Almost without realizing it, the days slipped by. Daion got up, woke Aelith—because even if she never lifted a finger, he wasn't about to suffer mornings alone. She gave him an adorable little "Fuck you" before being dragged outside by him. They went down the stairs and headed to the baths. Surprisingly, the fortress had at least the bare minimum of decency to keep them separated.
The Summoned always stared at him with curiosity. Even though the fortress had suffered at least one Corrupted attack every day—and Daion had absorbed plenty of Omega energy—he was still ranked E. His body was definitely stronger, and he was still alive, which confused most people around him.
He came out and waited for Aelith. He ran a hand through his hair, guided by vague memories; it had grown noticeably longer, though at least he'd taken the time to shave.
Aelith emerged next, shaking her head and ears, splattering water everywhere. Daion shot her an irritated look, but she just kept walking. They climbed to the top of the tower, and Daion knocked on the door rhythmically—same as he did every day.
A soldier opened it, sighing the instant he saw him.
"You again? How many times do I have to tell you Lady Seraphine hasn't arrived yet?" the guard asked. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly annoyed.
"Well, it's been a week of me asking already," Daion began with a mocking tone, "so I guess only about three more until you either let me talk to her or we're both dead."
"Tough luck for me, then." The guard answered with sarcasm and began to close the door.
"At least let me go on the expedition I requested," Daion insisted, stopping him and meeting his eyes. The soldier hesitated. "I need to do it because—"
"Not my problem." The man cut him off. "I already told you. Get yourself a team or you're not leaving. And the slave doesn't count, especially if she won't fight."
Daion glared at Aelith. She just looked away.
"What about Loryn?" Daion pressed.
"We can't afford to lose one of the only two Champion-ranked Summoned. Sorry, but you're not leaving so easily—not after what happened last time."
"And what the hell did happen last time?" Daion asked. The soldier just sighed and shut the door.
"Not your business, Summoned. Get back to your patrol."
Daion sighed and kicked the door before walking off. Aelith, despite always claiming she hated him, tagged along. She probably figured being seen alone was riskier—someone might try something—so sticking with her buyer meant fewer problems.
Daion headed toward the outer area of the fortress. One of the enslaved Summoned handed them food. Daion had to pay for Aelith's share. He had stopped dwelling on the fact that others like him were enslaved—part of him feared it could easily happen to him too.
The day was the same as all the others. They patrolled the outer gate, killed a few Devourers that wandered too close to the fortress, made sure nobody from their squad went missing. Then Daion just lingered outside, waiting for the daily attack.
Hours passed. At one point, Daion found himself wondering how things were going back in SteelWall. How Selka was holding up. Then his thoughts shifted to Cadenar, before his eyes fell on Aelith, still ignoring his orders—though every now and then, she'd glance at him with curiosity. Sometimes, when looking toward the horizon, he could spot Corrupted creeping near the frontier. But something was off. From what he overheard among soldiers, the Corrupted were becoming more active, their levels rising steadily. Luckily, Thaloren was stationed nearby, and any Corrupted that came too close were obliterated in seconds. That week, Daion had done nothing worth mentioning.
The day ended as uneventfully as it began. As they made their way back into the fortress, a few soldiers eyed them curiously—including the one Daion had saved. He whispered something under his breath. Daion narrowed his eyes at him, then looked away with a sigh.
I wonder what they're saying? He remembered the man from SteelWall. Would they be running their mouths this much if I had just let him die?
"Hey," Aelith said, walking close beside him. "If you're so desperate to go exploring, why don't you just go? No one could really stop you."
"I don't know. Something happened back then, and after that they stopped letting Summoned head into the Corrupted Zone alone," Daion explained. They hadn't told him much more than that. "Besides, I need a team to explore. I'm not stupid enough to go alone—I'd be dead in two days."
"And I'd be dead with you…"
They arrived at the fortress mess hall, a wide space where soldiers and Summoned went back and forth collecting whatever food was available. Daion picked up a meal for himself and paid for Aelith's too. He was starting to realize how expensive it was just keeping a slave alive.
They sat at one of the long tables and started eating. Daion stared at his plate: a chunk of horned rabbit and flavorless rice. A true military delicacy, no doubt. The visions had been hitting him frequently these past days, but they only reinforced what he already knew. He let out a sigh of disappointment and then glanced at Aelith, who was devouring her food without a single thought for its quality. Daion chuckled under his breath.
"How have you been feeling?" he asked.
"Hm?" Aelith looked up, puzzled. "Fine, I guess. Everyone sees me as a tool. Only the slaves treat me decently… but they vanish after a few days, so it's not even worth talking to them."
"Vanish…?" Daion echoed, as if forgetting how disposable demi-humans were considered.
Laughter echoed as that group of Summoned appeared. They were the most notorious in the fortress: four high-ranked Summoned. Liam, the Master-ranked leader—just one tier below Loryn—walked naturally, ignoring his companions' laughter as he sat down at the table beside Daion.
Daion sighed with irritation when they took their seats next to him, the memory of how they had thrown that soldier to his death still fresh in his mind. He had ignored it at the time—fighting against four higher-ranked Summoned would have been suicide—but the sight of them alone made his blood boil. Aelith shifted uncomfortably in her chair as well, and Daion wondered if she had seen it too.
"Getting stronger every day, aren't we?" said the group's woman, Amelie. She had dark, curly hair, bronzed skin, and carried a strange double-bladed sword. To Daion, she looked like some warrior princess from half-remembered stories. "At this rate, we'll need even more soldiers as bait."
"Well, if they're useless in battle, they might as well keep the heroes alive, right?" said the team's tank, a bald, hulking man in an oversized suit of armor, wielding a hammer twice Daion's size. The group chuckled at his remark.
The other Summoned—a man with sharp eastern features—kept eating silently. Daion had heard he was mute. And finally, their leader spoke, his voice heavy with energy, words that carried weight.
"I wouldn't be too harsh on myself. The missions were completed," he said with a light smile.
"Did you see Brut's face when those guts splattered all over him? He looked like a complete psychopath," Amelie mocked, laughing. "The whole village must have been terrified when they saw him."
"And I still won," Brut declared. Amelie rolled her eyes. "Fewer people died on my mission. You owe me dinner."
"Oh, please. Your mission was to kill a minor Corrupted, and you still let ten civilians die just to test its strength," she complained casually, clearly not the first time they'd had this argument.
Their bickering dragged on for several minutes. Soldiers ignored the talk of using civilians and soldiers as bait, though their sidelong glances revealed their disgust. Daion received some of those looks too.
"A deal's a deal," the leader said, taking a swig of beer. "Pay up." Then he noticed Daion, who sat clenching his fist in frustration, trying to focus on his food.
With a hint of interest, he leaned closer.
"What do you think you—?" Daion started, pulling back instinctively. Aelith raised her gaze nervously as the man drew near.
"Almost didn't recognize you. Your hair's gotten longer—it suits you." He brushed a strand of bluish hair from his own face, then grinned at his companions. "Hey, look, it's our little admirer."
The others turned their attention to Daion. Amelie shoved Aelith from her chair, sending her crashing to the ground with a dull thud. Aelith glared up at her, but the Summoned's cold, predatory stare was enough to make her instincts scream and force her to step back.
"Vermin," Amelie muttered.
"You talking about me or her…?" Daion didn't bother finishing the thought. Their relationship might have been nothing more than master and slave, but he wasn't about to let them intimidate her.
"Easy now, no need to get aggressive." The bluish-haired Summoned—Ken, if Daion recalled correctly—slung an arm around his neck with casual familiarity. Daion met his look with quiet disdain. "Heard a rookie Summoned's been trying to form a group to head into the Corruption. That you?"
"Not your business." Daion glanced at Amelie, who was still playing with Aelith's food. "Can you stop that? I paid for it."
"You're wasting it on a slave. What's the point?" Amelie said flatly. Daion was about to stand, but Ken's grip forced him back down.
Ken… one of the fortress's oldest Summoned. There was a cynical gleam in his eyes, twisted together with amusement.
"We've got a mission deeper into the Corruption. We leave in two days, back in a week," he said. His tone wasn't a suggestion—it was a decree. "We need five Summoned, and you'd make the fifth. No reason to refuse, right?"
"Except for the fact I'd be stuck with a bunch of assholes," Daion shot back. Ken's hand tightened on his shoulder, sending a sharp jolt of pain through him.
"Yeah, well, that's the risk we both take, isn't it? You can even bring your slave along—but don't expect us to feed her." He stood, and the group followed, laughing as they went.
"Can I ask you something?" Daion called out, watching them leave.
"Why not?" Ken turned, cautious.
"What did you feel when you killed that soldier? Just to use him as a distraction?" Daion asked, locking eyes with him. There was doubt in his voice, and Ken, like a vulture, sensed it.
"Well, I did feel bad for him." His companions glanced his way but lowered their heads, following his lead. "But I had to sacrifice someone so the rest could survive. That's what a leader does, isn't it?"
They walked away, leaving only Daion and Aelith. He exhaled and glanced around. Nearby, a group of soldiers tossed the food of a slave Summoned to the ground, mocking him. Then they passed by with bowed heads as other higher-ranked Summoned entered the hall.
Both of them stood and walked through the barracks.
"If you hate me so much, why do you stay close?" Daion asked, glancing at Aelith.
"There's not much to think about. If I leave, I die. If I stay but don't stay close, I die."
Daion nodded, though the answer didn't satisfy him. He had noticed her trembling hands. She was truly afraid—and it wasn't hard to see why.
As they neared the baths, a soldier intercepted them. Her brow was furrowed, and her brown eyes bore into them.
"I suppose you're Daion, master of the slave Aelith, aren't you?" she asked, her voice drilling into his thoughts.
"I suppose. What do you want?" Daion replied, tense and defensive. She smiled faintly and handed him a letter sealed with an official stamp, her gaze flicking arrogantly toward Aelith.
Daion clicked his tongue, broke the seal, and read the letter calmly.
'To Summoned Daion, we have received multiple complaints about fur in the women's bathhouse. We regret the inconvenience, but we cannot allow our facilities to fall into disrepair. Effective immediately, you are hereby fined 500 veyls for each bath taken by the slave Aelith.'
"This is bullshit!" Daion shouted, tearing the letter to shreds. The soldier only kept smiling. It wasn't optional, and there was no way to fight it without standing against the Divine Guild itself. "Just feeding her already costs me 200 veyls a day."
"Well, you should have considered the cost of maintaining a disposable property before you bought one," she said, moving to leave.
Daion grabbed her arm. "You hypocrites. You complain about how the Summoned act, and then you do everything possible to make a little girl's life miserable…"
"No offense, Summoned, but what you or your pet have to say isn't my concern." She slipped free of his grasp with ease and walked away arrogantly, leaving Daion clenching his fists.
He glanced at Aelith. Her fur bristled, her teeth grinding together as though about to fuse.
Daion pressed his hands to his face, then slammed a fist against the wall, the room trembling slightly. He started walking down the corridors, looking for someone who could overturn such a ridiculous order. Part of him felt powerless to act. But another part wanted—needed—someone to take him seriously.
As he turned into a long corridor, something made him stop cold. Flowing black hair. That violent stare. Seraphine stood ahead of him, gazing through a window, a faint smile of resolution on her lips.
Daion approached cautiously. She glanced at him, then ignored him.
"Hey…"
"Shhh." She pressed a finger to her lips, then gestured outside. "It isn't time for you and I to talk yet, arrogant Summoned."
Daion followed her gaze. Outside, soldiers gathered in a ring. They dragged another soldier forward, striking him as he resisted. The Summoned looked on, either serious or entertained. Not surprised. Never surprised. Sometimes Daion forgot—the Summoned weren't the only ones forged in this kind of fire.
He knew what it was the moment he saw it. He had been in the front row too many times before. In his mind, the fortress vanished—he was in uniform again, watching another overweight man being dragged the same way. Desertion. The greatest sin a soldier could commit. And in violent societies, there was only one punishment.
They threw the man to the ground. He cried, shouted words Daion couldn't hear through the glass—but he knew them all the same. "I'm afraid." "I have children." "It's not worth dying for them." Over and over, those words echoed in his head.
The soldiers didn't hesitate. They tied him to a mast, ripped away his clothes like weeds being torn out, and spat on him.
The man lowered his head. A soldier stepped forward with an axe, standing ready at his side. Then came the youngest soldiers, each handed a wooden club. Among them, Daion spotted the boy who had once asked his rank. His face was more hollow now, his eyes fixed on his bleeding comrade.
They scare the recruits… make them understand the consequences, Daion thought, watching the officers goad the boys forward. One stepped up and swung until his club broke, the condemned man twisting in pain. And they force them to take part, so they can never deny being part of it.
He glanced at Seraphine. She nodded, as if reading his mind, then began to walk away.
Daion turned back. One by one, the recruits gave in to the pressure. They broke his legs. Smashed his face until even Aelith covered her mouth in disgust. Finally, the boy from the measurements stepped forward, trembling. Daion almost wanted to beg him not to. But the boy raised his club, shaking, then struck again and again until it splintered, bloodied shards scattering across the ground.
The boy staggered back, pale and shaking. The executioner lifted his axe high.
The deserter raised his gaze. Nothing human remained in his face, but Daion knew one thing—fear had turned into something else. His determination to escape had become a wish to die.
The axe fell. Aelith turned away, but Daion did not. He watched the head roll, watched the soldiers cheer the coward's death while the recruits stared hollow-eyed into the void. Cold dread filled his veins, and a thought struck him: the system only worked because someone commanded and someone obeyed.
Are the Summoned really so far from that rule? What happens to the ones who don't follow the standards, who defy the Divine Guild—or what they're supposed to be?
"Heroes don't last long." That's what the god had told him. He remembered Thaloren—so powerful, yet still bound to the fortress, forced to do nothing but defend the border. If the Corrupted weren't what killed heroes, then what was?
He looked to where Seraphine had stood. She was gone.
For the first time, he remembered what it truly felt like to be a soldier. Should he fight against everyone and die? Or just survive, bitter and empty? He looked at Aelith. She trembled. She was just a girl, no matter how much she denied it.
He turned away, a new thought solidifying in his mind. If he couldn't fight the system, then he would play by its rules.
Aelith followed in silence. Daion was tired of only obeying orders—but he had to grow stronger if his voice was ever to carry weight. The only way to do that was to go all in, even if it meant betraying what he believed.
He sought out the group of bastard Summoned. No matter how much he hated them, they were his only card to play. He almost felt the god's approval at his choice—but he ignored it. This decision was his. Loryn had been right: he was a hypocrite. But he wouldn't let that hypocrisy define the world.
"I'll do it. I'll go with you."
End of Chapter.