CHAPTER 12: In the Hands of the Enemy - Part 3

  “Whenever the Emperor conquers a region, you are dispatched to document the ancient facilities within and assist with their destruction.”

  “Not all facilities are destroyed outright. Some contain vital components, which I extract prior to the demolition.”

  “A wise decision, Your Excellency.”

  “I am not a subordinate of the Emperor in the strictest definition. Years ago, the Emperor sought an Artificer to initiate his Artifica project. He required my expertise, and I, in turn, needed his resources for my Umbra research. Our association is based upon mutual necessity. Stop, not so short.”

  Eiran stepped back, gripping his scissors. At this distance, he was sure he could stab him.

  The Artificer looked at him. “You still think of neutralizing me. DO NOT. The Wraiths are faster.”

  “Your Excellency, you misunders–”

  “I am not his dependent factor anymore. After Kargadin fell, I began gathering Artifica components. Sailing from there under the pretext of addressing Isofean ancient facilities, my projected destination, however, was Arvane. Along the way, I deviated and made a stop at Fhon. That was the point at which our paths intersected, correct?”

  “Your Excellency, I don’t understand a single word–”

  “I am explaining this to ensure you understand who I am and what my objective is. It is imperative for you to understand the kind of master you will serve.” Neuvane stood and threw off his cloak. “Gardioz is a constant that will inevitably converge upon me, necessitating reliable allies. I seek devotion, not mere obedience born of fear.”

  Eiran stood still as if stunned by a jellyfish. He never imagined his target would recruit him. On the other hand, Neuvane never asked why he wanted to kill him. Whatever his story, it was negligible. He belonged to him.

  “Your confusion warrants clarification. Let me address the question in your mind. I discern your identity from the way you tie knots, tack, and other practices. There are subtle disparities between the Terzionite and Isofean navy. For instance, given the Northern Terzionite navy operating in frigid waters, they avoid folding sails as you do due to the concern that damp sails may freeze.”

  “Your Excellency, I think–”

  “You also whistled once. Terzionite sailors would not do this because of the superstition correlating whistling with the occurrence of storm.”

  Throughout his time on the Ira Vith, Eiran was always tense and fully alert. Now that he could no longer deny it, he felt a strange relief.

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  “Do not misinterpret me. I am not presenting you with an option. I have already selected you. In exchange for your loyalty, I will provide you with what you desire, something beyond single organism capabilities – within constraints, naturally. That was how I earn their devotion.” Neuvane gestured towards the ships around them.

  “I will instruct you in compliance once we arrive in Arvane. Meanwhile, you may contemplate your request while undergoing basic combat training.”

  Before Eiran realized it, a Wraith was at his side, grabbing him until his arm tingled and taking him below deck.

  The encounter with Neuvane made Eiran realize he was more afraid than he cared to admit. He was not ready for the consequences. All his thoughts of holding Neuvane and Sciast accountable were mere fantasies. When the tiger turned, the hunter fled.

  The Ira Vith only carried high-ranking officials and essential crews, which is why Neuvane could provide him with a private cabin. The cabin was medium-sized, enough for a spearmen to wield his weapon. There were no windows, with Artifica lamps in the ceiling providing all the light.

  He did not plan to accept Neuvane's offer of servitude, but he was not in a position to refuse either.

  The first person who came to him brought a measuring tape. He measured his body in silence, the only sound being the hiss of the tape sliding from one end to the other.

  The second person recorded his physical peculiarities and combat experience while bombarding him with questions. All this was used to determine his training schedule, diet, combat style, weapons, and ideal instructor.

  Then came the third person. She measured Prana and Mana. Both were difficult to measure for various reasons, but the primary reason was that the measurement required the subject's cooperation. If the subject falsified the results, no one would know.

  Eiran had nothing to hide and underwent the test without any intention of disrupting it. She brought in a wooden board with a round crystal embedded in the center. This crystal was connected to a series of smaller crystals arranged in a spiral outwards.

  The principle of this test was simple. Each small crystal acted as a container for Prana. The crystal would glow once filled, and any excess Prana would flow to the next crystal. The more crystals lit up, the greater the subject's Prana.

  Eiran placed his hand on the main crystal in the center and channeled his Prana. He was surprised to find twelve small crystals glowing. This result was slightly above the average capacity of a passive Prana Decimae, usually around ten crystals. Had Lorn misjudged him before? Even so, Prana within him still did not flow smoothly, being intermittent and colliding with itself.

  The examiner removed the crystals from the board and replaced them with others to test Mana capacity. The principle was the same. He placed his hand again, but this time, not a single crystal lit up.

  Eiran himself was taken aback. He had taken this test in Isofea before, managing to light up sixteen crystals, which was considerable compared to the average of ten. He tried several times but still failed.

  She replaced the crystal with a backup set. Again, he failed to light even a single crystal. Annoyed, she assumed Eiran was not cooperating. The three of them then agreed that he was suitable as a frontline fighter, armed with a pair of iron gauntlets.

  Frontline? Fighter? He was puzzled, but he had no chance to ponder over it. As soon as they left, the first instructor was already waiting at the door.

  Every day, the instructors tried to cram as many lessons as possible into his mind and body, then proceeded to beat them out of him. Neuvane wanted him to think, but with such training, his mind was occupied solely with surviving the next session.

  Neuvane even provided a dedicated Healer to mend his wounds. He felt like a ragdoll thrown into a dog pen to be torn apart, then stitched back together every night. And, to his own surprise, he was enduring it.