Elias's expansion was moving forward with a quiet grace, but as more territories came under the influence of Geneva's gentle outreach, the need for a reliable defense system grew clear. It wasn't about waging war; it was about protecting a budding community that had learned to trust cooperation over conflict. With this in mind, Elias turned his attention to building an organization for defense—a structured force that would not only deter potential conflicts but also serve as a unifying symbol for all the communities coming together.
Instead of assembling a fearsome army of soldiers armed to intimidate, Elias believed in a model that emphasized training, community honor, and shared responsibility. He gathered his trusted advisors to brainstorm how to create a force that was as much about dignity as it was about defense. "Our strength," he explained one mild morning in the palace council room, "should come from our unity and willingness to protect each other. This force must represent not the might of a conqueror, but the heart of a community that cares."
Plans were soon drawn up to form a "People's Guard." This new defense system would be made up of volunteers from Geneva, along with representatives from the newly integrated territories and even from the beastman communities. The idea was straightforward: a group of well-trained, well-equipped guards who swore to protect the community rather than impose their will. Volunteers were welcome, regardless of background, and each was given a role suited to their skills—whether it was basic training, strategic planning, or even logistics.
In a series of relaxed but focused training sessions held on an open field outside the city, Elias witnessed firsthand an unexpected sense of camaraderie. Men, women, and beastmen alike worked side by side, learning from instructors who explained tactics in plain, half-joking language. The sessions weren't overburdened with intimidating orders or harsh discipline; instead, laughter, shared stories, and collective effort filled the air. A wolf-beastman instructor, known for his natural mastery of the wild, demonstrated tracking and swift coordination, while a seasoned human mentor spoke about the importance of protecting one's neighbor as if it were family.
Elias himself visited these sessions more than once. He strolled among the trainees, offering a word of encouragement here and a friendly nod there. "Remember," he would say in his warm, approachable manner, "this is not about proving your strength; it's about proving your care for those around you." Each encounter was met with genuine smiles, and slowly, the "People's Guard" grew into a symbol of the empire's values—courage, unity, and mutual respect.
News of the training spread quickly through the region. In communities where once only abandoned roads and empty fields remained, renewed vigor emerged as local youth enrolled in these sessions, proud to serve and protect their lands in the spirit of shared hope. Even those who had been wary of external intervention felt reassured by the honesty and simplicity of the approach. Elias believed that a well-armed but humble defense was exactly what would help solidify the trust among the disparate territories.
Meanwhile, in quieter moments within the palace, detailed records were kept of every training session, every volunteer's progress, and every success story that emerged from the field. Lira worked diligently to ensure that every report was logged as a reminder of how far they had come from the days of isolated struggles to united perseverance. "This isn't just about defense," she noted in one casual conversation with Aurora. "It's about showing that even in protecting our community, we build bridges rather than barriers." Aurora, listening in her soft yet insightful way, agreed, "When people see that their safety comes from among themselves, not an outside oppressor, they know they are part of something larger."
The People's Guard quickly became an integral part of the empire's identity. Every volunteer, every training exercise, and every small act of protection served as a quiet declaration that Geneva's expansion was not an act of aggression but one of genuine communal care. The field days, filled with shared meals and playful competitions, deepened bonds among the diverse ranks—farmers from remote villages learned under the same banner as craftsmen, scholars, and even the more agile beastmen who moved with silent grace. Over time, what began as basic training sessions evolved into community events—festivals of strength that honored the spirit of resilience and the value of every helper.
As the training field lay bathed in the fading light of day, Elias stood for a long moment, observing his people united in purpose. It wasn't the spectacle of a king's army parading for conquest, but a humble, unpretentious gathering of neighbors dedicated to their mutual well-being. "One day," he murmured quietly, "this force will be the backbone that supports not only Geneva but every community that has chosen to join us in building a future together."
By the end of that long, meaningful day, as the trainees returned home and the field grew quiet, there was a deep, lasting feeling of accomplishment. Each person left with the understanding that real defense came from unity—a concept that extended far beyond simple physical safety. In that field of earnest hopes and shared labor, the seeds for a peaceful, protective force had been sown. As Elias looked upward at the star-bright sky, he knew that these humble beginnings were exactly what his growing empire needed to stand tall in the face of any storm.