Maelor huffed, "Come on, guys. What else did we expect? It's not like the Highswords would suddenly start upholding the promises they made when accepting all those tributes. Since when have they cared for innocent lives?"
The baron, Lord Silas, and all the Dawnstar nobles stared at their prince in shock as he spoke so openly in front of the third rankers.
Worldscribe released a fraction of her aura, her voice cutting like steel. "Do not forget your place here, student."
"Enough!" Damian snapped, his irritation breaking through. "Don't harm the patients. Control your aura, or I will throw all of you out of here."
This time, it wasn't just the nobles who were stunned. Even the Highswords froze, startled by Damian's sudden and unvarnished anger. Worldscribe begrudgingly withdrew her aura, and the other third rankers regarded Damian as if seeing him for the first time.
"Do you still feel the urge to play peacemaker? The High Table awaits…" Hellseeker said with a detached tone, clearly unbothered by the heated exchange.
Damian was at a loss. Negotiation felt futile now. Even if the Highswords agreed to intimidate the empire, it would render this entire deal meaningless if they were not ready to fight for it. The emperor needed to be stopped, but the idea of making things too easy for the rival kingdoms left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He couldn't deny that much of what the emperor said was true. The other kingdoms weren't innocent—many had likely crossed imperial borders in aggression. Worse, some corrupt nobles had perpetuated the horrors of slave trading.
The empire, with its large population of beastmen and unique physical traits of the natives, had always been a prime target for slavers. Even with the emperor's strict laws against it, the underground slave trade had persisted. For it to continue in secret, the nobles of other kingdoms had to be involved, collaborating behind the scenes.
Damian felt the weight of the truth pressing down on him. Whatever path he chose, none of it was simple or clean.
Damian took a breath, centering himself. "Yes. Give me half an hour," he finally said.
The Highswords left reluctantly. Runefather and Worldscribe hesitated as though wanting to stay, but the others urged them along. Once they were gone, Damian sighed and turned to the others.
"I'm going to propose something insane," he said, his tone half-resigned. "Go freshen up, treat your wounds, and meet me in the training room in ten minutes. I will tell you about it."
His friends nodded and dispersed, retreating to their rooms in the academy. They all stank of blood and sweat, the grime of battle clinging to them. Only Lucian, Maelor, Fiona, and Adrian lingered.
"What in the hell is going on here?" the baron asked, breaking the silence.
Lucian exchanged a glance with Damian. "I'll explain later. He has something to do first."
The baron studied Damian, their gazes locking. "The Morph Vialist," he said, a small smile breaking through. "Thank you for saving me and my people. I can't believe a boy whom the whole world shunned as a dimwit is now ordering third-rankers like it's nothing."
"You've done something extraordinary," Lord Silas added, his tone sincere. A chorus of gratitude rose from the Dawnstar lords who had survived.
Silas held up a hand to silence them and continued, "But you've made an enemy of the empire. Now that they know about you, they'll never stop coming for you."
"I know," Damian replied simply.
"Is that him?" the bald knight asked, nodding toward Sam in the distance.
The baron and Silas turned to look, their expressions softening. "The miracle survivor," someone murmured.
"Don't call him that," Damian said, his voice low. "He hates it."
Patting Lucian and Fiona on their shoulders, Damian turned to leave. Before he did, he said, "When I come back, I'll send you all somewhere safe. Decide where you want to go."
Reize followed him to his room, her touch both gentle and unwavering as she helped him undress and tend to his wounds after his bath. When Damian reached for his casual clothes, she swatted his hands away, insisting on dressing him herself. He smiled faintly at her stubborn care, then pulled her into his arms, collapsing onto the bed beside her. They lay in silence in each other's arms for a moment, the weight of the world hovering just beyond the door.
Her dark, thoughtful eyes eventually landed on his troubled face. Sensing his turmoil, she pulled back slightly and asked, "What is it?"
He hesitated, the words forming clumsily in his mind before tumbling out. "The emperor... he doesn't strike me as someone who can be reasoned with. But I don't want to help Dawnstar or the other kingdoms either. Everything is a mess. I feel like…" Damian paused, struggling to give voice to thoughts he barely understood himself.
"You feel like?" she prodded gently, her gaze intent, as if she could see the knots forming inside him.
He exhaled slowly, then admitted, "I make things. I've always wanted to make things—not because I wanted to be the best or prove how clever I am, though I'd be lying if I said that wasn't part of it. But it was more than that. I wanted to create things that I wanted and needed but no one else ever bothered to make.."
Her eyes widened, a flicker of understanding flashing across her face. "That's… that's a lot to—"
"I know," Damian interjected, a nervous edge in his voice. "But right now, that feels like the only idea I can give myself fully to. Everything else feels forced. Like I'm just reacting to other people's choices. This... this feels like mine. But I can't do it alone. I'll need help—a lot of it."
Her expression softened, and she reached for his hand, her voice trembling slightly. "I've lost everyone I ever loved. I never thought I'd find anyone who cared for me again. But then… you showed up. I'm with you, Damian. Always. Whether you march into the hell of war or build a world of your own."
Her words settled over him like a quiet balm, and he leaned in to kiss her gently, finding solace in her presence. As long as she stood by him, nothing else mattered.
Damian's thoughts were clearer now than they had been in a long time. The Highswords were fragmented souls, lost to their own ambitions. The four kingdoms were too blinded by greed and power to see beyond their borders. Even the well-intentioned among them were swept away by the tide of dysfunction.
And the emperor? Let him do as he pleased. Let the kingdoms fend for themselves.
Damian had a different vision. He wasn't a conqueror or a warrior. He was a creator. He would build something the world had never seen—a city untethered from war and greed, a haven for those seeking peace. A place for hope and dreams.
It wouldn't be easy. Building such a sanctuary would take time, effort, and an enormous amount of help. And even after it was built, keeping it peaceful would be a challenge of its own.
But Damian smiled faintly, his resolve hardening as he held Reize close. It would be worth it. Every moment, every struggle—worth it. His greatest creation yet.