The next morning, King Aldric III announced his decision to the court: Thornwick would pay the tribute. Ten thousand gold crowns would be scraped together from the treasury, the nobles' coffers, and even the mage's circle. A delegation would ride to the Three Sisters Pass within the week to deliver the payment and sign a treaty of "protection" with the Veridian Empire. The kingdom would survive—but as a vassal in all but name.
Caspian Vane was furious. Kaelen saw it in the way the heir clenched his fists, in the tightness around his jaw, in the cold silence that followed him back to Vane Manor. The duke was equally displeased, but more pragmatic. He had voted against the tribute, but he would not rebel openly. Not yet.
"My father says we have no choice," Caspian muttered to Kaelen as they walked through the manor's gardens. "He says the Empire will crush us like an egg. But I say we could have fought. We could have bled them. Made them remember Thornwick."
"Bleeding them would cost thousands of lives, my lord," Kaelen replied carefully. "And at the end, they would still win. A Tier 6 champion is not something courage can overcome."
"Then what do we do? Lie down and die? Pay them until our children are born into slavery?"
Kaelen stopped walking. He turned to face Caspian, his expression bland but his grey eyes sharp. "We do neither. We wait. We grow stronger. And when the time is right, we strike."
Caspian stared at him. "Grow stronger how? We have no Tier 5 cultivators. No Tier 6. The Empire's weakest general is stronger than our strongest knight."
"For now," Kaelen said. "But power is not static. People advance. Artifacts are found. Alliances are forged." He paused, letting the words hang. "And sometimes, enemies make mistakes."
The heir's eyes narrowed. "You speak as if you know something I don't."
"I know only what I see, my lord. And I see a kingdom on the edge of a knife. The question is which way it falls."
Caspian was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "You are strange, Voss. Too clever for a commoner. Too calm for a Tier 2." He shook his head. "But you saved my life. I will trust you—for now."
Good, Kaelen thought. Trust is the first thread of the leash.
The tribute delegation was scheduled to depart in five days. Caspian would be part of it—his father insisted that a Vane be present to witness the humiliation, to remember it, to fuel the fires of revenge. Kaelen would accompany him as his sworn sword. But before that, there was another matter: the cult in the Thornwood. Magister Elora had convinced the king that the cult posed a threat to the silver mines, and a second, larger expedition was being organized to root them out. Duke Alaric had volunteered his household knights, including Caspian and Kaelen, to join the expedition. It was a way to keep his soldiers busy, to prevent them from sitting idle and brooding over the tribute.
"Two birds with one stone," the duke had said. "We clear the cult from the woods, and we keep our men sharp. The Empire will not invade immediately—they will take the tribute and wait. They want us to feel safe before they tighten the noose."
Kaelen saw the wisdom in it. But he also saw opportunity. The cult worshipped something old—perhaps something that could provide the essence he needed to break through to Tier 4. The avatar had been a weak fragment. What lay deeper in the Thornwood might be far more potent.
That night, he returned to the sewers and cultivated with renewed intensity. The Shard pulsed, feeding him visions of the Thornwood's depths: a sunken temple, overgrown with roots, where a heart of corrupted crystal beat in slow rhythm. A Tier 4 entity, perhaps, sleeping and dreaming. If he could absorb even a fraction of its essence, the barrier between Tier 3 and Tier 4 would shatter.
But it is dangerous, the Shard warned. That which sleeps can wake. And a Tier 4 corrupted entity is not the same as a Tier 4 cultivator. It is wrong. Twisted. It may try to corrupt you in return.
I have been wrong and twisted since I was seven, Kaelen thought. What is a little more?
He rose from the cistern and returned to the manor. Dawn was breaking over the city, painting the rooftops gold. The expedition into the Thornwood would leave at noon.