sharazir, he could have strengthened his own position and formed his own unit, but he had chosen to follow Corvus. The two young warriors with him, Kragan and Baldrek, were only a few years older than Corvus. The military training they had received together had made them both strong warriors and bonded them closely together. They were both friends and comrades they could count on each other on the battlefield.

  "The soldiers under Varek's command and your own soldiers are waiting for you." Zarqa said, his voice controlled but with a hint of worry. Corvus, with Kragan, Baldrek and Zarqa at his side, walked towards the area where the warriors were gathered. Each step was like a slap that echoed through the silent camp. He stared ahead, his face resolute. Before him stood three thousand five hundred warriors, all waiting for him. When Corvus stepped onto the field, the warriors were instantly disciplined and lined up. But Corvus was only authorized to have three thousand men under his command, and here were three thousand five hundred. Three thousand of this crowd were Varek Nabuk's men. The other five hundred were warriors who had been loyal to Corvus from the beginning, who had fought alongside him.

  Zarqa, Kragan and Baldrek quickly stood at attention and lined up in front of the warriors. All three carefully scanned the faces of the soldiers, trying to guess which men would stay and which would go. Corvus stepped forward, taking a deep breath. His eyes were cold and determined. The power in his voice seemed to cut through the air.

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  “I am Corvus Tiamat!” His voice thundered over the gathered warriors, silencing even the wind. “Varek Nabuk fell before me, and the gods themselves bore witness! His strength is mine now, his warriors mine to command!” He ran his eyes over the soldiers, one by one, looking at each of them defiantly.

  "If you would follow another Sharazir, go now. I swear upon my name—no grudge shall be held. But those who remain—know this: you serve no beaten cur like Varek, but of a true Rhazgord warrior!"

  These words created a conflict among the soldiers. Some of them were filled with dreams of victory, while others gritted their teeth in anger. Especially those close to Varek Nabuk or loyal to the Nabuk family did not like Corvus' challenge. Some averted their eyes, shame flickering in their expressions. Others held his gaze, defiant, their jaws clenched in silent rage. One by one, they turned and left, boots crunching against the dirt, their silence heavier than any battle cry. But it was not only Varek's men who left, but also those who refused to be under the command of a young Sharazir. For several minutes they watched in silence as everyone left.

  Corvus looked around and realized that nearly a thousand soldiers had quietly left the camp. Now he had to move to reorganize with those who remained in front of him. He now had just over two thousand men at his disposal. It was a force many lower-ranking Sharazir dreamed of, but it was still too much for Corvus. He made up his mind to reduce the number even further, to put only the best soldiers under his command.

  "To those who stand before me—I see your resolve, and I honor it. Yet even now, many of you will follow those who have turned away." he exclaimed, taking another step forward. "But most of you will join those who have just left!" His words were not unexpected for some of the warriors, who looked at each other in surprise.

  "There are warriors among you with whom I have fought shoulder to shoulder. I know how good fighters they are, but the rest of you have something to prove to me!"

  These words fell like a weight on the shoulders of even the most confident warriors. They would have to prove their own abilities. Corvus gave the order as he scanned the area with his stern gaze:

  "All men, except those who were with me before, take up your training positions!"

  Five hundred loyal soldiers lined up around the perimeter of the field, while the rest split into pairs. Corvus, Zarqa, Kragan and Baldrek quietly moved among the soldiers who took up their training positions. Each of them stared intently at the warriors preparing for battle. Suddenly Corvus' voice echoed through the tense air.

  “Victory or defeat matters not!” he declared, his gaze sweeping over the warriors. “Only your worth must be proven!”

  This order created a silent tension in the square. The soldiers were no longer just preparing to fight, but to prove their existence and worth. Their eyes were filled not only with the ambition to win the trust of a Sharazir , but also with the desire to defend their own honor.

  In two separate corners of the camp, two commands echoed simultaneously, drawing all attention: "Fight!" That single word brought tension as heavy as Mount Rhaz. On one side, Corvus had given the order to his warriors to prove their skill, while on the other, an old instructor had given the same command to start the fight between Belisarius and his opponent. The two scenes were filled with different moods, one a test of military discipline, the other an arena of personal challenge.

  As Corvus passed through his warriors, his eyes watched their every move. Every sword stroke, every defensive maneuver was important enough to decide a warrior's fate. The air thickened with the scent of sweat and steel, each clash of blades ringing like a war drum. Warriors moved with relentless precision, every strike a bid to carve their place among the chosen. Corvus was determined not to miss even the slightest mistake, moving with a cool head. At eighteen years old, he was more skilled than his peers, even warriors much older than himself.

  Across the field, Belisarius stood motionless, his grip steady on the hilt of his blade. When the command rang out, his opponent lunged—quick, ruthless. The old instructor’s gaze narrowed, measuring every strike, weighing the prince’s worth. The battle here was not only a physical clash, but also a test of pride and ambition. Swords clashed in the air, each blow testing the strength and determination of the opponent. The instructor's face was solemn, full of deep lines, evaluating every move, weighing the skill of each fighter.

  And that’s another chapter done! If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much. The world of “The Fall of Everything!” is vast and full of details, so if there's something you're curious about, I'd love to explain it in more depth. Your thoughts can also influence the story—whether it’s something you’d like to see more of or a question you want answered, feel free to share it in the comments! Your feedback is incredibly important to me and helps shape the story. The next chapter is coming soon, so stay tuned!

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