While the Grand Empire surged ahead with Sharath Virayan Darsha's infrastructure revolution, whispers rippled across borders. Rival empires, threatened by the dazzling transformation, sought to mimic his plans. Decrees were issued, taxes raised, masons hired—but none could match the coordination, vision, or sheer willpower of Sharath's empire.
One by one, their attempts crumbled under the weight of their own bloated aristocracies and corrupt officials. Roads were laid, only to be washed away in the first rain. Drainage systems clogged from neglect. Labor was abused, not empowered. And soon, their coffers dried as quickly as their citizens' patience.
All but one.
The Empire of Dregaria, ruled not by a web of nobles, but by a solitary monarch with an iron grip—Emperor Velkarth the Tyrant-King. His word was law. His council, silent. In Dregaria, the commoner's voice was worth less than dust, but his labor was exploited to the marrow. When Velkarth beheld the prosperity blooming across Sharath's realm, envy gripped his blackened heart.
He implemented Sharath's model with brutal efficiency—without debate, resistance, or concern for consequence. The roads of Dregaria were paved, its cities expanded, and massive aqueducts snaked across its deserts. But all of it flowed toward the palace, the upper echelons, the elite. The commoners remained in destitution, starved and silenced, staring at opulence from mud huts.
One night, Emperor Velkarth stood atop his obsidian balcony, surveying the gleaming skyline of his capital. But down below, he heard the rumble—not of prosperity—but of empty stomachs and growing unrest.
He turned to his advisors. "Why, when I have mimicked every decree of the Lord of Innovation, do my people still groan under misery?"
One old advisor, a rare survivor from the era before Velkarth's rise, trembled. "Because, my Emperor... Lord Sharath did not only build roads. He built purpose. He gave his people a stake in the future."
That night, Emperor Velkarth locked himself in his private sanctum, lit by rune-flames and soaked in ancient texts. And he did something unprecedented. He pondered—*what would Sharath do?*
He reviewed transcripts of the summit. The emphasis on empowerment. The transformation of slaves into citizens. The redistribution of wealth through opportunity, not alms.
For the first time, the Tyrant-King listened—not to his own voice, but to the echo of wisdom from afar.
In the weeks that followed, Velkarth shocked his empire. He created a new class—"The Laborium Guilds." Commoners were offered work, homes, healthcare, and education in return for their participation in empire-building. Guilds were funded directly from the royal treasury, bypassing corrupt channels.
He invited architects from Sharath's kingdom. He ordered the creation of public forums. He initiated food granaries and communal kitchens. For every road laid, a school was built. For every aqueduct constructed, a public bath was opened.
The transformation was slow, resisted by some of the elites. But the people—finally fed, clothed, and heard—rallied behind him.
Velkarth, once a feared tyrant, became something else.
A shadow of Sharath, but a sincere one.
And though he never acknowledged it aloud, his diary bore a single line:
"I rule with an iron fist. But he rules with the forge that shapes a future."
Thus, the influence of Sharath Virayan Darsha—The Lord of Innovation—began to reshape even the darkest empires.
But distant storms brewed.
And not all watched with admiration.
Some... with wrath.