A long exhale left Averon’s mouth.
He didn’t realize how tense he had been until that moment. His shoulders eased, and the tightness in his chest slowly loosened.
The decision was already made.
There was no point in thinking about what could have been done differently. The boat had sailed. All that remained was to see where it would take him.
"Did you get a Title, Lord Isaac?" Simraj asked.
Isaac immediately noticed the change.
A few minutes ago, it had been Sir Isaac. Now it was Lord Isaac. It was a welcome change.
"I did. It’s called Prime Lord. What does it do?" Isaac asked, though he knew the answer already. Catherine had taught about it to him during one of their study sessions.
"It boosts the effect of your Talent by twenty percent. And the Talents of Sub-Lords under you by ten percent," Simraj said without hesitation.
Isaac nodded.
Nothing unexpected.
Still, hearing it out loud made it feel more real.
He turned his attention to Averon.
"Averon, do you have a Lord Talent?"
"...Yes," Averon said after a brief pause. He wasn’t used to revealing his secrets to someone so easily. But since Isaac was now his Lord, he had to do it.
"What is it?" Isaac asked.
"[Favour of War]. In battles where more than fifty of my troops are involved, they gain... what I’d call a coincidental upper hand. Enemies’ aim miss more often. They stumble occasionally. Their weapons malfunction. Cannons jam. It’s small things, but they add up. On the other hand, my troops find it easier to land hits, maintain formation, and react in time," Averon explained.
"What’s the rank?" Isaac asked.
"Transcendent," Averon replied smugly, finally able to recover a bit of his pride.
Isaac raised a brow slightly, though there was no real surprise in his expression.
Averon had been monitored by Mother’s Organization. They would do that only if Averon was extremely talented.
"How many people know about this Talent?" Isaac asked.
"Around nine. They’re my closest people. The ones I trust," Averon said.
"And everyone else?" Isaac asked.
"They think I don’t have a Lord Talent," Averon replied.
That answer made Isaac’s gaze sharpen slightly.
Averon continued, as if he had already expected the question.
"My Talent deals with probability and luck. Those kinds of abilities can be countered if people know what to look for. There are skills, items, even formations that can suppress or distort probability-based effects. So I kept it hidden. I made it look like I had nothing."
Isaac didn’t respond immediately.
His thoughts moved in a different direction.
If Averon had hidden his Talent this well... then how did Mother’s Organization know about his potential?
That wasn’t something you could easily guess. Not without a method. Either someone close to Averon had leaked information, or the organization had a way to detect future potential.
Neither option was comforting.
For now, Isaac pushed that line of thought aside. This wasn’t the time to dig into it.
"From today, you have a Lord Talent," Isaac said.
"What?" Averon frowned.
"I’ll come to your city tomorrow," Isaac said, then paused briefly before correcting himself. "Actually, I’ll send my clone now. He’ll bring you troops. A lot of them."
"You’ll... send me troops?" Averon blinked, confused.
"Yes. You’ll say you created them using your Lord Talent."
"...Created?" Averon repeated. "Not summoned?"
Isaac shook his head slightly.
"They already exist. They’re from Emily’s city. I’m going to make a clone of them."
That only made things more confusing.
Averon stared at him, trying to process what he had just heard. He did understand what Isaac was saying, but the sheer absurdity of the words made them hard to understand.
"What do you mean they already exist, and you will clone them?" he asked.
"I mean exactly that. Don’t worry about feeding them. I’ll handle provisions. If the numbers become too much for your city to sustain, I’ll take them back. But as far as everyone else is concerned, you created them," Isaac said.
Averon opened his mouth, then closed it again.
His mind was struggling to keep up.
"I can clone troops," Isaac said.
He didn’t make it dramatic. He simply stated it.
Then he acted, pulling out a summon stored in his mind.
A faint ripple of mana spread, and a figure appeared in front of them.
It was a tall, humanoid lion with black and golden fur. It wore fitted armor and held a heavy warhammer in one hand.
The summon, Hammer Goliath, bowed immediately.
"Greetings, Lord Isaac."
Isaac gave a small nod, then looked back at Averon.
"I don’t know if you remember this one from the livestream. It was one of the Champion-ranked troops that—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Averon was staring.
His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes were locked onto the summon. There was no mistaking it. He recognized it.
Simraj spoke when Averon was too stunned to speak.
"Forgive me for interrupting, Lord Isaac. But... is this a prank? This troop... was it brought from Lady Emily’s city? Because cloning is a bit...."
A bit too impossible to believe.
His voice was controlled, but his hands weren’t. There was a faint tremble he couldn’t fully hide.
"I don’t have time for pranks. I’m serious. There are some restrictions, but right now, I can clone troops from Emily’s city and use them as my own," Isaac replied.
He let that sink in for a moment before continuing.
"I’ll summons the clones after arriving in Averon’s citys. You’ll claim they’re from your Lord Talent. If anyone asks how you suddenly gained one, just say I gave you a Lord Talent ticket. It forcefully unlocked your Talent, and this is what you got."
Averon nodded slowly.
He was still staring at the Hammer Goliath, unable to believe his eyes.
His attention shifted back to Isaac after a moment.
There was a strange look in his eyes now.
Confusion. Shock. And something close to disbelief.
What was wrong with this guy?
That was the only thought in his mind.
How did he have so many abilities like this?
It didn’t make sense.
Then something clicked.
Averon’s eyes widened.
"Wait," he said suddenly. "If you can copy troops... does that mean you have two Crimson Sky Wyrms? And duplicates of all Emily’s summons?"
Isaac didn’t answer.
He just smiled.
That was enough.
"This is cheating!" Averon said immediately. "What the hell is this? Why do you get so many broken abilities? Where’s the fairness in this system?"
Isaac chuckled.
"There was never any fairness to begin with," he said, standing up.
Averon muttered something under his breath, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but he didn’t argue further.
"Let’s go. We have a meeting with the other Lords," Isaac added.
Averon grumbled for a few more seconds before pushing himself to his feet.
As they were about to leave, Simraj spoke again.
"Lord Isaac, since Lord Averon is now under you, I’ll take my leave. I need to return to the city and inform everyone. There’s a lot that needs to be arranged, especially with the incoming troops. May I go with your clone?" he asked, bowing slightly.
"Okay." Isaac nodded.
He took off his spatial ring and tossed it toward Simraj.
Simraj caught it instinctively. He didn’t think much of it at first. But when he looked inside, his expression froze.
For a brief moment, he thought he had seen it wrong.
"There are four thousand EXP potions inside. That’s for this month," Isaac said casually.
Simraj didn’t respond immediately.
Four thousand.
Not four, or forty.
Four thousand.
His grip tightened slightly around the ring as he tried to steady himself.
"...Understood," he finally said.
His voice was steady, but only barely.
Isaac didn’t say anything else. He had already started walking toward the exit.
Averon followed a step behind him, still muttering occasionally.
Simraj remained where he was for a few seconds longer, staring at the ring in his hand.
Then he took a slow breath, closed his eyes briefly, and turned in the opposite direction.
A small smile appeared on his face.
Perhaps, a golden age was about to begin for the Solkara race.
...
Inside the Meeting Hall
Nine chairs were arranged around a large round table in the center of the hall.
Seven of them were occupied.
Six Lords. And the Third Priest.
Each of those six Lords was a powerhouse in the region, figures who stood just below Florathi in influence and strength. Even Florathi, would not treat them lightly.
Behind every seated Lord stood two subordinates.
No one in the room was weak.
Even the least among them had reached Level 55 Overlord. Every single one belonged to an Apex-species. The pressure in the room wasn’t something an ordinary person could even stand under, let alone understand.
"So, what is your plan with the boy?"
The speaker was a massive green snake coiled beside one of the chairs. Flames flickered faintly around his body, like a second skin.
Fafnir.
His Lord Chat alias was [FlameGorgon].
"If you think you can just gobble him up, then you are wrong. He is too resourceful. And with the Great Stampede almost upon us, we need him. His resources matter more than whatever short-term gain you might be thinking of," he spoke to the Third Priest.
The Third Priest sat quietly, hands resting on his lap. He looked like a frail old man, red hair falling loosely around his shoulders. From his head rose a pair of deer-like antlers, marking him clearly as a Florathi.
His eyes were closed.
That was the most noticeable thing about him. No matter the situation, his eyes remained shut.
"We have no plans of gobbling him up. We simply wish for him to come and offer thanks to the World Tree for its generosity. After that, if he chooses to join one of you, that will be his decision," the Third Priest replied.
A faint smile rested on his lips.
"Generosity?" another voice cut in, sharp and dismissive.
All eyes shifted.
Hass.
He sat leaning slightly forward, his grey humanoid body marked with cracks that ran across his skin like dried earth. His presence felt unstable, as if something beneath the surface was always on the verge of breaking through.
His Lord Chat alias was Ashroot.
"What exactly did the World Tree do to deserve thanks? You talk like it’s some divine being, but at the end of the day, it’s just a tree that can speak. Are we even sure it isn’t just some kind of monster pretending to be something more?" Hass spat.
The moment those words left his mouth, the atmosphere in the hall froze.
Every Lord present was powerful enough that Florathi had to consider them carefully. But that only applied as long as certain lines weren’t crossed.
Hass had crossed one.
The World Tree wasn’t just important to the Florathi. It was their foundation, their faith, and their identity.
And the Third Priest...
He was known for his absolute devotion.
Insulting the World Tree in front of him was touching his reverse scale.
"...My ears must not be working properly after the journey," the Third Priest said slowly.
He turned his head toward Hass.
His eyes remained closed, but he seemed to be able to see Hass.
"Did you say something, Sir Hass?"
Hass let out a short laugh.
"Stop the act. You think I’m scared of you? Everyone here knows what’s happening. Florathi is crumbling from the inside after your Emperor retreated. You’re not what you used to be. Those little phrases of yours aren’t scaring anyone anymore," he sneered, leaning back slightly.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Behind the Lords, several subordinates stiffened.
Some of them instinctively shifted their stance, preparing for the worst. If a fight broke out here, it wouldn’t stay contained within the hall. The entire city could be dragged into it.
They understood why Hass was acting like this.
His son had entered an Abyssal Gate alongside the second and sixth Princes of Florathi. The expedition had returned with significant gains of resources, artifacts, and power.
But Hass’s son and his troops never came back.
The official explanation was simple. They were attacked. Things went wrong.
Hass didn’t believe it.
He believed his son had been betrayed. Killed so the Florathi princes could claim everything for themselves.
And now, that anger was spilling out.
The Third Priest remained still. But his eyelashes trembled slightly.
That small movement was enough.
Several people in the room tensed further. They knew what it meant.
If he opened his eyes, things would escalate beyond control.
A battle between him and Hass would be devastating.
Hands moved subtly toward weapons. Mana began to circulate, quiet but ready.
And then—
"Third Priest, you shouldn’t get angry at Hass."
The soft, and almost lazy voice came from the side.
But it cut through the tension cleanly.
Bella.
A shifting mass of dense mist occupied her seat. Her form was constantly moving, swirling inward and outward. If one listened closely, they could hear faint sounds within her. Cries, whispers, broken voices that never fully formed into words.
Her Lord Chat alias was MistQueen.
"It’s not worth it. You can’t expect monkeys to understand the value of a gun. In the same way, it’s a bit much to expect Hass to understand why the World Tree deserves respect," Bella said, her carrying a faint edge of mockery.
There was a pause before she added, almost casually,
"You should pity him instead. Being born with such a limited capacity for intelligence isn’t something he can control."
The Third Priest’s eyelashes stopped trembling.
"I suppose you are correct," he said after a moment.
He relaxed again, choosing not to open his eyes.
A few people in the room let out quiet breaths.
The immediate crisis had passed.
Hass, however, did not look like he was done.
Before he could speak again, Bella sent a telepathic message.
’Do something! That idiot is going to get himself killed if he keeps talking!’ she all but shouted in the telepathic communication.
Fafnir suppressed a sigh.
He didn’t disagree.
Part of him wanted to physically slap Hass with his tail, but he also understood where the anger was coming from.
Still, this wasn’t the place for it.
He sent a quick message to Hass, telling him to stop.
There was a brief pause.
Hass’s expression tightened, but he didn’t speak again.
That was enough for now.
"Can we return to the main topic?" another voice said.
Sisyphus.
He had been silent until now, sitting with his hands clasped together. Unlike the others, his presence wasn’t overwhelming at first glance, but there was a weight to him that became clearer the longer one paid attention.
"How are we going to deal with the Lord of this city?"
That brought the conversation back on track.
Bella shifted slightly forward, her misty form condensing a bit.
"I have a suggestion," she said. "Before that, let me ask something. Do we all agree that we are civilized people?"
"Of course."
"That goes without saying."
"We’re not beasts."
One by one, the Lords nodded.
Some gave verbal confirmations.
"Good. Then let’s handle this in a civilized way. We will offer him incentives. Proper ones. Resources, protection, opportunities. Each of us will make our offer, and he will choose based on that. Once he chooses someone, others need to accept his choice," she said.
She added, "And no one uses underhanded methods like manipulation, coercion, or other hidden tricks to force him into joining their side. Agreed?"
There was a moment of silence.
Then—
"Agreed."
"That’s reasonable."
"I don’t see an issue with that."
"I agree with Bella."
One by one, they voiced their agreement.
On the surface, it sounded a fair, almost ideal, choice.
X-019, the giant mechanical ant that stood behind the Third Priest scoffed internally at this scene.
He was not born yesterday. He knew how heinous these Lords were.
While they were acting like saints, most of them should’ve already used some kind of underhanded trick to manipulate or force Isaac to join him.
’Severs you right. Did you really think you were something special because the Spirit of Water is on your side? You are but a blip who lucked out with some special abilities. All you can do is wait like a crop to be harvested by other lords, and become a resource for their growth,’ X-019 thought as he recalled how condescendingly Isaac had replied to him in the morning.