CHAPTER SIX — SHADOW NETWORKS
Seven days.
Seven days since his rebirth.
Seven days since betrayal.
Seven days since a kingdom nearly fell.
Seven days since the Church marked him.
And as Arcturus stood alone beneath the royal palace's highest spire, staring down at the capital he now silently called mine, he reflected on everything.
The world thought a prince had survived an assassination.
In truth, a Primordial had awakened.
He stretched out his senses.
He felt:
The soldiers training in the inner barracks.
The merchants preparing for morning trade.
The smiths hammering heated steel.
The children in the slums picking stale bread.
The thieves plotting in alleys.
The nobles gambling behind silk-draped curtains.
The entire kingdom's lifeblood flowing beneath him.
Each pulse.
Each whisper.
Each drop of blood.
He inhaled deeply.
The wind carried scents of soot, food, sweat, and hope.
"It's fragile," he murmured to himself. "But it's beautiful."
Far more beautiful than anything he had witnessed in the distant, ancient past—where primordial beings tore galaxies apart over pride or resources.
This world felt young.
Soft.
Worth protecting.
His eyes lowered to the rooftops of the city.
He would protect it.
But not as a king.
Not as a savior.
Not as a hero.
He had grown too strong for the comfort of mortals.
Too frightening.
Too dangerous to simply walk among them.
But he could protect them from the shadows.
And the first step…
was to build the shadows.
THE HIDDEN TRUTH ABOUT THE CHURCHArcturus leaned against the stone railing, eyes narrowing at the memory of the Radiant Church.
They called their god a Primordial.
A shining deity.
The ancestor of light.
The priests whispered His name as if it had weight.
The High Cardinal claimed that radiance was divine essence made manifest.
And yet…
Arcturus scoffed quietly.
Their god was no deity.
No sovereign.
No creator.
He remembered that being.
A trembling little immortal whose glow flickered like a candle in the void.
A being who once followed behind Arcturus through the ancient dark, begging for guidance, begging to understand the laws of creation, begging to be acknowledged.
"Teach me, Arcturus… please…"
A pathetic creature.
Ambitious, yes.
But weak.
Pitiably weak.
Arcturus had once found him amusing.
But the Church had turned that trembling insect into a god.
"A million years," Arcturus whispered, "and the ant built a kingdom."
He smiled faintly, amused in a cold, distant way.
"And now they think I resemble him."
He pushed off the railing and turned toward the palace interior.
"Very well," he murmured. "I'll show them the difference between an ant… and a predator."
THE BEGINNING OF AN EMPIRE OF SHADOWSIn the slums of the capital, the night crawled with vermin and muffled sobs.
A thin boy, dirt smeared across his cheeks, huddled behind a bakery's trash bins, hugging his knees for warmth.
He flinched when a shadow fell across him.
He expected a thug.
Or a soldier.
Or death.
Instead… a hand extended into the light.
The boy trembled. "W-What do you want…?"
The figure crouched.
"Food," said the Arcturus clone gently, placing a still-warm loaf of bread in front of him. "Eat."
The boy eyed it suspiciously before devouring it with desperate hunger.
The clone observed him quietly.
"You're fast," the clone said. "I saw you steal from the market today."
The boy froze, expecting a blade.
Instead, the clone continued:
"You survived in a place built to kill you."
"…I didn't want to steal," the boy whispered. "But—but if I didn't, I'd starve…"
"You did what you had to," the clone said, voice low. "And I admire that."
The boy blinked up at him, confused.
"Admire…?"
"Yes."
The clone reached into his coat and tossed a small dagger onto the ground.
The boy's eyes widened.
"You can have a life," the clone said. "A home. A purpose."
The boy gulped.
"What purpose…?"
"To become strong," the clone said simply. "Strong enough that no one can ever hurt you again. And strong enough to protect others like you."
The boy swallowed hard.
"I… I want that."
"Good," the clone said, standing and offering his hand again. "Then come with me."
The boy reached for it.
And his future changed forever.
CHILDREN OF THE SHADOWThis scene repeated across the kingdom:
In every slum.
Every forgotten orphanage.
Every alley.
Arcturus's clones sought out children who:
Were clever.
Quick.
Hard.
Hungry.
Desperate.
Children overlooked by everyone.
To Arcturus, they were raw ore.
Sharpenable.
Trainable.
Loyal.
He gathered hundreds across towns and cities.
They were taken to hidden safehouses—properties purchased with funds stolen from the Church and traitor nobles. These places looked like orphanages on the outside.
Inside?
Training pits.
Library chambers.
Meditation halls.
Armory rooms.
Master thieves teaching footwork.
Mercenaries teaching knives.
Clones teaching shadow discipline and killing intent.
Boys and girls aged 10 to 18.
Children who would have died in gutters.
A new generation forming:
The Nightborn.
Arcturus's personal army.
His spies.
His assassins.
His messengers.
His eyes in the dark.
They trained in silence.
Wept in silence.
Bled in silence.
And in silence, they worshiped their unseen master.
STOLEN TREASURE AND SECRET EMPIRESThe Church believed their vaults were untouchable.
They believed their wards divinely protected.
They believed their wealth infinite.
They were wrong.
Inside the Sun Dynasty's capital, beneath a radiant cathedral, an enormous vault held:
Sacred relics.
Gold ingots.
Blessed crystals.
Forbidden scrolls.
Prisoned mana spirits.
Ancient artifacts older than nations.
Protected by:
Seven divine barriers.
Forty elite guards.
Two Inquisitors.
One bishop.
A clone stood before the vault's doors.
Not breaking in.
Just observing.
He placed his hand on the stone.
"…Pathetic wards."
He stepped forward and walked through them.
The barriers flickered.
Failed.
Went dark.
The guards didn't even see him.
Neither did the bishop.
Inside, the clone touched the vault walls. They melted into liquid metal, revealing everything inside.
He smiled faintly.
"This will help Father rebuild the kingdom."
He opened a dimensional shadow-rift.
And emptied the vault into darkness.
Not stolen.
Simply relocated.
To Valtarus.
THE FROST KINGDOM — BLACK PINE BRIGADEWhile one clone robbed sacred vaults…
Another sat in a snowy pine forest in the Frost Kingdom, surrounded by men with scarred faces and hungry eyes.
Bandits.
The last survivors of a decimated gang.
They had expected torture.
Execution.
Slavery.
Instead, Arcturus's clone looked at them calmly.
"You know these mountains," the clone said. "These trade routes. These forests."
One of the bandits spat. "We survived here because nobody else wants to freeze to death."
The clone nodded.
"And because nobody bothered to teach you strategy."
The men stiffened.
"You've been raiding merchants," the clone said. "Idiotic."
A few bandits bristled.
"You poke at the Church's caravans and the nobles' supply wagons? Worse. You have no allies. No safehouses. No informants."
The clone folded his arms.
"You're not bandits."
The men exchanged glances.
"You're suicidal cattle."
A heavy silence fell.
A younger bandit snarled. "Then what do YOU think we should be?!"
The clone pointed at the map laid out in the snow.
"Smart."
"What?"
"You will only rob Church tithes and noble wagons," the clone said. "You will not touch merchants. You will not harm villagers. You will not touch tribute carts."
"Why?" the leader demanded.
"Because the Church relies on gold," the clone explained. "Because nobles grow fat on leaking coin. Because weakening them helps Valtarus."
The bandits blinked.
"Valtarus… as in the kingdom?"
"Yes."
"You… you're working for the royal family?"
"No," the clone said. "I'm working for someone above them."
They didn't understand.
They didn't need to.
"Three routes here," the clone continued, tracing the map. "Two through the valley. One along the mountain ridge. You will intercept Church tribute caravans here, here, and here…"
He tapped six points on the map.
"And leave corpses with no witnesses."
He looked up, voice cold.
"Would you like to earn your own land? Food? Warm beds? A future not spent running?"
The bandits stared, wide-eyed.
The clone extended his hand.
"Join me."
Slowly… they did.
And the Black Pine Brigade was born.
THE SUN DYNASTY — MERCHANT KINGThe Sun Dynasty was a nation of sand, silk, spices, and wealth.
And the Azure Sun Merchant Guild was the beating heart of its economy.
A clone walked into the grand guild hall, dressed in simple robes.
Within minutes, he stood before the elders.
"You are donating 30% of your profits to the Church," he stated.
"Yes," the head elder replied proudly. "It maintains our protection. Their blessings are essential—"
"No," the clone interrupted. "Their blessings do nothing. Their protection is illusion."
The elders bristled.
"Who are you to—"
The clone unleashed his aura.
Not fully.
Just enough.
The elders froze like statues. Their eyes widened in instinctive terror.
"I am the new owner," the clone said softly.
Their breaths hitched.
"You will no longer tithe to the Church," he said. "You will no longer finance their crusades. You will no longer transport their relics."
He looked each elder in the eye.
"You belong to me now."
One by one, they bowed.
Not out of fear.
Out of compulsion.
Mind bending.
Blood binding.
Dominion.
The clone smiled politely.
"Good."
And the greatest merchant guild in six kingdoms fell under Arcturus's invisible hand.
THE WESTERN ISLES — THE BLACK TIDESea spray misted across weathered decks, ropes creaked, and distant lightning flashed.
A clone sat in the captain's chair of a hidden shipyard.
Pirates—real pirates, slavers, murderers—knelt before him like chastised children.
"We… we don't understand," one muttered nervously. "You want us… to stop raiding merchant ships?"
"Yes," the clone replied.
"Then what do we raid?"
He smiled.
"Church fleets."
The pirates blinked.
Then grinned.
"And slave ships," the clone added.
The grins faltered.
Then strengthened.
"Finally," one pirate muttered, "someone with brains."
Using stolen dwarven metal, Sun Dynasty runes, and his own Primordial knowledge, the clone forged three ships:
Faster than any hunter fleet.
Stronger than any merchant vessel.
Silent in the fog.
These ships became the start of the Black Tide Brigade, a fleet whispered about in terror throughout the Western Isles.
THE DWARVEN UNION — IRON BREAKERSIn the forge halls of the dwarf capital, surrounded by sparks and flame, a clone hammered a glowing blade with precise, elegant rhythm.
Dwarven smiths froze as they watched him:
Perfect balance.
Perfect alloy mixture.
Perfect runic synchrony.
Something no dwarf had ever achieved.
A master craftsman approached hesitantly.
"…Lad… where'd ye learn that?"
The clone glanced up.
"A million years ago."
The dwarf blinked.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He lifted the finished blade.
It hummed with anti-magic resonance.
The hall erupted in shouts of awe.
And dwarves began rallying around him, joining his new guild:
The Iron Breakers.
He taught them:
New alloys.
New runes.
New forging techniques.
The Church's influence in the Union plummeted overnight as dwarves swore loyalty to the mysterious outsider.
A CONTINENT IN HIS HANDSArcturus stood atop the palace spire again as memories from all his clones returned:
Children training.
Bandits forming ranks.
Merchants bowing.
Blacksmiths forging.
Pirates cheering.
Secret vaults emptying.
Church priests screaming.
Foreign nobles plotting.
Nations shifting.
He absorbed thousands of images, thousands of whispers.
He closed his eyes.
"My empire grows."
Not a kingdom.
Not a faction.
Not a religion.
A shadow empire.
Invisible.
Untouchable.
Everywhere.
He smiled.
"I move… and the world trembles."
He stepped off the spire.
"And no one even knows I'm here."