The Conquerors Path Chapter 1003 - 1001-Lets Build Something That Will Matter.

Right now, the area stands as completely unusable terrain. Indeed, lingering here for too long without safeguards or immunity to the corruption could turn dangerous for anyone. In essence, it comes across as a massive slap in the face, which plays right into my hands. With such a sprawling expanse, I can swiftly turn it into something impressively viable, especially since the contract is already submitted, allowing me to take action.

The main challenge lies in executing everything to appear as a natural progression. After all, I cannot openly demonstrate my ability to eradicate the corruption plaguing this spot and even infuse it with new vitality.

That would raise the glaring warning sign they seek to stir up further complications. From this point onward, every development must unfold naturally, utterly and seamlessly, as if it occurred on its own. Thus, pondering my strategies, my thoughts had already shaped a plan that fit perfectly and thoroughly, a grin spreading over my features.

I can vividly picture the expressions on their faces, the remorse that will gnaw at them once they grasp what has transpired. Therefore, maintaining my grin, I surveyed the entire location, then proceeded to the exit, stepping through to return to the familiar corridor, where the elven lady had vanished long ago.

Noticing this, I resolved to advance to my subsequent step. By this time, the rest should have gathered, so I must resolve those matters before tackling my remaining concerns. Thus, with my thoughts in steady focus, I navigated the area—the exclusive VIP section, one might say, reserved for the elite—as I traversed the corridor into the expansive chamber.

Gazes continued to follow me as I crossed the chamber into a broader stretch of the corridor, which connected to conference spaces that could be arranged. Progressing through the venue, I arrived at a spacious zone for discussions, and I promptly entered the conference room I had reserved. Pushing open the door, I stepped inside to find it occupied by numerous individuals.

Fifteen individuals occupied the space in total, all of them the more mature youths. A blend of males and females, none particularly formidable, their strengths varying from Origin realm 4 to 6, mingling together. Upon my arrival, they all rose in a gesture of respect. I gestured for them to resume their seats as I claimed the position at the table's head, my gaze sweeping over them while I, smiling, inquired.

Positioned at the table's opposite end, in the rearmost seat as if deliberately selecting the spot farthest from mine—perhaps he did—was the individual who had piqued my interest most since his name appeared in the initial dossiers Ralph had discreetly prepared for me.

Colis.

He appeared somewhat advanced in years, even among this assembly. He rested his folded hands on the table ahead, his stance relaxed and unhurried, and his gaze met mine directly as I turned toward him.

"So, shall we begin?"

I posed the question with a smile.

The fellow to my immediate left responded first, a sturdy elf by the name of Carven, according to the records. He inclined forward, placing both forearms on the table, his demeanor courteous.

"Lord Rex, before we dive in completely, we wish to express our gratitude for assembling us. Many of us have been maneuvering through the system here for quite some time, and the chance to help construct something from the ground up... It’s an opportunity none of us anticipated."

"No need for thanks," I replied.

"I gathered you all because I require your expertise. Experience."

This resonated more effectively—a few rigid stances eased somewhat. Yet Colis remained silent. He merely observed. I permitted a moment of easy quiet to linger before proceeding.

"I’ll be upfront with everyone regarding the current state. At present, the faction exists solely in documentation—the boundaries are defined, the title is set, the official recognition is in place. However, the interior lacks substance. Our purpose here is to commence constructing it all. And that requires addressing certain core inquiries before addressing anything further."

"What sort of inquiries?" the dwarven woman inquired.

"Beginning with the most fundamental one," I stated, easing back a bit in my seat, one arm draped on the table, casual and at ease. "What does this faction represent? What is the key element that an outsider—a mighty, independent Imperial who has rejected every war council group until now—would learn about us and consider?"

The assembly paused briefly to absorb that.

Carven shared a quick look with the female next to him. Several others shifted faintly. I figured most emerging faction heads enter such gatherings and launch into discussions on hierarchies, domains, or troop counts—the practical essentials right away. The core inquiry seemed rarer.

"Most factions," Colis stated.

His tone carried naturally without needing force.

"Most factions respond to that query with strength. Security. Wealth. Opportunities. These are tangible aspects that count. Yet they’re identical responses. Each faction delivers the identical pitch, merely with varied accents."

He halted. His gaze stayed fixed on mine.

"Thus, the issue arises—what’s your unique accent, Lord Rex? And crucially, do you possess a response, or are you relying on this group to craft one for you?"

A grin appeared on my face before I could prevent it, and I made no effort to conceal it.

"Both," I responded candidly. "I possess the framework of a response. But a framework lacking specifics is merely a sketch, and I prefer collaborating with this room to add the details rather than imposing something that’s adhered to without true conviction."

Colis’s features remained unchanged, although my perceptions detected a subtle shift.

The dwarven woman—whose name I noted as Brek from a quick peek at the file en route, pressed her palms evenly on the table. "Then let’s discuss the framework. What do you envision?"

I drew in a breath.

"The war council has functioned on one core assumption since its inception," I started. "That authority accumulates at the pinnacle. That the leading faction establishes guidelines for those below, and the lower factions impose rules on those beneath them, continuing down to the base, where the majority toil in harsh circumstances scarcely allowing them to survive, much less advance. And they endure it because the setup renders departure expensive and aspiration for change seem naive."

No one contested that. A few subdued sighs indicated their deeper familiarity with that truth than they cared to voice openly.

"What I aim to create is a system based on a contrasting assumption. Not benevolence—I’m not so idealistic as to promote that, nor would I offend you by attempting it. But a framework where members within it advance in a manner that benefits the entire entity, rather than being drained upward and vanishing. Where aligning with this faction enhances your personal strength, not merely offering nominal shelter."

"That’s a principle," Carven remarked, without scorn.

"Every faction possesses an originating principle. The real question concerns the operations."

"Precisely why I’m here in this room with the fifteen of you instead of on some stage delivering an address," I explained. "I recognize that operations demand effort. I’m not present to orate."

This sparked a wave of milder warmth from several participants.

Colis separated his hands from the table and reclined in his seat—not withdrawing from the dialogue, but adopting a more engaged stance. One that conveyed his deliberate choice to participate more actively. Having observed plenty of such interactions, one gains an intuition for the significance of that minor adjustment, and I detected it.

"The land," Colis declared, and with that brief phrase, he illustrated precisely why his dossier had received my closest scrutiny. He had cut directly to the heart. The dilemma likely weighing on everyone else present but untouched, as probing your fresh faction leader’s territorial choice on the inaugural day of the initial session seemed diplomatically risky.

Colis, evidently, had moved beyond diplomatic risks.

"Yes," I affirmed. "The land."

"Corrupted," he went on. "Adjacent to a major fissure. Limited foliage. Uneven landscape. Granted to you intentionally, undoubtedly, by those anticipating you’d either decline it—appearing feeble—or accept it unaware of the pitfalls—proving imprudent. You endorsed the paperwork."

"I did."

"So." He inclined his head fractionally. "Do you possess a strategy for it, or are we launching this faction on soil that will subtly toxify anyone lingering there excessively without robust defenses?"

The space grew utterly hushed.

I allowed the query to hang for the precise duration before replying.

"I have a strategy for it," I stated. "One I’ll outline with this assembly at the appropriate moment. For now, I’ll state that the land poses no drawback. It was intended as one—crafted and presented to me as such, and I entered it with a smile." I paused. "I require your trust in this without the complete details yet, as revealing them fully at this stage would spark complications I’m unprepared to manage simultaneously. What I can assure is that the land matter is resolved, and in a manner that will astonish others."

Colis examined me. The assembly examined, with Colis scrutinizing me.

Following a prolonged, steady interval, Colis offered a solitary nod. It wasn’t full endorsement, nor unqualified agreement.

"Then we table it temporarily," he suggested, "and concentrate on what’s discussable. The framework."

"The framework," I concurred.

Brek’s lips twitched at one side. "Finally," she remarked, and extended to draw the central dossier resting at the table’s midst toward herself, opening it. "Since I’ve been eyeing this empty structure diagram since taking my seat, and voids unsettle me."

A soft chuckle circulated around the table.

The assembly had gained its balance. I leaned ahead, forearms on the table, and the session genuinely commenced.