And then it began.
The territory, previously focused only on survival, began to take the shape of something else.
Training fields. Archer center. Swordsman barracks. Expanded stable. Skills school. Library. Planting. Level two market. The evolved castle unlocked constructions I had set as distant objectives — and which now appeared one after another with the speed of someone who had waited for the right moment to spend everything at once.
It wasn't dispersal. It was concentrated investment with a clear direction.
The territory drained the accumulated capital with the efficiency of something that had been hungry for too long and finally had what it needed to grow.
There were two natural paths for any human Lord.
First: enormous armies. Overwhelming numbers with a small special force under direct command. It worked. But it required delegation — and delegation required trusting that heroes would make the right tactical decisions at the right moment.
Second: smaller, highly specialized troops. Armored soldiers evolving into Paladins. Cavalry into Crusaders. Archers into Arbalests — each one worth ten in open field.
I had learned something fighting Tauros.
Heroes were powerful. But they were rarely strategists.
I knew military history by heart. Mistakes. Victories. Formations. Logistics. The kind of knowledge that isn't summoned — that accumulates over years of study before any real battle happens.
I trusted only myself to lead.
The second path was the only one that made sense.
"My Lord, part of the river has already been diverted and incorporated into the territory." — Morgana approached with the direct report that had become her standard. — "The treebeard trenches went deeper than estimated. The flow is stable."
"Good. Thank you."
She watched me with the curiosity that appeared when she had processed something and still didn't have all the data to conclude.
"Lord… what exactly is your intention with that construction?"
She pointed to the smaller building tucked into one of the castle's slots — just finished, no defenses, nothing military about it, nothing that gave away what it even was until you walked in. The slots had just doubled from eight to sixteen, and even then, the thing looked like a waste of space.
[ Potions and Magic House — construction complete. ]
"Perfect."
Livina examined the low structure that had been built for humans of human height.
"This construction is known for wasting resources." — she said with the confidence of someone who had seen Lords try and fail. — "In every territory I've known, it became a storage room in less than two cycles."
I smiled.
"Come with me."
I entered first. Morgana followed without hesitating. Livina took a second longer — exactly the time of someone who had decided that disagreeing without data was wasteful, and that observing cost less than insisting.
✦
The interior looked like a renovated empty stable. Tables. Flasks. Simple furnaces. The kind of space that communicates nothing about what can be done inside it.
I approached the central workbench and placed a piece of yellowish stone on it.
"Morgana, do you know this territory?"
"No, Lord. The kingdom where I lived was years away."
"And you, Livina?"
"I know the soil is fertile. The rest doesn't matter."
"Wrong. It's fertile for a specific reason."
I tapped the stone lightly.
"This territory used to be a massive dormant volcano. That's why we have so much life — volcanic soil is rich in nutrients that other soils take centuries to accumulate. But in the mines…"
From the ring, I poured a small mountain of yellowish powder onto the table.
The smell took the air before any of us spoke.
Livina narrowed her eyes.
"This… reminds me of the smell of the Infernals of Kazandu."
"Similar. But it's not theirs." — I paused. — "It's sulfur."
Silence.
I took out the second item. Potassium nitrate — used in the Oasis as fertilizer and meat preservative, abundant enough not to draw attention in the market.
"In my world, sulfur had dozens of applications. Batteries. Rubber. Preservatives." — I paused at the next item. — "But also something far more interesting for the purposes I have now."
I took out the last two.
A flask of thick yellowish resin from the trees around the territory. A white stone — limestone, abundant in the lower layers of the mine.
Morgana tilted her head.
"Lord… what does this create?"
I began working at the bench, mixing small quantities, explaining while my hands moved.
"Sulfur feeds the flame. Nitrate provides oxygen — keeps combustion going even where there shouldn't be enough air. Resin creates adhesion — sticks to any surface, wood, metal, flesh, and doesn't come off with water. Limestone stabilizes the reaction and extends the burn time."
Livina took a step back.
"This… is an explosive?"
"Not exactly." — I raised my eyes. — "An explosive destroys in the moment. This burns. Slowly. With intent."
The two looked at me with the expression of people processing the difference between the two and arriving at the conclusion that the second option was more disturbing.
✦
To them, they were just materials.
Yellow powder. Crystalline salt. Thick resin. Ground stone.
To me, it was history.
For centuries, the formula of that weapon had been kept in absolute secrecy. Entire empires had tried to replicate it and failed. The recipe disappeared and reappeared in fragmented manuscripts, attributed to alchemists, engineers, philosophers — anyone who might have arrived at the right combination by accident or by genius.
It was said that the original formula had been hidden in the crypts of a Greek thinker. Perhaps stolen. Perhaps bought with blood. The origin was as disputed as the recipe itself.
For nearly two hundred years after its disappearance, entire armies feared its return.
Flames that couldn't be extinguished.
Ships burning on the water.
Soldiers running wrapped in fire until ash.
Fortresses turned into furnaces.
For most, that wasn't science.
It was magic. Terrible. Cruel. Astonishing.
"What is the name of this magic you are trying to create?" — Morgana asked in a low voice, with the tone of someone who had understood that the answer mattered before I gave it.
I raised my eyes slowly.
"The name of this weapon that tormented armies for nearly two centuries… that changed wars… that made men believe the gods were intervening…"
I rested my hand on the workbench.
"Greek Fire."
Silence.
Livina was the first to break it.
"Greek Fire…" — she repeated, with the expression of someone evaluating whether the name lived up to what she had just heard. — "What a lame name."
I couldn't help the smile.
"You'll find out. You just need to give me time." — I looked at the two of them. — "Call me if anything unusual happens. I'll be here."
They left.
The silence that remained smelled of sulfur and had the texture of something that was about to begin.
Having the recipe didn't mean mastery. The process was delicate — precise proportions, an unstable mixture that exploded with wrong handling, storage that could set everything ablaze if done carelessly. And there was the logistical problem I would need to solve without drawing attention: how much sulfur to extract without damaging the main mining operation, how much nitrate to buy at the market without creating a visible pattern, how much Greek Fire to produce so that it would be decisive but not suicidal.
Too little would be irrelevant.
Too much would force me to seriously worry about destroying my own territory.
Until now I had fought with brute force. Mounts. Armored soldiers. Heroes.
This would be different.
This would be asymmetric warfare — the kind that favored me even without the numbers to win, because it changed the rules with force before the enemy realized the rules had changed.
If the Zhur'kai returned with overwhelming numbers, I wouldn't need numbers.
I would give them hell.
I ran my fingers across the table.
"Let's start slowly…"
The smell of sulfur permeated the air.
And for the first time since arriving at the Oasis, I was creating something that even the ancient races would call forbidden.
Not because it was impossible.
Because none of them had thought of it first.