Chapter 2
The War for Illyria
The Drina River glittered under the waning afternoon sun, its waters winding through a land scarred by centuries of conflict. Walker Carroll stood on the ruins of an ancient Roman outpost, the Sword of Romulus strapped to his back. At twelve years old, his green eyes burned with determination that belied his youth. Serbia lay before him, a land torn apart by civil war and mistrust, but it would be the first step in restoring the Illyrian provinces to Rome.
Niko Bellic watched the boy closely, his expression unreadable. A veteran of the Serbian Civil War, Niko had seen too much blood spilled in these lands. His cousin, Roman, leaned against a crumbling pillar, scanning the horizon. Unlike Niko, Roman’s casual demeanor often masked a sharp mind and a loyalty that ran deeper than any war.
“Illyria,” Niko said quietly, his voice heavy with memory. “Do you even know what you’re walking into, Walker? This isn’t just a fractured land—it’s a graveyard.”
Walker turned to him, the weight of the Sword evident in his posture. “I know. But it doesn’t have to be. These people deserve more than endless division. They deserve unity, prosperity, peace.”
Roman snorted. “That’s a lot of fancy words, kid. You think words are going to get you through this?”
Walker’s gaze was unyielding. “Words, no. But action will. And I’m not here to conquer—I’m here to bring them home.”
Arthur Morgan, ever the pragmatist, stood nearby with his rifle. “The boy’s got heart. And maybe heart’s exactly what these people need right now.”
---
A Land of Shadows
The village of Bajina Bašta was their first stop, nestled in the foothills of the Tara Mountains. Once a thriving hub of trade, it was now little more than a ghost town, its people driven into hiding by mercenaries and warlords who claimed the land for Voldemort’s expanding empire.
Walker and his small group entered cautiously, their presence announced by the fluttering of the Roman banners they carried. At first, only a few villagers dared to step out from behind shuttered windows.
Niko spoke to them in Serbian, his voice steady and familiar. Slowly, they emerged—a farmer, a blacksmith, a handful of children clutching their mothers’ skirts. They looked at Niko with a mix of recognition and wariness, but their eyes widened when they saw Walker and the Sword of Romulus.
The boy stepped forward, addressing them directly in Latin. Though few understood the words, his tone carried conviction. Niko translated, his voice softening as he spoke to his own people.
“My name is Walker Carroll,” the boy said. “I am here to restore what was lost. Rome’s empire was not built on division. It was built on unity, on strength through shared purpose. I ask you not to follow me as a conqueror, but to stand with me as a brother.”
When the villagers still hesitated, Roman stepped in. “Look, you can stand here waiting for the next gang of mercs to come through and take what little you’ve got left. Or you can take a chance. The kid’s got a sword, a plan, and apparently, a lot of guts. Me? I’d take the chance.”
---
Rallying the People
The first spark of hope lit that day grew into a flame. As Walker and his companions moved from village to village, their numbers swelled. Niko became a quiet symbol of Walker’s vision—a man once scarred by war now fighting for peace. Roman charmed and cajoled, rallying support with his humor and charisma. Arthur brought a steady, commanding presence, ensuring their growing army was disciplined and battle-ready.
Each step deeper into Serbia brought new challenges. Warlords aligned with Voldemort controlled key strongholds, using fear to maintain their grip. In the city of Užice, Walker faced his first major battle.
The mercenary commander was a brutal figure who had terrorized the region for years, his forces entrenched in the city’s ancient fortress. But Walker’s army, guided by Niko’s knowledge of guerrilla tactics and Roman’s knack for improvisation, managed to outmaneuver the enemy.
The Sword of Romulus proved as much a symbol as a weapon. When Walker led the charge into the fortress, its golden blade seemed to cut through not just men but the darkness that had gripped the region. By nightfall, the city was free, and the villagers who had cowered in silence now shouted his name.
---
The Shadow of Voldemort
As the Illyrian campaign progressed, news reached them of Voldemort’s atrocities in Gaul. Muggles there were being driven underground, forced into labyrinthine caverns to escape the Dark Lord’s armies. The Bellics, hearing this, exchanged grim looks.
Niko spoke first, his voice low. “It’s like the old days all over again. Families hiding in basements, praying the war doesn’t find them.”
Walker looked to Sirius Black, who had joined them recently. “We’ll get to Gaul. But Illyria comes first. If we don’t secure the Balkans, we’ll be fighting Voldemort with nothing but words.”
Sirius nodded, though his expression was tight. “Just don’t let the delay cost us more than we can afford.”
---
The Next Steps
By the time the first snows fell, the Illyrian provinces were no longer a fragmented collection of war-torn lands. Under Walker’s leadership, they had become a unified front, a beacon of resistance against Voldemort’s encroaching darkness.
Niko and Roman stood with Walker on the banks of the Danube, the border of Illyria and the next step in their journey.
“What now?” Roman asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Walker’s green eyes gleamed with purpose. “Now, we take back what’s ours. Illyria is just the beginning. Gaul, Britannia—they’ll all come home to Rome.”
Niko nodded, a faint smile breaking his usual stoicism. “For once, I think you might be right, kid.”
As the winter wind howled around them, Walker raised the Sword of Romulus high. The war for the empire had only just begun.