The first day after returning to the Northern Camp began not with the violent eruption of his arrival, but with the silent, creeping cold of the dawn.
Antares woke early, the internal clock of his unaffected by the travel or the change in climate forced him to step out of his tent, the sheer white canvas still frosted from the night.
The camp was quiet, but it was a vigilant silence.
He could see the silhouettes of the Vanguard sentries and the massive frames of the Ashfang warriors stationed in the North, walking the perimeter of the wooden walls, their spears and axes glinting under the pale, ethereal light of the moons that still lingered in the western sky.
Antares ignited his aura with a low, vibrant hum, the crimson light providing a brief burst of warmth. He lifted off the frozen earth, rising slowly and drifting toward the main gate.
The guards on duty looked up, their breath fogging in the air as they immediately dropped to one knee in silent, respectful salute.
"Hold the line, warriors," Antares said softly, his voice carrying clearly on the wind.
He didn't stop there. The month of strategy, logistics, fighting and heavy work in the South had left him physically and mentally taxed. He needed clarity that He could only find in the Northern sky.
His internal core resonated, shifting into high gear. With a sound like a cracking glacier, Antares detonated the air beneath his boots.
A dynamic sonic boom shattered the morning stillness. Antares became a black streak of devastating speed, shooting straight up into the freezing upper atmosphere. The acceleration pulled against his dense muscles, a familiar, glorious strain.
He rose thousands of feet in seconds. Above the cloud layer, the sun was a brilliant, blinding sphere of gold, casting intense light across the top of the grey and blue cloud bank that blanketed the world below.
Antares leveled out and just flew.
He wasn't moving to attack or to scout; he was flying for the sheer joy of it. He dove into the edge of the low clouds, the vapor freezing instantly against his visor, then shot back up, carving a path through the sky.
From afar, the titanic structure of the Godwall Mountains snaked across the continent like the spine of a sleeping primordial snake, blocking the view of Cretis.
Up here, alone against the endless sky, the pressure of ruling tens of thousands of lives eased for a precious few minutes. The Hive was safe. The North was fortified. The South was secured.
He did not know how long he stayed in the high sky, but as the moons dipped below the horizon and the sun's rays finally began to touch the ground through the cloud cover, he decided to return.
He descended in a steep, silent dive, leveling out just above the camp walls and touching down softly on the central training field. The camp was awake now, humming with the noise of daily labor.
Riya was waiting near the edge of the training square. She had changed out of her functional travelling robes into a simple, elegant garment of thick green wool that somehow remained clean despite the dirt and snow. She held a silver basin and a fine cloth. As Antares approached, she bowed deeply.
"Welcome back, your Majesty. I have prepared refreshments and materials to clean after your excursion," she said, her voice melodic and composed.
Antares stopped before her. He called upon the System's internal analysis function that had unlocked with the creation of the Red Sons. He didn't just see a beautiful female Antman; he saw the complex genetic pathways that defined her potential.
Target: Riya
Worker Class: Medical antwoman
Compatibility Check: [ Verdant Ant Queen Gene ] — 90%
A near-perfect match. Antares was genuinely stunned by the near perfect match. The antmen born from the verdant ant queen specialized in nature manipulation, healing, and rapid agricultural cultivation. She was exactly what he needed.
The Southern Jungle would be cleared not just with axes, but by bending it to the Hive's will, creating instant breadbaskets across their territory.
He already knew that when he returned to the underground palace, the first seeding ritual he would perform would be with her. She would become the first of his new Queens.
But Antares kept these thoughts perfectly contained. Riya needed to remain focused on her job as a medical antman for now, and a sudden promotion to Queenhood would disrupt her concentration.
"I appreciate it, Riya. Your work and talent are invaluable," Antares said, accepting the clean cloth and wiping the frost from his visor. "We have more heavy work ahead at the clay pits. Be ready."
"Always, Sire," she pledged, her cyan eyes glowing with quiet anticipation.
A few hours later, the high sun had warmed the tundra air enough for the leaders to gather. The meeting place was informal, dictated by the pragmatic needs of a war camp. They gathered not around a map table, but around a massive, roaring fire pit dug into the center of the camp.
Iron pots of thick, savory mammoth stew were bubbling, and large racks of spiced boar meat were roasting over the open flames, casting rich aromas into the cold wind.
Antares sat on a wooden chair at the head of the fire. Commander Adam stood like an impenetrable sentinel directly behind him, his faceless crimson helmet staring into the crowd.
Gathered around were General Yanrid, clad in his ice-forged Master-Rank armor that he had made after he ascended to Master rank, Lord Velas in his heavy mage robes with additional furs to fight against the cold, and Riya, whom Antares explicitly ordered to attend.
Antares took a bowl of warm stew and addressed his vassals.
"We stand at a critical juncture," Antares began, his voice low, commanding, and rich with the experience of the last month. "My expedition to the South was not merely a diplomatic errand but it is the beginning of the Hive's expansion. A simple camp is no longer enough to support the territories we must now claim."
He began his briefing, speaking with an open candor that showed how much he trusted the group around him.
"My alliance with the Redbeard Pirates, specifically Prince Tayron, has yielded results far exceeding our initial projections. Our trade route is secure. By leveraging the ancient royal treasure, I have successfully purchased and secured a vast logistical chain.
"Firstly, we have acquired nearly eight hundred high-grade Sand Steeds. These beasts are remarkable capable of resisting disease and adapting to extreme weather, from the humid jungle heat to the very tundra we stand upon.
"Secondly, the first permanent infrastructure has been established in the south. I have commanded the construction of a permanent Southern Port City, which I have named Antisport. Yajin and Lady Sira are currently on their way North with the massive supply caravan.
"Thirdly, the southern food supply is secured. Tayron has delivered hundreds of heads of diverse livestocks that I commissioned him cattle, swine, goats—which are currently being corralled at Antisport. Along with them are tons of root crop like potatoes, yams, and legumes. We must begin surface farming if we are to sustain our growing population."
Antares looked at the shock written across the faces of Yanrid and Velas. They had sent him south to barter for a few wagonloads of grain and some metal tools; he was returning with an army, an alliance, and the blueprint for an entire city and economy.
Riya listened with sparkling eyes, understanding that the root crops and livestock were the reason Antares was so focused on her nature manipulation not knowing he had bigger plans for her.
"So," Antares said, leaning back and taking a long sip of his warm stew, looking deceptively innocent as he smiled at the frozen general and mage. "What happened here while I was gone? Has the North remained manageable?"
The silence stretched for a moment as Yanrid and Velas exchanged stunned looks, processing the massive geopolitical shift their King had just casually explained in under five minutes. The projects he had initiated were of a scale they couldn't even visualize.
"Ahem," Yanrid began, forcing himself to find his voice. He stood up, clearing his throat. "Sire, in your absence, the North has done... well. It seems pathetic compared to the creation of a coastal city, but we held the line.
"Our scouts repelled a small Frost Wolf pack of 100 fully grown wolves that attempted to breach the eastern palisade. We broke them but we lost some good men in during the battle. Lord Velas," Yanrid nodded to the mage, "had successfully managed to defend the wall, preventing those wolves to enter the camp and he added his mage apprentices there which significantly strengthened our perimeter defense. Our material stockpiles for timber and stone are completely overflowing; the men worked like madmen under the new construction orders Kael left behind."
Yanrid's expression sobered. "However, the primary concern remains food. While we have stockpiled building materials, our foraging game is growing scarcer. The celcane and mushroom quotas from the underground fields are strained. We can begin sending materials and tools underground immediately, but the food supplies will not reach the set quotas. Our stores are tight."
"I see," Antares replied, not looking worried. "It is a good thing I left the North in your capable hands, Lord Yanrid. You prioritized logistics over aggression, which was the correct call. Plus Yajin and Sira are on their way with supplies we acquired in the south so that's a solved problem already."
Antares knew that Yanrid had been brooding, sometimes even being melancholic, over the last casualties and the crushing responsibility of holding the front line without much support. The Ice General was a fierce warrior, but the silent burden of command often weighed heavy on him.
Antares explicitly decided to give credit where credit was due.
"The fact that this camp still stands, that the defenses are stronger, and that the men are disciplined is a direct reflection of your leadership, Yanrid," Antares praised, his voice carrying warm approval. He smirked slightly, teasing the Ice General. "I promised you a high position, and when the hierarchy is formalized, I will grant you a title on par with the clan leaders. Your status in the future is guaranteed. I expect you to hold that position with honor and pride."
The praise worked exactly as intended. Yanrid's chest swelled under his ice armor. The self-doubt and melancholy vanished, replaced by an unmistakable wave of profound confidence and pride. He was Master Rank, hand-picked and praised by the king himself.
"Hahahaha! Thank you, your Majesty!" Yanrid declared, letting out a genuine, booming laugh, his armor practically humming with renewed mana. "Thank you for the praise! I will not disappoint you!"
"I know you won't." Antares concluded, standing up from his chair. The informal meeting around the fire was over. "Eat well. When you are finished, we will go immediately to the clay pits. I need to see the thing that we will use to build the walls of capital and Antisports."