The morning rose without color, just a dull grey stretching over the forest. No birds sang. No wind stirred the bamboo. Even the insects had gone silent.
Ben stood in full stillness, his eyes fixed on the tree line to the north.
"They're close," Mala murmured.
Behind them, the militia stood in formation. Three disciplined groups. Each soldier marked by routine, hardened by repetition, quiet in the face of uncertainty—but not afraid.
Every man and woman in the line had run the perimeter before the sun. Had eaten as a unit. Had stood shoulder-to-shoulder until the pain in their legs dulled into strength.
And now, they waited.
From the shadows, the Red-Clawed came.
Painted in blood and bone, howling as they marched. Overconfident. Loose. Laughing as if they were stepping into a feast rather than a fight.
Ben didn't move.
Kael gave a quiet order, and his flank took position. Jaron's spear wall held tight. Mala melted into the treeline with her hunters.
The Red-Clawed didn't hesitate. They surged forward in chaos, their war cries ripping across the field.
And then the slaughter began.
Ikanbi didn't meet them with screaming. They met them with silence and steel. Spears held low. Movements clean. Commands crisp.
The first wave of Red-Clawed warriors broke against Jaron's line like water against stone. The second hesitated—confused by the lack of panic.
Kael's fighters darted in and out of the gaps, precise, brutal, coordinated. Mala's team struck from above, silent blades opening throats before boots even touched the ground.
It was not a battle.
It was a demonstration.
The Red-Clawed had expected fear. Instead, they met formation.
They had expected disorder. Instead, they found timing, unity, and cold discipline.
Ben walked the front line with a calm that chilled the blood of the invaders. His blade stayed clean—he didn't need to fight. His army spoke louder than his steel ever could.
Within minutes, the Red-Clawed ranks collapsed. They tried to retreat, but Mala's units cut off their rear. They tried to regroup, but Kael's flank broke their middle. They tried to scream orders—but they had never trained to give or follow them.
They died in confusion.
When the last body fell, the clearing went quiet.
Blood soaked the dirt.
Not a single Ikanbi warrior had fallen.
Not one.
The few Red-Clawed who still breathed were dragged to the side—wounded, whimpering, eyes wide with disbelief.
Ben stood in front of them.
"You thought we were like the people you've destroyed," he said. "You thought because we wore no colors and spoke no gods' names, that we would scatter."
He crouched low to meet one warrior's eyes.
"You didn't meet a tribe today. You met a people with discipline. With purpose. With memory."
The Red-Clawed man tried to speak, but blood bubbled through his lips.
Ben stood, turned to his commanders, and said only: "Burn the bodies. Clean the blades. Re-check the perimeter."
No one cheered. There was no glory in it.
Only order. Only clarity.
The war had come to Ikanbi.
And it had ended before noon.
As the last of the Red-Clawed bodies were laid in a pile beyond the blood-soaked field, a low hum rippled through the earth—not sound, but a pressure, a pull. The hairs on every warrior's arms stood up. The bamboo behind the trial chamber swayed, though no wind moved.
Ben turned first, his instincts sharpened by war. From the shadows near the trail that wound behind the trial chamber—where no path had existed before—Twa Milhoms appeared.
No flames marked his arrival. No flash of light. Just presence—immovable, unmistakable.
His voice came like iron on stone.
"Do not burn them."
The warriors, frozen in the act of lifting another body toward the pyres, stopped at once.
Twa Milhoms walked forward, his bare feet silent against the damp soil. His eyes passed over the dead with neither judgment nor pity.
"They do not deserve fire," he said. "But their blood will not go to waste."
He lifted a hand and pointed toward the trail beyond the Trial Chamber.
"Take them there."
The warriors turned to look. Where once was forest and bamboo, now stood a new structure—a low, dark, stone building. Squared like a box, with only a single entrance carved into its face. Above the doorway, symbols not taught to any of them shimmered faintly. The stones themselves pulsed with ancient weight, like they'd been waiting beneath the earth for centuries.
"That is the Chamber of Offering," Twa Milhoms said. "It is for the bodies of those who die in violence, without honor. Their flesh will feed something deeper than soil."
Ben said nothing. He nodded once, giving silent command.
The militia, led by Kael and Jaron, began to carry the bodies—some with quiet reverence, others with caution—to the trail. As they approached the new chamber, the air around it thickened, as though something watched from within.
Mala stood beside Ben.
"What is it for?" she asked, her voice low.
"A warning," Ben said. "And a tool. Maybe both."
From behind them, Twa Milhoms spoke one final time before fading into the bamboo:
"Blood never leaves the earth. It remembers. And now… so will the ground beneath you."
Then he was gone.
No one dared speak as the doors to the Chamber of Offering creaked open—without a touch—and swallowed the first of the dead.
And just like that, a new chapter of Ikanbi had begun—one written in blood, sacrifice, and silent purpose.
As dawn rolled across the quiet plains of Ikanbi, the last embers of battle still smoldered beneath the soil.
The Chamber of Offering, now a silent monolith beside the Trial Chamber, pulsed faintly with power. No sound escaped from within—only a slow, rising warmth that pressed against the hearts of those who had fought.
Then, without warning, the air shifted.
A deep hum crawled through the earth, rising from the stone and into the bones of every warrior who had stood in the battle. Not everyone felt it—but those who did… changed.
Ben's Ascension
Ben stood at the front of his warriors, silent, still, watching.
Then it came.
A flash—not of light, but of understanding. His mark, always faintly aglow above his left brow, suddenly shimmered, and with it, the Roman numeral IV burned into place.
He said nothing. But everyone saw it.
Ben had become a Four-Ring Warrior.
The air around him grew heavier, clearer, deeper—as if leadership itself had taken root in his soul. He remained calm, unmoved, but inside, he felt the shift. A new clarity. A weight of foresight.
The Core Commanders
At his sides—Kael, Mala, Jaron, and Enru—all shivered slightly as the force passed through them.
Their marks deepened, their eyes sharpened, and beneath their skin, the strength of experience solidified.
Each now bore three rings—etched clearly above their left brow.
Enru, once an outsider, now stood as their equal.
The four of them were no longer just trusted leaders. They were Ben's inner circle, bound not just by oath, but by trial and ring.
The Militia Rises
Within the larger militia, many stirred as well:
Those who had been marked for weeks, but had yet to gain rings, suddenly felt their first ring take hold.
A handful—especially those who had fought on the front line and showed leadership or courage—felt a second ring form above their mark.
Some cried quietly. Some stood in silence. All felt the shift.
The Shadow Ring Transforms
From the encampment west of the main village, where the Shadow Ring had watched and bled beside Ikanbi's warriors, change rippled too.
Not all were changed—but many were.
Some, for the first time, received the mark of Ikanbi, seared cleanly above the left eyebrow.
Others gained their first ring, the reward for loyalty under fire.
A rare few—those who pushed beyond fear and self—were gifted with two rings, elevating them instantly among their peers.
The camp once seen as separate was no longer so. Now, it belonged.
They had bled with Ikanbi. Now they rose with it.
Ben stood before them all—his voice firm, but not loud.
"No reward was given," he said. "Only truth. You are not who you were. You've been changed. Molded by fire. Now, rise… and carry the weight of what that means."
Behind him, the Chamber of Offering closed itself again—silent, unmoving.
Its purpose, for now, fulfilled.