Balor traveled with the band of bandits for a few months in the guise of Grodal. There were other raids here and there, but nothing like the massacre of the traders at the start of the journey. These were much more sporadic ambushes for supplies. Casualties were rare when they met resistance from any group they were trying to pillage.

  Bandits of this sort were a new idea in the first civilization by this point. They had existed before this point in time, but they hadn’t been this organized and efficient. It had come from a rudimentary level of discipline infused into these men through military training. There was no doubt they left a trail of influence behind in their carnage, showing other men a new way to acquire resources quickly if they were daring enough.

  The bandit act was less fascinating than Balor anticipated, and he went back to a more wakeful slumber than before. Grodal carried on as he should while he kept a cursory eye on things as time swept past.

  Balor didn’t assimilate or dissect anything during these months. He had a bigger goal established for himself in Vaalthorenia. The day eventually arrived when the bandit act was concluded. Every bandit cleaned themselves in a river, tidying themselves up in anticipation of it. They trimmed each other’s beards and cut each other’s hair.

  He woke up when the donkey-pulled caravan passed through Vaalthorenian gates, filled to the brim with the most valuable loot. They lied to their own guardsmen that they were traders from the distant third kingdom of Petrah. This prompted a search of all the goods. The guards stepped aside once they realized how much wealth had been packed into the caravan.

  The kingdom of Vaalthorenia was Balor’s first look at an early kingdom of the hominid. It had tall stone walls for defense, huge chiseled rocks piled on top of each other, with the gaps filled with mortar. The gate was nothing like the village that he’d been to. It was as large as several houses, and four men dedicated to opening and closing it with a rope and pulley system.

  The guards here wore bronze armor plates over leather outfits. They had different classes of warriors for different purposes: swordmen, spearmen, and two kinds of archers for short and long range. The population itself was less homogenized than the Aslamans that he’d seen before.

  There were several strains of hominids from different geographic areas. Several combinations stood out to Balor as fascinating strains that he’d not yet assimilated. Dark skin with strong musculature, gray skin and large flat teeth, green skin and shorter on average, very short frames with heavy musculoskeletal compositions, ones that towered twice as tall as others, but with sluggish movements.

  Vaalthorenia had raided and absorbed as many settlements as it could over the years. Their population reflected that in this vast diversity.

  The constructions in the kingdom were more sophisticated than those in the village as well. These were stone houses, walls built the same way as the defensive wall surrounding the kingdom, and roofs made of clay tiles.

  Vaalthorenian social hierarchy was clearly visible among individuals and areas of the kingdom, with the outskirts housing peasants. The neighborhoods became more decorated and clean as the caravan passed through pebble-strewn roads to stone-paved streets.

  The most extravagant house of all loomed above all others in the distance, atop a small hill. The Vaalthorenian castle was as big as a hundred middle-class houses combined. It was, however, a much simpler construction from a distance. It was as if someone constructed a smaller city inside the city, surrounded by a taller wall.

  Guards grew in number as they rode towards the castle through several guarded gates. Finally, they arrived in a courtyard at the entrance area of the castle. The commander of the bandit group had a brief talk with another commander who emerged from the castle doors. They seemed to be old friends.

  Balor idled around as Grodal, while the commanders finished talking. He had a unique opportunity to infiltrate the elites of this kingdom now that he was inside the castle, and he wanted to do it as soon as possible.

  He had two problems to solve. Grodal was useless now. There was no reason to keep him around. If he recreated the man, he would surely make a scene about waking up months later. While it wouldn’t affect him directly, such an incident in a place as important to the story of Veilthorn could alter things too much.

  If he assimilated someone else, Grodal would disappear as if he never existed. That was also a bad thing. The other soldiers would search the city for him, and that could also unpredictably alter the future.

  He had to shed Grodal, but with an amicable explanation of his death soon after.

  The other problem was that whoever he chose to assimilate into his disguise would be his disguise for a long time. Grodal was an expendable grunt. An elite member living in the castle was far from that.

  He had to pick someone who fit his role perfectly. The choice itself could determine his success or failure.

  I’ll have to be a lot more patient now.

  The bandit squadron knelt before the Vaalthorenian King, Haelbrad of Thormin. He was a fierce-looking man who sat on a throne decorated with golden vines. His complexion was more original Vaalthorenian, with tanned skin, angular features, and a naturally muscular build.

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  “…Karatoca,” the king spat. “A thorn in my eye, that fool Jaegger. They’ve captured four settlements in the last four months. Two of them mine,” he said, glaring at his nearest subordinates. “One caravan of gold wouldn’t suffice for the produce we lost this harvest. Tell me, Carther. Did this bandit… business of yours do anything?”

  Carther, a sleek man, stood from his seat with a curt bow. He wore an outfit as extravagant as the king himself. He was balding at the top, pale-skinned, and had sharp, pointed ears.

  “My king, this was a cursory test of Karatoca. It did produce the results that I envisioned. Karatoca is distracted with the safety of their traders now.”

  It was his plan then. This is the strategist.

  “How did that benefit us?” Haelbrad asked. “Last I checked, I need to feed an army. One that can march all the way to this pesky Dark Lord of ours…without starving themselves before they get there.”

  Balor looked at the king with new interest. This man intended to fight the Dark Lord, unlike the Asmalans, who were afraid of a cataclysmic event. He wanted to capture more settlements to extract more resources.

  He likely wanted more able-bodied men for the army as well, because the soldiers that Balor saw on the way were only worth about ten battles with Zartigas. The ghost serpent wouldn’t have made the Dark Lord's problem that easy to solve.

  “It diverted their focus, my king,” Carther said with a smile. “A weakness that you can exploit in due time. My sources report that at least a quarter of their soldiers are now preoccupied with trader caravans. They can’t produce young men faster than us, and the settlements that they capture….” Carther raised an eyebrow, “Are under no obligation to provide them with their men.”

  “Jaegger that fool,” the kind said, looking at Carther, “What’s the point in absorbing settlements if he’s not even recruiting!”

  “My king, they’re planning on hoarding resources,” Carther smiled. “Resources that will inevitably become yours.”

  “We need more bandits, then?” Haelbrad asked, leaning on his throne.

  “Bandits are but one tool,” Carther said, waving his hand at the kneeling commander. “One that was proven to work to great effect. I have other tools that require testing in a similar way.”

  “Reward these men for their efforts,” King said, snapping his fingers. “Each of them can now lead a bandit squadron on their own, promote them, and get it over with.”

  “M-much appreciated, my King!” the commander said. Darvek, the second in command, repeated the same words. The rest of the squadron remained quiet as they were supposed to be.

  “Yes, yes, get me Karatoca. As fast as possible. I want that fool Jaegger’s head on a spike within my lifetime,” Haelbrad said dismissively. He stood from the throne and walked out of the hall.

  “You heard the king,” Carther said in a silky voice. “Please, do enjoy the feast. You’ve done better than I hoped.”

  Balor participated in the feast, hoping for an opportunity. He’d found the man that he wanted to stay close to. It was Carther the strategist. So far, he’d never seen a hominid that acted with such forethought. He wanted to witness how this man’s plans could affect the Dark Lord. Together with Haelbrad, these two were the most interesting ones that could leave a great impact on Veilthorn’s story.

  He didn’t want to assimilate them.

  That was too much of a risk. He wanted to be someone living in the castle on the sidelines, privy to the royal court and significant enough to see these two men at work.

  The answer was right there in the feast.

  Women.

  Courtesans were there for entertainment, and the bandit squadron that hadn’t seen a woman in months was getting all the entertainment that they could out of them. As the feast continued into the night, men vanished into dark corners in the castle with whatever woman they could impress or convince.

  A lowly courtesan wouldn’t be useful for Balor’s purposes. He had to find someone important enough for Carther. Someone important enough to be in the royal court.

  He snapped himself awake in Grodal’s body, who was now lying drunk on top of a woman who was just as drunk as he was. First, he had to take care of Grodal. He waddled drunkenly over to the castle bathhouse, making sure to acknowledge as many people as possible on the way.

  He waved to other bandits, courtesans, and even guards. The bathhouse was rather empty at the dead of the night except for a few intermingled couples mating with each other in shallow pools.

  Balor found a closed-off pool and quickly turned himself invisible. In a second, he gathered all the soul matter that belonged to Grodal and reconstructed him with a swipe of his hand.

  Balor could’ve killed Grodal a million different ways, but given the location, he wanted to make it look a certain way. If he used any of his powers or the strength to do it, that could look suspicious.

  He turned himself into Rakina right as Grodal opened his eyes. He seemed to recognize the girl that he had dragged into the forest months ago.

  Balor leapt onto him, using Rakina’s limbs in ways they weren’t even supposed to bend. Depending on how well Balor could use Rakina, there were two possible cover stories for Grodal’s death. First, the man was drunk enough to drown himself all on his own. Second, the man was drunk enough to force himself upon a girl, who then managed to escape after the struggle, leaving him to drown.

  Using Rakina for this gave him the perfect middle ground where, if Grodal’s body was ever examined with a lot of scrutiny, they could find traces of him struggling with someone weaker than him.

  That didn’t mean Balor himself had to be as physically weak as Rakina. He could use Rakina’s body in ways she never could. Twisting the young woman’s limbs around Grodal, Balor toppled the bandit to the ground and shoved his head underwater. It happened so fast that Grodal never even got to make a sound.

  Balor pushed his head under, locking Grodal’s neck between his legs. He made sure the grip itself was light. He wanted to avoid any major bruises on Grodal. He used Rakina as a sort of frame that Grodal could never escape from. The bandit tried in vain to save himself, but he’d inhaled a lot of water before he even realized what was happening to him.

  After a few more minutes of struggle, his body went limp under Rakina’s twisted body.

  That went well enough. Rakina would’ve been pleased if she had gotten to kill one of her father’s murderers.

  In his eyes, Grodal and Rakina were both equally insignificant. Yet in his logical execution of the task, Rakina had been vindicated with some form of justice. The story of Veilthorn weaved itself in interesting patterns, whether he wanted it to or not.

  Balor untangled himself from the corpse. He corrected Rakina’s broken bones and twisted limbs back into proper shape.

  Next, he did what she would’ve done. He let out a shrill scream and ran out of the bathhouse, disappearing into the night.