The sight before me struck me with awe. A surge of pride and a sense of supremacy soared to the stars, filling me with an exhilarating thrill. Determined to maintain this grandiose demeanor, I declared:
"Your Emperor has arrived."
The soldiers silently performed a military salute, planting their DC-15A blasters muzzle-up into the ground. The spectacle filled me with aesthetic ecstasy—fifty soldiers stood as still as terracotta warriors until I commanded, "At ease." They wordlessly retrieved their weapons and remained in formation, awaiting orders. At last, I had the means to safely explore the surrounding territories with such a formidable force! Wasting no time, I addressed them:
"Soldiers, heed me! Your critical mission is to scout the area—our first step toward establishing and elevating our Empire!"
"It shall be done!" came the loyal, synchronized response from my clones.
"Excellent resolve, soldiers! Let us hold a brief before the operation." Pausing to survey them, I continued, "We will divide into two squads of twenty-five. The first squad will guard and patrol our base to ensure a safe return for the second squad, which I will personally lead. The defense squad's priority is to protect the mining facility in case of an enemy attack. Exercise utmost caution and remain vigilant! We know nothing of the technologies our potential adversaries may possess."
As I spoke, I realized I needed someone to command the defense in my absence. Pointing to a clone in the first row, fourth column, I said:
"You, clone, approach me!"
"Yes, sir!" The soldier stepped forward and saluted.
"At ease. Your name and rank?" I asked, though I knew clones typically had no names, only serial numbers, often adopting nicknames like Captain Rex of the 501st or Cody of the 312th Battalion.
"I have no name, but I hold the rank of private, Your Majesty!" he replied with pride. It felt strange to hear a clone—a person, after all—speak so calmly about lacking a name.
"From this moment, I appoint you platoon commander, in charge of the defense squad during my absence!" I declared with authority. Even through his helmet, I sensed his astonishment at this sudden promotion. "Henceforth, your name is Tyrex."
"Yes, Your Majesty! It will be executed flawlessly!" Tyrex's voice brimmed with unwavering loyalty, prompting a slight smirk from me.
"Defense squad! From now on, you will obey Tyrex as if his orders come from me! Do not fail him or me!"
"YES, SIR!"
A familiar chime from the System interrupted. Summoning it, I inquired about the notification. It responded:
"Congratulations, my Lord. You have promoted a subordinate! As a reward, you have been granted the title 'Warlord'! Units under your direct command receive a bonus of 10 points to defense and strength."
My grin widened. A permanent buff to my units would undoubtedly give me an edge in future battles. Resisting the urge to revel in my new title, I issued orders:
"Soldiers, we move to the forest! Stay alert and check your weapons! We're heading out on reconnaissance!"
"Yes, sir!" The clones responded, and we ventured into the forest, searching for anything that could reveal where we were and what lay around us.
After half an hour of trudging through the forest—finding no path but animal trails—I marveled at my soldiers' endurance. Thirty minutes of marching, and they showed no signs of fatigue! Recalling my time in service back on Earth, such marches always sparked endless complaints among my comrades. As I reminisced about my home planet, a growing sense of danger stirred within me. Mentally querying the System, I learned this was my "Sixth Sense" skill at work. I ordered my squad to halt and disengage their weapons' safeties. Without hesitation or questions, they formed a protective circle around me. I couldn't help but admire their professionalism—true warriors bred for battle! When nothing happened after a minute, I ordered a cautious advance in formation. Moments later, we encountered a pack of wolves—each the size of a car, with saber-like fangs protruding from their upper jaws.
My soldiers, without needing orders, aimed their weapons at the wolves, who tensed as if preparing to charge. Not waiting for their move, I shouted, "Fire!" Instantly, twenty-five blasters unleashed a barrage of laser bolts. We felled seven of the ten wolves, but the remaining three, standing at the rear, leaped aside and charged. Whether they were stronger or smarter, I didn't care—I fired my E-11 alongside my troops. Despite our efforts, the wolves closed the distance swiftly, crashing into our formation. Three clones were knocked back, but two wolves fell with shots to the head. The last wolf seized a clone's leg, hoisting him into the air, but the soldier drew a combat knife and plunged it into the beast's eye. With a groan, it collapsed, though its jaws remained clamped. It took considerable effort to free the soldier's leg.
No one died, but the outcome wasn't ideal. Fortunately, one clone was skilled in first aid, tending to the four injured: one with a leg wound, one with a broken arm from a fall, and two with minor bruises. After some thought, I ordered five clones to escort the two seriously injured back to base for better treatment, while the other two, with minor injuries, remained with me. My squad was reduced to eighteen, but I deemed it sufficient to continue.
Another half-hour march led us to a dirt road, not paved but clearly trodden, bearing human-like footprints. A civilization existed here! The discovery thrilled me—people meant potential subjects. Most tracks led in one direction, so I ordered my squad to follow them. As trees thinned, the outline of a rural village appeared, shrouded in black smoke. I ordered my soldiers to quicken their pace, and we reached the village to find a battle raging.
As I assessed the situation, a clone approached. "Your Majesty, take this binocular."
I nodded in thanks. "Binoculars? Useful. Return to formation."
"Yes, sir!"
The binoculars, straight out of Star Wars with their green display and targeting square, stirred nostalgia. But the scene they revealed cut my reverie short: people fought each other. One side wore mismatched leather armor, some in chainmail or partial plate, wielding spears, swords, axes, and maces. They battled villagers in simple cloth, armed with pitchforks and scythes, yet holding their own. It didn't take a genius to see bandits attacking peasants. Given their primitive weapons and armor, I decided to intervene. Both sides could provide information, and the village could serve as a temporary base—I was tired of sleeping in a tent and reluctant to spend more on accommodations. For dramatic flair, I purchased Palpatine's cloak from the shop, as seen on the Death Star with Luke Skywalker, for 500 credits. Donning it, I felt an overwhelming surge of grandeur. The Emperor of the First Galactic Empire had arrived to conquer this world!
"Platoon, prepare for battle! Our enemy is those harming civilians! Protect the villagers!"
"Yes, sir!" My clones and I charged toward the village. Our arrival stunned the bandits, but my soldiers opened fire without mercy, clearing the village and leaving only corpses with scorched holes and shocked villagers. I joined in, firing my E-11 as if at a shooting range. The bandits soon rallied, one shouting:
"It's the kingdom's guard! Kill them, or we're dead!"
I understood his words perfectly, though they only amused me. Did they think their crude weapons could challenge blasters? A one-eyed bandit charged me. As I pulled the trigger and he fell with a hole between his eyes, an old prison joke about a fork in the eye crossed my mind, making me chuckle.
Most bandits were killed, but some surrendered. I ordered my soldiers to gather and search the bodies, piling them up. They found this world's currency—gold, silver, and copper coins—confirming a medieval-level society. The bandits, numbering a hundred, left ten survivors. We collected 89 gold, 648 silver, and 1,204 copper coins—a substantial haul! The prisoners sat with hands behind heads, my clones' blasters trained on them. I felt like an NKVD officer. As I pondered what to do with them, a hunched old man approached, escorted by a clone.
"Your Majesty," the clone saluted, continuing after my nod, "I report on the current situation."
"Proceed."
"Most bandits are dead, the rest captured. The civilians are safe, though some are dead and many injured. Your orders?"
"We won't aid the wounded—that's their concern. Let them find a healer. Who is this elderly man?"
"Your Majesty, he is the village elder and wishes to speak with you."
"Very well. You're dismissed, soldier. Join your comrades and ensure the prisoners don't escape."
"Yes, sir!" He saluted, turned, and rejoined the others.
"Elder, I presume? What did you wish to discuss?"
"Yes, sir. I want to thank you for saving our village. We are immensely grateful!"
"Good. I'm glad my aid was useful. I assume this isn't the bandits' first raid?" The elder sighed heavily.
"Not exactly. We paid them to leave us alone, but this time we couldn't gather enough, so they decided to make an example of us." He paused. "Are you… from the royal guard? We sent letters to the city mayor, but never received a reply. We'd lost hope until you arrived."
"You're mistaken. I'm not from the kingdom. Think of me as a hermit with my familiars." I crafted a fantasy-friendly excuse for my advanced technology.
"Oh!" the elder exclaimed. "So, you're a tamer?"
"Indeed. But to business, Elder. I seek a reward for aiding you."
"What do you desire, Master Tamer?" His tone betrayed fear that I'd demand something impossible or horrific. My lips curled into a wicked grin as I imagined his shock.
"As of this moment, you and your village will serve me!" His eyes widened. "Refuse, and you can ask that pile of bodies what happens next. But fear not—I promise reliable protection and just governance."
"What?!" The elder collapsed, disbelief etched on his face. "Y-you wish to kill or enslave us?"
"No. My soldiers and I need a temporary base. In exchange for your loyalty and cooperation, I offer protection and provisions. Or do you doubt my word?" I glared at him with a malevolent smirk.
From the Elder's Perspective
Almighty Lord, why have you unleashed such a monster upon us? A wolf in sheep's clothing! He cloaks himself in the guise of a savior, yet seeks to enslave us! I cannot refuse, or we'll all perish. What will become of us?
I sighed, struggling to compose myself. Rising with effort, I met the monster's gaze and reluctantly agreed.
"Very well, I accept your terms, Master Tamer." My words lacked enthusiasm, but his grin widened, his eyes gleaming as if hoping I'd falter so he could burn me alive.
"Excellent! A wise choice. You'll retain village management—I won't meddle in your affairs." He turned toward the pile of bandit corpses, his tone less formal. "Gather your villagers and announce you're now under my rule. Oh, and one more thing—where are we? What kingdom? How many exist in this world?"
"Uh…" His question struck me as odd, almost amusing, but I dared not show it. "My Lord, we're in the Dark Forest, in the Kingdom of Oldenburg. If memory serves, there are eight nations: the Aras Empire, Kingdom of Oldenburg, Gansian Principality, Farquad Principality, Blein Trade Federation, Enigma City Union, Deidan Republic, and Paudran Theocracy."
He bombarded me with questions:
"Which is the strongest?"
"Twenty-five years ago, the Great War of Kingdoms ended. The Aras Empire and Deidan Republic emerged as leaders in economy, trade, and military."
"You're quite knowledgeable, old man," he said, shifting from politeness to mockery. My regret deepened.
"I once lived in Oldenburg's capital," I replied, hiding my irritation.
"What was this Great War?" he pressed.
"It was fought over the gods' inheritance, lost during the conflict. The war ended soon after. The inheritance, from what I know, was an artifact that could grant one wish. You can imagine why every ruler coveted it."
"Fascinating," he remarked, clearly lost in thought, signaling he was not to be disturbed.