Chương 464: B7 - Chapter 17: A Weighty Letter

Zeke sat cross-legged on the stone floor, a dozen droplets of blood suspended in the air before him like rubies caught in amber. Each one pulsed with its own rhythm, maintaining perfect spherical form despite gravity's pull.

"Return," he whispered. Seven of the twelve droplets wavered, then darted back toward his outstretched palm. They struck his skin and vanished beneath it, rejoining his bloodstream with barely a ripple. The remaining five trembled, fought against his command for a heartbeat, then splattered uselessly against his forearm. Progress, but not enough. Zeke wiped the failed attempts away with practiced indifference. Two weeks ago, he couldn't manage even one successful return. Now he could reliably recall over half.

The seedling wrapped around his heart pulsed with each attempt, growing more responsive to his Will. Still, the drain was significant. Each droplet he imbued with the concept of return cost him more mana than a dozen ordinary blood spears. The inefficiency grated at him, but that was the nature of learning. Mastery would come with time—time he wasn't certain he had. [Notice] Host's success rate has improved by twelve percent since yesterday's session.

Akasha's voice echoed in his mind, clinical and precise as always.

"Only twelve percent?" Zeke muttered, already forming new droplets from a fresh cut on his palm.

"At this rate, I'll be dust before I master it." [Answer] The learning curve for Will manipulation follows an exponential pattern. Initial progress appears slow, but—"I know, I know." He waved her off, focusing on the blood hovering before him.

"Doesn't make it less frustrating." The blood began to take shape again, each droplet spinning slowly as he infused it with purpose. This was his reality now—endless repetition, gradual refinement, the slow accumulation of power. His days had fallen into a predictable rhythm: mornings spent wrestling with Will, afternoons dedicated to the World Anchor's mysteries, and nights... His gaze drifted to the corner of the workshop where the Mana Purifying Device sat dormant.

Tonight would mark his fourteenth session with the improved design. Just a few hours each night, but the results spoke for themselves. His Core had swelled with power, the seedlings growing thicker and more vibrant with each exposure. No addiction. No cravings. Just pure, efficient growth. Akasha had been right about the modifications. Whatever she'd done to induce that deeper meditative state had eliminated the device's most dangerous side effect.

He could use it sustainably now, pushing toward the peak of Grandmage without burning himself out. [Notice] Your usual guests are approaching the workshop entrance. Zeke's concentration shattered. The blood droplets fell, spattering across the floor in an abstract pattern. He pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache building.

"Again? What is it this time?" [Answer] Unknown. However, their demeanor suggests increased agitation compared to previous visits.

"Of course it does." He rose to his feet, brushing dust from his robes.

"Let them in. Might as well get this over with." The heavy door swung open before Konrad could knock. The man stumbled slightly, fist still raised, while his wife Sybilla clutched a leather folder to her chest. Both looked haggard, dark circles under their eyes suggesting sleepless nights.

"Lord von Hohenheim," Konrad began, his voice strained with forced politeness.

"We must speak with you about our son." Zeke gestured to a pair of chairs near his workbench, though he remained standing.

"As I've told you repeatedly, Kieran made his choice. Both your children did."

"Children don't always know what's best for them," Sybilla interjected, her knuckles white around the folder.

"Surely you can understand a parent's concern?"

"I would have more sympathy for your situation were you to show the same care for Kallen as you do for her brother." The words came out sharper than intended, but Zeke was tired of dancing around the truth. Konrad's face flushed.

"How dare you—""We've argued about this exact topic seven times in the past two weeks," Zeke continued, his voice flat.

"Every day since, you've tried to convince your son that his oath was coerced, that he's being manipulated. Every day, he's rejected your arguments." The couple exchanged startled glances. They hadn't known anyone was listening to their private conversations. Good. Let them squirm.

"You've been spying on us?" Sybilla's voice pitched higher.

"You live in my estate. You work for my house. Did you think your conversations were private?" Zeke let a hint of his draconic aura leak out, just enough to make the air grow heavy.

"Your son is exactly where he wants to be. Your daughter is thriving. The only problem here is your inability to accept that they've chosen their own paths." Konrad stood abruptly, his chair scraping against stone.

"This isn't over. We have rights—""You have exactly the rights I grant you," Zeke cut him off.

"Even if we were of equal standing instead of lord and servant, you would have no leg to stand on in this matter. Neither in the court of law, nor in the public eye, nor in the realm of morality do your demands hold any merit. It is time you both finally understood that fact." Before either could respond, Akasha's presence flared in his mind—not with words, but with urgency. Something had happened. Something significant. [Notice] Intelligence received.

Empire forces have deployed an Exarch against elven military units. Thousands confirmed dead. No response from elven leadership yet. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The blood drained from Zeke's face. An Exarch. Used in open warfare. The implications crashed over him like a cold wave.

"What sort of a Lord would speak in such a—""Get out." The words emerged as barely more than a whisper, but they carried more weight than any shout. Konrad opened his mouth to protest, but something in Zeke's expression stopped him cold.

"I said get out. This matter is settled. If you bring it up again, you'll be seeking employment elsewhere." His voice had gone eerily calm, the kind of stillness that preceded a storm.

"Your son remains in my service. Accept it or leave. Those are your only options." Sybilla tugged at her husband's arm, recognizing the danger. They retreated hastily, the door slamming shut behind them with a resonant clang. The moment they were gone, Zeke sank into his chair. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed them flat against the workbench.

"Tell me everything." [Report] Initial intelligence suggests a single Wind-attribute Exarch intercepted elven reinforcements heading to Rukia. The entire force was eliminated in under five minutes. No elven Exarch responded. The Empire is claiming the action was defensive, citing the elves' non-signatory status to the Accord.

"Defensive." Zeke laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"They're rewriting the rules of warfare and calling it defense." [Analysis] This action will likely force a response from the Elven Matriarchy. The continental balance of power has shifted dramatically. Zeke's mind raced through the implications. The Accord had kept Exarchs from being used as weapons of war for generations. It was the only thing preventing the strongest individuals from simply conquering whatever they pleased. If the Empire had found a loophole...

"He planned this," he muttered.

"No wonder the Emperor didn't fear an elven response. If he were willing to use Exarch-level powerhouses, then their interference would be negligible. There is no way the Matriarchs would ever leave the forest. With this, he has them over a barrel, and he knows it." [Concurrence] The tactical pattern matches previous Imperial strategies. Create a situation where the enemy must respond, then exploit that response with disproportionate force. Zeke stood and began pacing, his earlier experiments forgotten.

Every major power on the continent would be scrambling to respond to this. The Alliance would be in emergency sessions. The dwarves would be fortifying their positions. And the elves...

"Margret. Is she—?" [Answer] No further communication after she informed us of this situation. Given the situation, silence is expected. The Matriarchy will likely restrict all external communications. Of course. His one reliable source of information about elven movements would be cut off just when he needed it most. Still, knowing Margret was there, possibly in danger, added another layer of urgency to an already critical situation. The workshop suddenly felt too small, too confined.

Zeke's gaze swept across his various projects: the blood droplets drying on the floor, the notes on spatial manipulation scattered across his desk, the dormant Mana Purifying Device waiting for tonight's session. All of it seemed trivial now. His steady progress, his careful plans, his measured approach to gaining strength—none of it mattered if the continent erupted into Exarch-level warfare.

"The children," he said suddenly.

"Where are they?" [Answer.] Currently in the eastern garden with my projection. Today's lesson covers basic Mana circulation theory. They remain unaware of current events. Good. Let them have a few more hours of innocence. Soon enough, they'd learn that their awakening had come at the precipice of a new age, one where the old rules no longer applied. Zeke moved to his desk, sweeping aside the spatial theory notes to reveal a map of the continent.

His finger traced the borders between nations, lingering on Rukia's position relative to the elven forests.

"Show me everything we know about Imperial force movements." Akasha's projection materialized beside him, gesturing at the map. Glowing markers appeared, indicating known positions of the Ehrenlegion, supply lines, and potential staging areas.

"Based on current intelligence, the Empire has committed approximately sixty percent of the Ehrenlegion to the subjugation of Rukia's main strongholds. This leaves their eastern borders relatively exposed, though still defended well enough that no standing army can break through."

"They're all in," Zeke murmured.

"Whatever they're truly after, they're willing to risk everything for it." His mind kept circling back to the same questions. Why now? What had changed? Augustus Geistreich had waited centuries to make his move. Every action had been calculated, measured, designed to achieve maximum effect with minimal exposure. Using an Exarch openly broke that pattern. It was a declaration, a challenge to the entire continental order. It said: We are strong enough to break the rules. Stop us if you can.

"The King will summon an emergency session," he said, thinking aloud.

"Tradespire can't remain neutral if Exarch-level combat becomes normalized." [Analysis] Estimated 94% chance of an emergency council within 48 hours. Your attendance will be mandator y. Zeke nodded absently, still staring at the map. The careful balance he'd been maintaining—building his strength while avoiding direct confrontation with the Empire—was crumbling. Soon, everyone would be forced to choose sides. His gaze drifted to the World Anchor, sitting innocuously on a nearby shelf.

The cube pulsed gently with spatial energy, a reminder of the power he'd only begun to understand. The space within had grown steadily over the past weeks, expanding from a small room to nearly the size of the workshop itself. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I need to accelerate everything," he said quietly.

"The timeline just collapsed." [Question] Shall I begin preparations for advanced training regimens?

"Yes. And..." He paused, weighing the decision.

"Begin drafting the Honor Guard ceremony. We'll need to move quickly with the twins." The thought of using the ritual on children barely into their magical awakening felt wrong, but the alternative was worse. If war came—when war came—he couldn't afford to have his secrets exposed. The Mana Purifying Device alone would make him a target for every power on the continent. [Notice] Beginning preparations. Estimated time for ritual setup: six hours.

"Make it four. And increase tonight's device duration to five hours." [Notice] Extended exposure may risk—"I know the risks." His voice carried an edge of steel.

"But playing it safe is no longer an option." Zeke returned to the map, his mind already spinning through contingencies. The Empire had changed the game. The careful dance of politics and gradual accumulation was over. What came next would be decided by strength alone. His hand clenched into a fist, blood seeping between his fingers from the earlier cuts. Without conscious thought, he shaped it into a needle-thin spike, imbuing it with the concept of return.

This time, when he released it, the blood shot forward like an arrow, pierced the air in a perfect arc, and curved back to sink seamlessly into his palm. Perfect execution. It had only taken the complete upheaval of continental politics to achieve it. Zeke laughed bitterly at the irony. Then he got to work. There was too much to do and far too little time to do it. The age of chaos had begun.