The sun hung heavy in the sky as Astrid stood atop a jagged cliff, her blond hair stained with streaks of crimson. Below her, the freshly conquered army knelt — over two hundred rough-edged bandits, mercenaries, and drifters. All silent. All obedient.
The Scale of Obedience hovered beside her, its golden plates gleaming faintly with cursed light. Bound by the artifact’s power, the once-rowdy army was now reduced to blank stares and unwavering compliance. Even the most bloodthirsty among them couldn’t resist her command.
Astrid turned to the newly-appointed captain — a burly, one-eyed warrior named Garran — and flicked her spear, still stained with the blood of the previous chief.
"Where is the closest settlement?"
Garran’s voice was robotic. "A village by the river. Quiet. Protected. Trade route connects it to several others."
"Perfect." Astrid’s lips curled.
She glanced at the scale, now floating calmly behind her like a silent judge. "Time to test the range of your loyalty."
As the army began its march, she didn’t need to shout. One hand gesture was enough to get them moving, in perfect unison. No war cries. No stomping. Just silent obedience.
From a hill not far off, a pair of crimson-robed scouts — anomaly organization members — watched her movements.
"She’s moving fast," one said. "Already has full command over the artifact."
"And she’s targeting settlements?" the second asked.
"She’s not stupid. The boy was last seen near one of these villages."
The first scout’s smile faltered. "Let’s hope she finds him before he finds her."
Back below, Astrid led her new army without hesitation. Her goal wasn’t destruction — not yet. It was dominion.
One village at a time.