The square stretched like a wound beneath the high towers of the city. Tens of thousands of humans filled it, pressed shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed on the lone figure standing on the raised platform.
Behind him, black banners snapped in the wind, silver sigils glinting like teeth. Soldiers in dark armor formed silent walls, their presence both protection and warning.
At the center, Aurelian Kael Vorthane stood motionless. His long coat flowed in the wind, his sword sheathed at his side. He did not shout. He did not plead.
He only spoke.
"For centuries they told us to bow, to kneel, to accept the rule of creatures who do not bleed like us, who do not suffer like us, who see our children as tools and our lives as property. They told us we were weak, that we were lesser, that we should be grateful to exist under their law."
His eyes swept the crowd with unflinching precision.
"They called it peace. I call it slow extinction. They took our lands, burned our homes, rewrote our histories, taught our children to cringe at their own blood, and laughed when we begged for dignity. And yet they call me monster?"
The murmurs began low, swelling with every word. He leaned slightly forward, his voice calm, controlled, almost gentle, yet carrying the weight of storms.
"They call me devil because I will not apologize for surviving. They call me tyrant because I refuse to bow to goblins, because I will not accept a world ruled by vermin who poison every continent they touch. Look at their cities — filthy, overcrowded, steeped in greed and cruelty. Every life they take is a life stolen from humanity, every spell they cast a curse on our future, and they dare call themselves civilization? They are monsters, and I will treat them as such."
He paused only for a breath, letting the words sink in, letting the fires of both fear and fervor ignite in the crowd. Then he continued, rhythm building like the march of an army:
"I did not rise to bring comfort. I did not rise to spread false hope. I rose to bring truth, to take the lands stolen from us, to reclaim the blood and honor of humanity, to fight the vermin and their allies until the world remembers that humans will not kneel. They will not surrender. And if defending our people, our lands, our future makes me evil — then let the world judge me. Let history curse my name. Let children be taught to fear it. But one day, long after I am gone, humans will walk free on their soil, unchained, unbowed, because I was willing to be hated, because I carried the hatred so they never would have to."
The crowd erupted. Fists rose. Cries of rage, hope, and terror mixed into a single, roaring wave. Soldiers shifted uneasily. Some wept quietly. Merchants clutched their children. Generals exchanged looks of dread and awe.
Aurelian lifted a hand, and silence fell like a blade across the plaza.
"I do not promise peace. I promise victory. I do not promise mercy. I promise justice — justice denied to us by the vermin of the world, justice denied by goblins who believe themselves our masters, justice denied by every coward who whispered we were weak and stayed silent."
He stepped down from the platform slowly, letting the weight of his words settle over the masses. His eyes flicked toward the distant horizon, toward the lands still held by goblins, toward the mountains where their armies brewed.
"Let them call me monster. Let them call me tyrant. Let them curse my name. I will carry their hatred. I will carry it through fire and blood, through war and death, so that humanity may live, so that goblins may never again stand where humans should reign. And when the world has learned what it means to survive, when the vermin fall, then history will remember — not my cruelty, but my conviction, not my hatred, but my loyalty to the human race."
The wind tore at the black banners. Fires burned in the distance. Somewhere, beyond the city walls, the armies of goblins stirred, sensing the challenge.
And below him, the human crowd — divided, shocked, enthralled — knew that history had just shifted beneath their feet.
Some cheered. Some froze. Some swore under their breath. All of them understood that the man who had just spoken had crossed a line — a line between savior and monster, between freedom and tyranny. And some of the world's leaders, watching from the edges of the square, felt the same uneasy certainty that this was only the beginning.