Leylin descended into the dark basement of his Zither Moon Town mansion, the air cool and heavy with the scent of damp stone and faint traces of alchemical residue.
The chamber was stark, its walls unadorned save for the faint glow of embedded crystals that cast long shadows across the floor. His boots echoed softly, a deliberate rhythm that announced his presence, and as he entered, seven boys aged fourteen to fifteen stood as straight as spears, their expressions neutral, hands clasped behind their backs like soldiers awaiting their general.
In perfect unison, they bowed, their heads dipping low, a silent wave of respect to their master.
'They've learned well.' he thought, his lips curving faintly, though his eyes remained sharp, assessing.
He paced forward, the boys lining both sides four on the left, three on the right a silent gauntlet of youthful strength.
The stillness was absolute, their breaths barely audible, and Leylin matched their silence, his presence a quiet storm that filled the room.
His robes brushed the floor, the fabric whispering as he moved, his mind a whirl of calculations and emotions, pride in their explosive growth from mere orphan kids to full fledged Knights, but a colder intent lurking beneath.
He stopped at the room's center, turning to face them, his gaze sweeping over their faces, each one etched with discipline and deference.
"Did you have your meal?" he asked, his voice calm but warm, a trace of softening in his usual stern demeanour, as if checking on their well-being was a ritual that grounded him.
"Yes, Milord," they answered in unison, their voices clear and fervent, bowing deeper as if the acknowledgment carried the weight of an oath.
The synchronized response made his heart swell with the power he held over them, though a faint pang of responsibility tempered it.
He regarded them for a moment, his expression unreadable, then spoke, his voice low and deliberate, laced with a quiet intensity. "I'm sure you're unaware of why I've called you. It's actually a very important business I need to discuss with the seven of you." His words hung in the air, heavy with purpose, and he paused, letting them sink in.
"You have been under my care for the last three years. Eating my food, living under my roof, training under my people, taking the potions I brew, and learning from the best of the best to become the Knights that you are." His tone turning a bit cold.
"At the age of only fifteen, every single one of you is a full-fledged Knight. Remarkable, isn't it?" His voice lifted, almost playful, but his eyes gleamed with a darker intent. "But now, there is something that I must ask of you."
Unseen by the boys, Leylin's fingers closed around a small potion bottle hidden in his sleeve, crushing it with a soft crack. A colorless, odorless gas seeped into the air, invisible and insidious, curling around the boys as they inhaled it unknowingly.
His heart tightened, a flicker of emotions in his eyes, but his face remained impassive, a mask of cold resolve.
'This will reveal their truth.' he thought, justifying the act.
The boys stood silent, waiting for him to continue, their eyes fixed on him with unwavering trust. But seconds later, their bodies betrayed them one by one, they sank to their knees, strength draining as the tranquilizing potion took hold, leaving them limp and vulnerable.
Their gasps were soft, confused, their faces pale with vertigo, and Leylin remained expressionless at the sight, his purpose unwavering.
He drew his sword with a slow, deliberate rasp, the blade glinting in the crystal light, and fixed them with a cold, serpentine gaze, his yellowish eyes glowing like a predator's.
His body radiated a dense, undulating pressure, a dangerous aura that pressed against the room, making the air thick with menace.
"Tell me," he said, his voice low and chilling, each word dripping with a quiet menace, "out of seven of you, who is willing to offer their life to fulfill their destiny for my goals?"
The boys shivered, fear mingling with the potion's fog, their minds stripped to instinct, unable to reason beyond the heart's truth. Leylin watched, his grip tightening on the sword's hilt, his heart calm as a still lake.
'Will they prove their worth, or falter?' he wondered, a venomous edge to his thoughts, though a faint hope flickered that they'd all choose loyalty.
Slowly, agonizingly, they moved, crawling with paralyzed limbs, their breaths ragged as they dragged themselves to lay their heads at his feet.
One by one, all seven surrendered, their foreheads pressed to the cold stone, offering their lives to their master, their god, their creator—the man who had shaped their world.
Leylin's inwardly sighed, but with a surge of triumph, their devotion a mirror to his power and burden.
He stared down at them, his expression cold, gripping the sword's hilt until his knuckles whitened, a venomous smile curling his lips. "A bunch of idiots," he huffed, his voice a mix of scorn and reluctant admiration, the words cutting through the silence as he sheathed the blade with a sharp click.
'They'd give everything.' he thought, a bitter edge to his newfound powers, 'but I can't be that cruel.'
He had planned to kill any who defied him, to weed out weakness and use them as experiment but their unanimous loyalty disarmed him, leaving a flicker of mercy where ruthlessness had reigned.
He turned and strode out, the weight of his decision settling over him like a cloak, heavy but not unwelcome.
Outside, Greem stood waiting, his broad frame tense, his eyes shadowed with worry. Leylin met his gaze, his voice cold but steady. "Go, take care of those kids," he commanded, a trace of weariness softening the edge. "Let them rest."
Greem bowed deeply, gratitude flooding his voice. "Thank you, my lord," he said, his tone thick with relief, his shoulders sagging as if a weight had lifted.
He had raised these boys like his own, and though he'd never question Leylin, their survival was a quiet victory that warmed his heart. Leylin's gaze remained icy, unmoved by the sentiment, his mind already shifting to colder calculations.
"Following me while being weak can be a curse more than a blessing," he said, his voice low and cutting, a warning laced with frustration. "Even you are at a point where you can't help me at all. I need a stronger force. I have a way, but who knows which of you would survive to live and serve me." The words were a challenge, his heart heavy with the truth he needed power, not sentiment, and the path ahead would spare no one.
"To die for the honor of serving you is our greatest fortune," Greem replied, his voice fervent, unwavering, his eyes burning with loyalty despite the grim promise.
Leylin's lips twitched, but his expressions were buried beneath his indifference, but he turned away, dismissing the sentiment with a wave.
He climbed the stairs to the balcony, where Anna awaited with his afternoon tea, the delicate aroma of chamomile and honey curling through the air.
The evening sky stretched wide, painted in hues of gold and violet, and Leylin's heart eased, the tension of the basement fading under its quiet beauty. The potion he'd used on the boys was crafted with care their memories of this day would be fogged, lost in a haze, sparing them the trauma of their near-sacrifice.
'They'll never know how close they came to death.'he thought, a flicker of relief softening his resolve, though he masked it with a sip of tea, its warmth grounding him.
He settled into a recliner chair, its cushions yielding under him, and gazed at the horizon, the tea's steam rising in delicate spirals.
"Anna," he said after a sip, his voice soft but probing, a trace of thought breaking through his usual steel, "do you think it's a weakness to not go through with your plans or to renege on them?"
Anna paused, her brow furrowing thoughtfully, her finger tapping her chin in a gesture so earnest it drew a faint smile from Leylin. "I think it's a sign of intelligence and foresight to have plans," she said, her voice gentle but earnest, her eyes bright with sincerity. "But plans do change under circumstances, and I don't think changing plans or even abolishing them is any way a sign of weakness—it's just a sign that things have changed." She hesitated, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "But I can't express myself properly," she added, her tone apologetic, almost shy.
"Things have changed. Yes, that's true," Leylin said, his voice low, a quiet revelation threading through it as he leaned back, the tea's warmth seeping into his hands. He thought of the boys, of why he'd forged them into Knights. As an acolyte, their sacrifice whether as summons in his soul space or as test subjects had been a necessity, the backlash of failed experiments a real threat.
"Back then, every loss mattered," he murmured, his tone tinged with nostalgia, a rare softness in his gaze as he recalled his more vulnerable self.
But now, as a Magus, those concerns were trivial. "Neither the summon acolytes I have, nor the failure of their experiments, matter anymore," he said, his voice steady but laced with a wry amusement, as if laughing at his own past fears. "For me, it doesn't really matter." The realization was freeing, a weight lifting, and he chuckled, the sound rich and unguarded. "Haha, although I became a Magus, I'm still thinking like an acolyte. So stupid." The self-deprecation was light, but genuine, his heart lighter for it as he set the teacup down, the clink a soft punctuation.
He called the A.I. Chip's interface, its familiar hum a comfort in his mind. "Select Sauron and the red-haired girl summon," he said, his voice firm with purpose, excitement sparking as he envisioned the next step. "Start their soul merging, using their elemental meditation technique from the same academy as a basis. Take Sauron as the main soul component, the girl as the supporting one, and begin merging their souls." The command was precise, his heart racing with anticipation, the experiment a bold leap into uncharted power, a reflection of the Magus he'd become one who dared to reshape destiny itself.