Warlord Conquering The Great Insurrection™ Book Three David Beers Michael Anderle This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both. Copyright © 2021 LMBPN Publishing Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected] Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing A Michael Anderle Production LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. LMBPN Publishing PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy Las Vegas, NV 89109 First edition 2021 eBook ISBN: 978-1-64971-402-2 Print ISBN: 978-1-64971-403-9 Contents Part I Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Part II Chapter 10 Chapter 11 The Written History of the Great Insurrection Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Epilogue The Written History of the Great Insurrection Author Notes - David Beers Author Notes - Michael Anderle Also by David Beers Books By Michael Anderle Connect with The Authors The Warlord Conquering Team Thanks to our Beta Readers Kelly O’Donnell, John Ashmore, Rachel Beckford Thanks to our JIT Readers Jackey Hankard-Brodie Angel LaVey Diane L. Smith John Ashmore Kelly O’Donnell Jeff Goode Dave Hicks Editor SkyHunter Editing Team Dedication For my brother, Danny. — David To Family, Friends and Those Who Love to Read. May We All Enjoy Grace to Live the Life We Are Called. — Michael Part I Chapter One “Eternal vigilance is the price of success.” —Adrian de Livius, father of the Titan Ares Ares was born Romulus de Livius. At birth, no one knew his call sign would one day be Ares; he was just a boy born to a prestigious family. It happened every day across the Solar System, but those children didn't have a father as ambitious as Romulus'. No one could have known what the boy would grow into. His father had plans for himself and his distinguished family. Romulus would remember his first lesson until his final breath, and that was his father's intention. The lessons Romulus learned as a child would shape his life as an adult. He was eight years old and already starting to demonstrate the physical prowess that would separate him from his peers. He got top marks in his sparring classes and had been ranked number one in his quadrant for two years. At six years old, this might not mean much, but by eight, the competition was rising. Romulus' father, Adrian de Livius, didn't attend all the sparring sessions and rarely visited a practice. He showed up at the ones that mattered, where his boy would be challenged. He monitored his son's progress closely, knowing that being the best would take eternal vigilance. When he heard his son was starting to slack off, he didn't immediately run to the child's room. He waited since he wasn't a man of quick temper. He was a hard man, though, and when the lesson was delivered, it would not be forgotten. A challenger had risen through the ranks, beating those who should have cut him down early and easily. Adrian didn't ask his son if he’d heard about him but rather watched the newcomer's rise. He racked up win after win, and without telling Romulus, Adrian went to watch this young challenger. He lacked Romulus’ physicality, as well as his strength, speed, and grace. However, Adrian immediately saw that what the boy lacked in natural gifts, he made up for in precision and technique—the fundamentals. He still didn't go to his son. He let the training sessions continue and read the reports from the trainer. The match was finally scheduled, this newcomer versus Romulus de Livius. Adrian was in attendance. A match went four rounds of five minutes apiece. Even at eight years old, matches could be brutal. The boys chose which fighting forms to use: hand to hand combat with wooden sticks, whips, and the like. In the first round, Romulus was stunned when the boy attacked him with a stick in each hand. Romulus used his single pole, and his speed kept the boy at bay, but the newcomer's technique allowed him to gain inch by inch. The two sticks came down again and again, but each time Romulus tried to strike back, he was blocked. The newcomer's shorter stick smacked Romulus across the face. The young boy fell to one knee, blood dripping on the ground from his mouth. The crowd gasped. No one could remember the last time Romulus had taken a blow, let alone one so devastating. Adrian did not gasp or move. From the stands, he watched his son. Slowly the young boy looked up, and there was fear in his eyes—fear of losing and of the pain that would come with it. He rose to his feet before the judge's count was finished, then reached up and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his forearm. The fight began again, and this time, Romulus was much more cautious. His usual speed and grace were marked by fear. The newcomer? He continued his relentless forward motion, chopping with his sticks, kicking, retreating when necessary. The first round ended, and the newcomer won. The only scorecard required was the bruise swelling up on Romulus’ cheek, the underlying bone most likely broken. The second round began, and Romulus came out with a fury of strikes—fists, pole, feet, anything he could use. He hit the new boy many times, but the most damaging attacks were turned away. At the end of his rampage, Romulus was winded, and the other boy showed no injuries. Romulus’ opponent started in again—a machine, much slower and less powerful than his opponent, but one who did not stop. Romulus was on the defensive, and the blow that dropped him this time was to his knee. Adrian didn’t flinch as his boy fell to
