My Seven Wives Are Beautiful Saintesses

The ambience in the Barbarian Union's stronghold had changed. Rumors of betrayal, intrigue, shifting allegiances spread like wildfire. Where once the chiefs of the Union stood united by their common desire for power and dominance, now they were fractured.

Paranoia spread throughout the camp, every warrior eyeing his comrades with suspicion. And in the heart of it all was Jargo Ironhoof, the once-betrayed chief, now the harbinger of the Union's downfall.

With the Monarch Level Infernal Spirit: Espirit acting as his protector, he had no fear.

The chiefs, each one more stubborn and proud than the last, had long thought themselves untouchable. But Jargo had seen through their lies. He had seen the cracks in their foundation, the way they stuck to old traditions and outdated power structures. He knew that the true strength of the Barbarian Union was not in its warriors or in the blood-soaked traditions, but in its unity. And that unity was already crumbling.

Now, Jargo's plan was in full motion. The key chiefs, those who would not bend to his vision of change, were being slowly and quietly eliminated. It started with the smaller, more isolated tribes (the ones with weaker influence) who quietly sided with Jargo. They provided him with information, support, and even soldiers.

With each chief's fall, his grip on the Union grew tighter. And the others began to look over their shoulders, unsure who would be next.

Jargo stood atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the camp, the wind whipping through his hair as he gazed at the chaos below. Fires burned in the distance, soldiers shouting orders, traders packing their goods, the once-sturdy structures of the Union beginning to show signs of decay. The barbarian spirit, once fierce and proud, now seemed like a wild beast, unsure of where to turn.

"You've done it," Longus, the chief of the Necrotic Dynasty's barbarian forces, said, standing beside him. His stoic features now showed pride. "The Union is on the brink of collapse."

Jargo nodded, but his gaze never leaving the scene below. "It's not enough yet. The strongest chiefs, the ones who believe they can still hold everything together, they need to fall. And the rest will follow."

Longus grunted, adjusting his axe. "And once they're gone?"

Jargo's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Once they're gone, we make our move. King Vahn's Dynasty will offer them an alternative. A future they can't refuse. But we need to make sure their soldiers are with us when the time comes."

Longus gave him a thoughtful look, then nodded. "You're playing a dangerous game, Jargo. But I think you're right."

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, watching the camp. In the distance, Jargo could see the banners of the opposing chiefs beginning to flutter in the wind. Those who still held to the old ways, those who would not bend.

---

Back at the Necrotic Dynasty

While Jargo set the stage for the Union's collapse, Vahn had his own plans taking shape in the Necrotic Dynasty. His kingdom was growing, his army becoming a force to be reckoned with, and the whispers of his strength were traveling farther than any of them could have imagined. But Vahn was no fool. He knew the battle for the Union was just the beginning. And while Jargo played his part in the shadows, Vahn was preparing for the inevitable clash with the Union's true strength.

The war room of the Royal Palace buzzed with activity as Vahn met with his generals. The map on the table was a sprawling web of the Barbarian Union's territories, key cities, and important routes. The tension in the air was palpable—everyone knew that the final move would come soon.

Ezekiel, standing at the edge of the room, cleared his throat.

"Your majesty, the Barbarian Union's chiefs are getting weaker. Their alliance is becoming increasingly unstable. I estimate that if we strike soon, we can overrun their remaining territories before they have time to consolidate power."

Vahn's eyes turned over the map. His mind was already thinking through strategies and contingencies, calculating the odds, anticipating every move.

"I agree. But the Union has always relied on their brute strength and raw numbers. They'll fight back with everything they have."

Seraphina, sitting beside Vahn, spoke softly, "I think we are have prepared enough. But we must also consider their people. The soldiers who fight for them aren't all blind followers. Many of them are just warriors, trying to survive. If we offer them something better, we can turn them on our side."

Vahn looked at her, considering her words. "Yes. We need to win the hearts and minds of the Union's warriors. They'll see the strength of the Dynasty, and more importantly, they'll see that the future lies with us, not the old ways."

Selena, standing near the back of the room, spoke up:

"Your majesty, I think we should start moving in now. Jargo already gave us the signal. If we move quickly, the Union will collapse before they can regroup."

Vahn stood from his chair and walked toward the map. His fingers brushed over the territories, tracing the routes they would take, the battles they would fight. His mind was already calculating how many men, how many resources, would be required to strike and hold each position. There could be no mistakes.

Finally, he made up his mind.

"It is decided. We move in three days. Prepare the armies. Make sure every soldier is ready for a battle that will shape the future of this world."

---

Three days later, Jargo's plan reached its climax.

The Slaves were starting to rebel. They envisioned a better future.

The Union's chiefs were now in a panic. The rumors had turned into hard truths, and Jargo had dealt the first blow. The chief of the Southern Tribe, Dorrak, had been killed in an ambush. His tribe's warriors turned to Jargo's side, increasing his ranks and shaking the foundations of the Union.

The remaining chiefs scrambled to consolidate their power, but Jargo's network of spies and defectors had already undermined their positions. The Union was falling apart from the inside.

In the heart of the Union's stronghold, Jargo met with the last of the chiefs who still held sway. The others, those who had already pledged allegiance to him, stood by his side.

This was it—the final push.

"You know what needs to be done," Jargo said. His eyes were calm but filled with the heaviness of years of struggle.

Gorran Stormhand, the chief who had once opposed him, stood before him, his massive frame now showing the first signs of doubt.

"I know," Gorran said. "We strike now, or we lose everything. But are you sure, Jargo? Are you sure King Vahn will accept us?"

Jargo nodded confidently, "He will. He sees the strength in us. He understands that we are not the same Union we once were. We have a future now. A future where we rise under the Necrotic Dynasty. We will be more than just warriors. We will be kings of our own destiny."

And with that, they moved. The chiefs who had not yet bent their knee to Vahn were swiftly dealt with.

Espirit, Vahn favourite summon was dealing with high powers easily.

In the chaos of battle, Vahn's forces arrived at the Union's gates.

His armies broke through the remaining strongholds with military precision.

The barbarian armies, broken and disillusioned, offered no resistance. The Dynasty had already won.

The war was over before it truly began.

"P-please spare our lives! We're ready to be your slaves if you want, your majesty."

The remaining chiefs of the Barbarian Union, now vassals of the Necrotic Dynasty, knelt before Vahn, pledging their loyalty. The once-powerful Union had been brought to its knees, and the age-old kingdoms of the barbarians were now part of a new world order.

Jargo, now fully loyal to Vahn, stood beside him in the throne room. His eyes were bright with the promise of a new better future.

"The Union is no more," Vahn said, his words reverberating through the grand hall. "We are the rulers of this land now. And we will lead it into an era of prosperity."

Jargo looked around the room at the gathered chiefs as his heart swelling with pride.

"To the future," he said, raising a hand in victory.

The room echoed with the sound of fists hitting chests in a sign of respect and loyalty.

The battle was over. The new order was just beginning.

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