Two weeks had passed since Zeke's meeting with Snow, and now, nearly all his preparations were complete. He had solidified his deal with Winter, reached an understanding with Snow, and secured the safety of his base within the Tribe.
Now, only one a few tasks remained before he could leave—and one of them was staring him in the face at this very moment.
Before him lay the makeshift prison camp, where the surviving Frostscale tribesmen were gathered. The once fierce warriors now appeared utterly defeated, bereft of any fighting spirit. Most had coiled their serpentine lower halves beneath them, creating makeshift seats as they stared vacantly into the distance.
The sight was a somber one.
Even though Zeke had faced them as enemies, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for these people. None of them had fought out of genuine hatred for the Icefang tribe; they had merely followed the commands of their Progenitor. And yet, they were all fated to die regardless.
Well, at least half of them were.
Zeke swept his gaze over the gathered crowd. There were some faces he remembered, such as the few mid-level officers he had negotiated with before, but most of the arrayed warriors were completely unknown to him. However, that would change soon.
Under his agreement with Winter, Zeke was permitted to take half of the prisoners, and he had no intention of squandering this opportunity. He would ensure that the most capable among them would not go to waste. For this task, Akasha's talents would be invaluable.
"You can begin," he instructed her mentally.
Moments later, he felt a slight pull on his Core as the spirit got to work. With her Spatial Perception, Akasha would identify the strongest among them and start questioning them about their combat experience, rank, and any specialized skills. Given her efficiency, she would quickly isolate the most valuable individuals.
As the minutes passed, Zeke noticed a shift in the prisoners' demeanor. Many began casting cautious glances his way. Akasha must have already started her interviews, likely sparking curiosity among the captives. Zeke's presence here was essential to reassure them that this wasn't some false hope. He was a familiar face, and they would remember the display of his Blood Magic in their last encounter.
His silent, steady presence—along with the unmistakable weight of his draconic aura—would make it far easier to persuade them to consider his offer.
While Akasha worked, Zeke's gaze drifted sideways to Gravitas, who stood beside him. He had asked her to accompany him, and though she'd shown reluctance at first, none of that hesitation was visible now. Her posture was tense, her eyes sharp and focused as she stared intently at a particular spot among the prisoners.
Following her gaze, Zeke spotted a woman lying on the ground. He hadn't noticed her before, but the fact that she had legs instead of a serpent's tail marked her as one of the rare Purebloods among the Frostscale Tribe.
Curious as to why he'd missed her until now, Zeke took a closer look and realized the extent of her injuries. She was unconscious, her body battered with multiple broken bones, and even her skull showed signs of trauma. Without proper treatment, it was questionable whether she'd survive, let alone recover fully.
"Who is she?" he asked aloud.
Gravitas, startled, quickly looked away from the unconscious woman, seeming to have been lost in thought.
"I fought her on the first day of the siege, Master," Gravitas replied. "I didn't think she had survived."
Zeke raised an eyebrow. "Is that your work?" he asked, gesturing to the woman's shattered body.
Gravitas nodded silently.
"How was she?"
Gravitas's expression turned serious. "Strong. I might not have won if she'd known about my abilities. She might have even been more powerful than Razeth."
Zeke's expression mirrored her seriousness. This was exactly the kind of talent he was searching for. If not for bringing Gravitas along, he might have overlooked the Pureblood due to her poor condition. But if he could secure a warrior on Gravitas's level, he would spare no effort in restoring her health.
"What do you think, Akasha?"
[Answer]
By providing rudimentary first aid and setting her bones, she might be able to recover naturally. The most concerning injury is the one to her temple, but there doesn't seem to be any significant swelling to the brain. Chances of recovery with Hosts intervention are high.
Zeke grinned; this was good news. The prospect of gaining such a powerful warrior's assistance, and without paying Korrovan's steep slave prices, felt like an absolute steal.
"I don't know much about the others, Master," Gravitas admitted after a moment. She seemed to think he'd brought her along to help choose the prisoners, but he hadn't asked her input on any of them beyond the Pureblood.
Zeke glanced at her. It was time to clarify his intentions.
"It's fine. That's not why I brought you here," he said.
Gravitas turned to face him, curiosity in her eyes. "Then, why did you bring me?"
Zeke gestured toward the prisoners. "This is a valuable fighting force—a force that needs a leader."
"Me?" Gravitas asked.
He nodded.
She studied him for a moment. "I don't understand," she said. "I've seen how well you lead the troops, Master. Surely, you're better suited for this role."
True to form, Gravitas was sharp; she'd already sensed something was amiss. "I'm not planning to take them with me just yet," he admitted.
Her eyes widened. "You… are leaving me here?"
Zeke nodded slowly. "Vulcanos isn't fit to travel, and I know you're reluctant to leave him. Don't deny it." He paused, but no protest came. Satisfied, he reached into his robes and pulled out a bundle he'd prepared for her.
It was a stack of books Akasha had written the night before, containing Zeke's insights into Gravitas' abilities and ways she could further develop them. He had given her the first volume earlier, but these would keep her occupied for a long time.
Gravitas took the books with reverent eyes; it was clear she'd come to appreciate the value of magical knowledge after getting a taste of it. The sight was gratifying.
"For now, my position in Tradespire isn't stable enough to bring an army inside. It might even be seen as an act of aggression. Still, I can't let this opportunity go to waste. I want you to mold them into a true fighting force, Gravi—one I can call upon when the time is right. Can I trust you with this?"
Gravitas looked between his face, the stack of books, and the prisoners. A moment later, her unfocused eyes regained their strength and she nodded decisively. "Always, Master."
Zeke met her gaze, pleased by the determination he saw in her eyes. "Very well. Let me clearly outline what I expect from you."
Gravitas straightened, her attention sharp.
"Ash will serve as the tribe's contact point, but you'll operate independently. You can either stay here or venture out on your own—that choice is yours."
Gravitas nodded, absorbing his words.
"My only requirement," Zeke continued, "is that you put every effort into honing their abilities—and your own. I'm leaving the methods up to you. If you think teaching them the Blood Boil technique is a good idea, go for it."
A slight smile curved Gravitas's lips, revealing her razor-sharp teeth. She was clearly pleased with the level of freedom he was giving her.
"You're free to push them as hard as you see fit. I'd rather have a handful of elites than an army of rabble. Even if only a few survive, that's acceptable. Do you understand?"
Gravitas nodded, her expression serious. "It will be done."
Zeke smiled and turned his attention back to the prisoners. Gravitas followed suit, but her gaze had noticeably changed. Now that she understood her role in their future, her look was no longer relaxed; she was sizing them up with sharp focus. It was a promising sign that she was already embracing her responsibility.
After a few more minutes, Akasha gave her report.
[Notice]
I have selected the most promising 344 individuals, exactly half their numbers.
"Have they given their consent?"
[Answer]
They have, but I am uncertain if they have fully grasped the severity of the commitment.
"It doesn't matter," Zeke replied thoughtfully. "With death as the only alternative, they can't afford to be picky."
Akasha remained silent, but as Zeke turned to leave, he sensed another slight draw on his Core, signaling that she was already instructing the prisoners. Moments later, the sound of movement filled the air as hundreds of Chimeroi rose, following his lead.
Zeke walked silently toward his base, the procession trailing behind him. The sight of so many Frostscale members moving in unison startled the guards at first, but they relaxed upon seeing Zeke at the front. In times like these, his reputation served him well.
They reached the entrance to the mine without incident. Zeke entered first, with Gravitas close behind. Rather than heading to his quarters, he led the group to one of the storage areas used during the war. With the need for large food supplies now gone, this space had been repurposed.
The entire floor was covered by an intricate circular carving, with interconnected lines weaving together in a dazzling, almost hypnotic pattern. At key intersections, affinity crystals were embedded, while the lines themselves were made from a rare alloy. Any skilled Mage would recognize this for what it was:
A ritual circle.
Yet even the most knowledgeable among them would struggle to decipher its purpose. Elements of the design hinted at components from major Rituals commonly used on the continent, but understanding the true capability of this creation would elude all but one.
Only Zeke knew the full extent of its power.
After all, it was his own design.
Zeke confidently strode to the center of the diagram, his feet alighting on a shallow platform. Immediately, Mana streamed into the design and several parts began to light up, bathing the dimly lit room in a chorus of variable colors.
Zeke's lips curved into a satisfied smile as he surveyed the ritual circle. This masterpiece was the product of countless hours of painstaking effort by him and Akasha. Even with his accelerated mental state, perfecting the ritual had been a laborious process. Now, only one step remained—to test his creation.
Almost on cue, the first of the prisoners slithered cautiously into the room. His eyes darted around, wary and uncertain, as he took in the glowing lines and mysterious symbols etched into the floor.
"Approach," Zeke commanded, his tone firm.
The man obeyed, moving carefully, avoiding the intricate lines as he stepped into the circle.
"Stop," Zeke instructed once the prisoner reached the intended position. The ritual circle was only designed to accommodate one person at a time, a limitation that was inconvenient but necessary—for now.
Zeke met the man's eyes and spoke, his voice steady. "Do you swear to live and die by my will, submit in body and mind, and carry out my instructions faithfully until your death or release from this bond?"
The man swallowed, his forked tongue flicking over his dry lips. After a brief hesitation, he nodded. "I swear."
"Are you aware that if your words are false, the process will fail and you will be sent back?"
The man nodded again.
This time, Zeke returned the nod and began circulating his Mana, initiating the ritual. The room filled with an even brighter display of lights as all the pathways of the circle lit up. But to Zeke's enhanced perception, the display was far more intricate, revealing a complex web of magical energies woven seamlessly into the contract. He took a moment to admire the fruits of his labor before feeling a familiar pull on his soul—a new connection forming.
Allowing the link to take hold, Zeke soon sensed the man's imprint. It was the mark of the modified Slave Ritual he had adapted, binding the man to him permanently. An invisible thread now connected their souls, marking them as Master and Servant.
The process took only a few minutes, but by its end, a sheen of sweat glistened on Zeke's brow. Performing it without Akasha's assistance had nearly overwhelmed him. If he was to handle all the prisoners, he would undoubtedly need to rely on her help.
Despite his exhaustion, Zeke maintained an air of dignified ease as he addressed the man who had just sworn allegiance. Now it was time to test the effectiveness of his Ritual.
"From this day forth, you are no longer of the Frostscale tribe," Zeke declared.
"Yes, Master," the man replied, his tone as if he had always addressed Zeke that way.
"Until further notice, you will follow all commands given by this woman, Gravitas. Her word is as my own."
"Yes, Master."
"Very good," Zeke said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Now rise. You have the honor of being the first among the Blood Legion." Finally, the man raised his bowed head, and Zeke saw a blazing determination in his eyes. The transformation was so startling that even Zeke was momentarily taken aback. The quiet resignation of the past few days had vanished, replaced by an expression of reverence and purpose.
It was as though the Ritual had breathed new life into his very soul.
"It is my honor, Progenitor!"