Chapter 35: Primitive World V

The sun blazed overhead when the war horns echoed through the valley. From the hills, like a dark wave, the Gurka army descended. Bands of hardened warriors, with weathered skin, crude weapons, and eyes shaped by conquest, marched under bloodstained banners. At the front, atop a rocky outcrop, stood Orkus—bare-chested, covered in scars and war paint. Behind him, thousands of feet thundered in unison.

Ikarus responded. The gates shut, watchmen took positions in the towers, and civilians were evacuated to the inner sectors. The soldiers, fewer in number but disciplined, assembled behind the stone walls. At the top of the citadel, Pakur watched in silence.

"So the day has come," he murmured without surprise, fastening the ceremonial sword at his waist.

Enoc stood by his side, eyes fixed on the horizon. Not far away, Avelia watched as well, though with more worry than anger.

"They're more than we expected," said Enoc, his voice tense.

"That doesn't matter. This city won't fall easily," Pakur replied calmly.

The siege began at dawn on the second day. Mobile towers built from stolen wood and waves of Gurka soldiers crashed against the walls. For hours, the fighting intensified. Stones fell, screams filled the air, and the ground trembled under the violence.

Pakur personally led the defense of a secondary gate. His sword rose again and again, cutting down enemies with precision and strength. But Orkus had foreseen it.

In a swift move, the Gurka leader emerged on the battlefield, surrounded by a dozen of his finest men. They broke through a breach opened by a war ram and directly confronted Pakur's group.

The fight was brief. Orkus—massive and brutal—had no equal in sheer strength. His spear, made of black wood and sharpened with volcanic stone, pierced Pakur's defense with a precise strike. The blade ran through his torso, and the leader of Ikarus fell to his knees, his gaze fixed on his killer.

"You don't die out of cowardice," muttered Orkus. "A king dies so another can rise."

Enoc saw it all from atop the inner wall. The moment his father fell, his world froze. The echo of the spear's impact wouldn't leave his mind. Rage clouded his vision.

"ORRKUUSSS!" he roared, stepping forward.

The Sharingan in his left eye spun wildly, marked by fury. For a moment, he felt something inside him shatter, his body and soul tearing apart to release something new.

He was about to jump. To leap from the wall and break through enemy lines. To kill Orkus with his own hands—with whatever he had.

But a hand grabbed his arm.

"Enoc!" It was Avelia, gripping him tightly. "Don't do it! They'll kill you! You… you can't face him!"

Her voice trembled. Not from fear of war—but from fear of losing him.

"He killed him! He killed my father!" Enoc shouted, still struggling.

"And you'll die just the same if you fight him now!" she cried, tears in her eyes. "Your father wouldn't want you to fall into madness! He taught you to think before you act!"

Enoc stopped struggling. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling, and his Sharingan slowed its spin. He calmed, and the threat of awakening faded like mist at dawn.

He fell to his knees—not from weakness, but from the weight of loss.

"He's gone..." he whispered, fists clenched. "And I couldn't do anything..."

Avelia knelt beside him and embraced him without a word.

Meanwhile, Orkus raised his blood-stained spear and roared to the sky, declaring Ikarus fallen. He turned and left with his soldiers. The war had drained them, and they needed rest before resuming the siege.

---

A couple of days later...

"The Council will meet tonight," Avelia said softly. "The elders await your decision."

Enoc didn't answer immediately. His eyes were lost in thought.

That night, Enoc entered the council hall. He didn't ask permission to speak. He didn't bow. He walked firmly to the center, where his father's seat still lay empty. The weathered faces of the elders watched him with suspicion. Some, with disdain.

"Who will lead Ikarus now?" asked one of them, an old warrior with a scar across his face. "The boy? The dreamer?"

Enoc stared at him without blinking.

"I will."

A murmur ran through the hall.

"You're not ready," said another elder. "Your strength..."

"Is not my father's," Enoc interrupted. "I know. But Ikarus doesn't need just strength. It needs order. Intelligence. Strategy. And that's something you've proven you lack by letting Orkus catch us unprepared."

His words struck hard. Some stood up. One even threatened to walk out. But then, Enoc pulled a scroll from his tunic.

"While you mourned and lamented, I studied every corner of the city. I organized supply lists, evacuation routes, reinforcements for the walls, and blind spots in our defenses. I have a plan to survive Orkus's return. If you wish to ignore it, go ahead. Show the people of Ikarus they've lost more than a leader. Show them they've lost their future."

A tense silence followed his speech. No one dared speak.

Then, slowly, one elder stood—the wisest and oldest of them all.

"The throne of Ikarus is yours, Enoc. May the gods judge you."

And so, with no ceremony or applause, Enoc became the leader of the city.

---

The following days were filled with movement and blood. Enoc did not hesitate. Those who plotted in secret against his leadership were arrested. Some were publicly executed. Others simply vanished.

Avelia watched closely. Though the decisions were harsh, she didn't see a tyrant—but a young man sacrificing parts of himself to keep his people standing.

One night, as they reviewed maps in the high command room, Avelia brought him a cup of water.

"You haven't slept in two days."

"Sleep is a luxury I can't afford," he replied, eyes still on the city plans.

"Nor can you rule with a broken body."

Enoc closed his eyes. His shoulders trembled briefly. Not from weakness, but from accumulated tension. Avelia approached and embraced him from behind without saying a word. He didn't pull away.

---

Thus, Ikarus began to change. Under Enoc's rule, the walls were reinforced with new materials gathered from the ruins. Double patrols, watchtowers, and an organized militia were established. Vulnerable routes were closed, and new water and food sources opened. All within a month.

At first, the people were afraid. But soon, they began to look at Enoc with respect. He wasn't Pakur. He wasn't a warrior. But he was the son of a Lion… and he had a lion's heart.

But the temporary peace was shattered a week later.

The horizon darkened with towering figures—Gurka warriors in formation, armed and more organized than ever before.

"Turn off all outer lights! Move reserves to the second wall!"

The siege resumed with brutal force. Orkus launched wave after wave of soldiers against the walls. Every attempt was met with arrows, spears, stones, and fire. But the Gurka didn't retreat. The pressure was constant, day and night. Though they didn't break through, each assault chipped away at Ikarus's endurance.

Day after day. Night after night. The sky blackened with smoke, and the screams never ceased. Orkus himself charged the gates multiple times, roaring with a fury that chilled the heart. But the gates—reinforced with Enoc's new designs—held strong.

But no fortress, however strong, survives when the enemy is within.

One of the Council elders, Kael—wrinkled face and venomous tongue—watched in silence. That night, under the cover of darkness, Kael met with a Gurka messenger who had crossed an old forgotten tunnel leading to the forest.

"Orkus will fulfill," whispered the emissary. "He'll give you a position. Women. Gold. Whatever you desire, old man. Just open the way."

Kael nodded. His heart, consumed by greed, no longer belonged to Ikarus.

That very night, while the city slept under the weight of its watch, a select group of Gurka soldiers, guided by Kael, passed through the ancient underground tunnels and reached the interior of the city.

The old man led them to the secondary western gate, and after silently killing the guards, they opened the door.

Orkus was the first to cross.

He stepped onto Ikarus soil, followed by a wave of soldiers who surged in like a swarm of black shadows devouring the light. The screams began immediately. The soldiers of Ikarus, caught by surprise, were slaughtered without a chance to regroup.

Kael turned to the Gurka leader with an eager smile.

"I did my part. Now, my reward..."

"Yes." Orkus interrupted him.

And without another word, he drove a spear through Kael's chest. The old man fell to his knees, eyes wide in shock. Orkus looked at him with disdain.

"Traitors are never part of the new order."

With a kick, he knocked him over and stepped over his corpse without another glance.