Dobroslav regarded his new underlings with regal coldness, eyes glowing faintly like winter stars.
"Men."
The word cut the night air.
"You have regained fragments of our ancestral knowledge." He paused, letting silence build. Then his voice rose, commanding and resonant.
"You recognise me?"
The reply came instantly, fervent and unified.
"Our lord! Prince!"
He held their gazes a few seconds longer, letting the weight settle.
"Good."
He stepped forward, manifesting his royal aura once more—an invisible pressure that pressed on shoulders and bent spines.
"I hereby declare my first decree."
The soldiers stiffened.
"Harming a fellow snow elf shall be punished by execution."
Fists struck chests in perfect unison—a deep, reverberating bamm that echoed off the buildings.
"Yes, Prince!" they roared as one.
Dobroslav's voice dropped lower, edged with ancient, instinctive hatred.
"All green filth… there is no place for them in my world."
The words rang like law carved in ice. Elven blood answered—loyalty forging itself into steel.
"All hail the Prince!"
"All hail the Prince!"
The chant rose fierce and unbroken, shaking the ruined street.
Pajoslav stood silent behind him, the only one who saw the faint, predatory curve at the corner of Dobroslav's mouth before the regal mask slid fully back into place.
He guided his family and Pajoslav to the front, positioning them beneath the harsh glow of the truck headlights.
"Men, raise your heads and look," he ordered, voice calm yet carrying the weight of unquestionable authority.
The soldiers lifted their gazes in perfect unison.
"These five," Dobroslav continued, gesturing to his parents and siblings, "are my blood—my father, my mother, my sisters, my brother. Nothing happens to them. Ever. At all costs."
He let the words hang, cold and final.
Then he placed a hand on Pajoslav's shoulder.
"This man is my closest friend. He will serve as my advisor and, in time, your general. He still lacks certain… refinements in training. See that he receives them."
The plea in his tone was deliberate, gentle even—but every soldier heard the iron beneath it. Orders, not requests.
The commander stepped forward, fist to chest.
"As you command, Prince. They will be guarded with our lives."
The rest echoed the salute—bamm—fists striking in unison.
"Yes, Prince!"
Pajoslav shot Dobroslav a sideways glance, lips twitching between amusement and unease.
Dobroslav met it with the faintest, regal nod—visible only to his friend.
The convoy began to move.
After an hour's ride—trucks rumbling through ruined streets, brief stops to cut down goblin stragglers—the convoy rolled to a halt on the quiet, snow-dusted outskirts of Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski.
Dobroslav stepped down first and led the group to a lone, unremarkable oak standing in a small copse. To any mortal eye it was just a tree.
The soldiers and family formed a loose semicircle behind him, curious but obedient.
'Like I taught you on the way,' Bhalzar murmured. 'Concentrate Qi at your fingertips. Push it into the bark. When the seal answers, twist and open.'
Dobroslav placed his palm against the rough trunk. Cold Snow Elf Qi flowed from his hand—pure, crystalline, no trace of infernal heat. The tree hummed faintly under his touch.
He felt the ancient lock click in his mind.
"Hah!" he shouted, twisting his wrist.
The ground trembled.
Every tree and bush in a wide circle convulsed at once—roots ripping free, trunks bending, branches weaving together with impossible speed. They formed a living wall two hundred meters across, thick and impenetrable, crowned with thorny vines. A single arched gate of intertwined oaks stood at the center.
Then the earth shook harder—small earthquake tremors rolling under their boots.
From beneath the enclosed ground, a palace rose.
Stone by stone, pillar by pillar, it emerged from the soil like a memory waking. Pale marble veined with ice-blue crystal, elegant spires, wide balconies. Roughly forty rooms, halls, and courtyards—compact yet unmistakably royal.
Snow swirled around it as the last roof tile locked into place.
Silence fell.
The soldiers dropped to one knee, awestruck.
Pajoslav whistled low. "Bloody hell…"
Dobroslav turned to them, regal mask perfect.
"Welcome home."