By Right of Conquest
He begins as a peasant. A name no one bothers to learn. When war calls, he joins—not for glory, not for honor, but because refusal is a rope around the neck.
In the mud and fear, among the screams of men whose blood matters more than his, he survives.
Not by strength. But by perception. Structure. Obedience that becomes command. Calm that turns to instinct.
He rises. Slowly. Visibly. From footsoldier, to file leader, to sergeant. He drills when others drink. He watches when others fight. He speaks when silence stings—and men listen.
A captain. A banner. A village. A holdfast.
The kingdom fractures. Nobles splinter. War returns in waves.
He builds what others forget: order, discipline, belief.
He is knighted. Not as courtesy. As necessity.
He commands. Then governs. Then inspires. Soldiers seek him. Outlaws swear to him. Minor lords ask his judgment. Not because of blood—but because of outcome.
And when at last he is crowned, it is not inheritance. It is design.
His kingdom is not forged by divine right. But by salt, sweat, and seen deeds.
He was never meant to inherit. He was meant to unify.