Jax did not return to cheers.
He returned to silence.
The streets of Solmere parted as he walked.
Not out of fear.
Not exactly.
But uncertainty.
Whispers followed him.
"That's him…"
"He summoned a dragon…"
"He killed a hundred Imperial soldiers…"
"What happens now?"
Merchants stepped aside. Workers lowered their tools. Children stared openly before being pulled back by nervous parents.
They had never seen his full power before.
They had seen prosperity.
They had seen gates.
They had seen upgrades and growth.
But today—
They had seen annihilation.
And annihilation brings consequences.
Jax walked calmly, dragon armor catching the sunlight. Peacemaker rested on his shoulder. Requiem hung silent at his sides.
No arrogance.
No celebration.
Just thought.
The Empire would not ignore this.
They couldn't.
The First Handshake
Everything shifted when he reached Brannic.
The dwarf stepped forward without hesitation.
His thick, calloused hand gripped Jax's forearm in a warrior's clasp.
"Thank you," Brannic said simply.
No theatrics.
No speeches.
Just truth.
Merriweather darted around him and threw her arms around Jax's waist.
"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squeaked, tears threatening. "Those men were going to steal everything. They would have killed us. We'd be dead if not for you."
That was the moment the tension broke.
The town needed permission to feel.
Merriweather gave it to them.
One by one, voices rose.
"Thank you, Lord Darquebane!"
"You saved us!"
"We've endured their harassment for years!"
The fear slowly gave way to pride.
Because deep down—
Every one of them had wanted to see it.
Wanted to see the Empire told no.
The Truth About the Empire
For decades, Solmere had paid tribute.
Not because they received protection.
Not because they received infrastructure.
But because the Empire demanded a fixed annual tax.
They didn't audit books.
They didn't measure production.
They simply assigned a number.
"Pay this."
The Slave Guild had once boosted Solmere's festival economy enough to meet the quota.
But that support vanished when Jax arrived.
And yet—
Solmere was more profitable now than it had ever been.
They could afford the tax.
But what did they receive in return?
No roads.
No soldiers stationed permanently.
No voting rights.
No representation.
They paid to exist.
And today—
They had stopped paying in blood.
The Reality Setting In
Celebration was easy.
Strategy was harder.
The eight survivors would take at least a month to return to the capital.
Mobilization would take longer.
They had time.
But not comfort.
Jax understood something the crowd did not:
Retaliation was guaranteed.
The Empire was human supremacist at its core.
Jax, a human who openly empowered demi-humans?
That made him worse than a rebel.
It made him a traitor.
He hoped negotiation might still be possible.
He doubted it.
But he would try.
He did not seek violence.
He simply finished it when necessary.
The Other Faction
Mayor Aldren Hallowmere
Mustelidae-kin.
Sleek brown fur. Narrow shoulders. Sharp black eyes that missed nothing.
He looked, quite literally, like a weasel.
Long face. Quick movements. Tail flicking unconsciously when anxious.
He had held the title of Mayor for twenty-two consecutive years.
No term limits.
No serious challengers.
He had survived droughts, tax hikes, guild disputes, and Imperial audits.
Not by being bold.
Not by being brave.
But by aligning himself with whoever stood strongest at the time.
Empire in power? He was loyal.
Slave Guild influential? He was cooperative.
Merchants rising? He was supportive.
Reform sweeping in? He endorsed it.
Aldren's identity was simple:
He was the Mayor.
If he was no longer Mayor… what was he?
That thought frightened him more than armies.
He dabbed his brow delicately.
"This is… destabilizing," he murmured.
Not condemning.
Not praising.
Just assessing.
Beside him stood:
Corvin Voss
Human.
Former high liaison to the Slave Guild's trade interests.
Sharp jaw. Sharper tongue.
Well dressed even during crisis.
He had profited handsomely under the old system.
Fixed Imperial tax quotas meant creative accounting.
Slave-driven trade meant predictable margins.
Then Jax arrived.
Gates.
Open markets.
Direct trade routes.
Merchants gaining independence.
Corvin's influence had shrunk quietly.
"This is our opportunity," Corvin said smoothly. "The Empire will retaliate. When they do, we position ourselves as the reasonable faction."
Mayor Aldren's whiskers twitched.
"And what does that look like?"
"Distance from Darquebane."
Leaning against the stone railing, calm and unreadable:
Maelis Thornreach
Half-Elf.
Former logistics coordinator for regional transport contracts.
Elegant. Composed. Calculating.
She had overseen routes that once quietly moved slave caravans through "temporary holding" systems.
All legal.
On paper.
Jax's dimensional gates had dismantled entire revenue streams overnight.
She did not care about ideology.
She cared about leverage.
"Power is shifting," Maelis said quietly. "The Empire may crush him."
Her gaze drifted down to Jax in the square.
"…or he may win."
"And if he wins?" the mayor asked.
Maelis smiled faintly.
"Then we ensure he doesn't."
The Mayor's Dilemma
Aldren did not like this.
Not because he hated Jax.
Not because he loved the Empire.
But because stability had just evaporated.
Solmere had functioned for decades under predictable oppression.
Oppression was terrible.
But it was predictable.
Predictable meant manageable.
Today—
A man stood against an army.
Summoned a dragon.
Declared a new political identity.
That was not predictable.
Aldren's greatest fear was chaos.
Because chaos threatens elections.
Chaos breeds challengers.
He had survived twenty-two years because he always stood behind the winning banner.
The problem was—
He didn't yet know which banner that was.
Empire?
Or Darquebane?
His whiskered face remained composed.
But inside, he was doing what he did best.
Waiting.
Beneath the Celebration
While the town cheered, this smaller circle calculated.
They saw risk.
They saw lost influence.
They saw opportunity in chaos.
They did not plan to fight Jax with swords.
They would fight him with rumors.
Policy.
Fear.
Divide the town.
Push merchants against guild members.
Stoke concerns about retaliation.
Question his leadership.
Suggest that Solmere could have remained "safe" under Imperial protection.
Force him into political traps.
And if necessary—
Hand him to the Empire as a scapegoat.
The Man in the Middle
Jax stood in the square, speaking calmly with Grathok now.
But his perception felt eyes on him.
Not hostility.
Something subtler.
Political.
He didn't look up.
He didn't need to.
He had lived in a world where power games were played behind doors.
He understood politics.
Narratives.
Public opinion.
And he had already begun planning.
Solmere would not survive this by brute strength alone.
It would need legitimacy.
Unity.
Vision.
The United Kingdoms was not just a declaration.
It was a brand.
A movement.
And movements require belief.
The mayor thought he was playing both sides.
The former slave-aligned merchants thought they were in the perfect position to sow chaos.
They believed Jax was a warrior.
A merchant.
A summoner.
They did not yet understand—
He was also building something far more dangerous.
Public loyalty.
And in a town that had just watched him stand against an army—
That loyalty was about to crystallize.
Outside the gates, the battlefield still smoked.
Inside the walls, celebration grew louder.
Above it all—
Jax looked toward the horizon.
He knew retaliation would come.
He also knew something else.
When it did—
Solmere would not stand alone.