A tidal wave of pressure burst from Atem's chest.
It was not sound. It was sensation—an inner force that rolled outward like heat from a great forge. The cave itself seemed to inhale. Pebbles that sat loose on the floor trembled. The damp air pressed closer to his skin. Atem's shoulders squared as if a cloak had been placed on him; something in him remembered how crowds parted and how courts fell silent at his presence.
<
Atem let the feeling settle. He tasted iron and old incense at the edges of the pressure. Being a king had always been partly posture and partly obligation—now that posture hummed through his bones.
"I need to know everything," he said. "Step by step."
<
<
1. <
2. <
3. <
Atem listened and pictured each step like a general studying a map. The Oracle continued with practical instructions.
<
<
<
<
<
Atem rose and tested it like a man learning a muscle.
He focused on a quiet level—presence only. He let the warmth in his chest push out, not to command, but to temper: small, like sunlight warming skin.
A small Kuriboh, summoned earlier and perched on a stone, looked up. Its nervous energy, always a jitter, softened. The fuzzy orb blinked slowly and settled like a child leaning against a trusted shoulder.
"Can you feel that?" Atem asked quietly.
Kuriboh chirped, less frantic. It hopped to his shoulder and nuzzled.
Dark Magician watched from three paces away. "Master," he said in his calm, resonant voice, "your presence steadies the spirits. They synchronize more readily."
Atem let the aura dim. The effect lasted only a few breaths but left a clear impression: allies were steadier, their actions a little quicker and cleaner. The Oracle noted probabilities.
<
Atem nodded. Small things mattered.
He increased intensity to firm and tested a direct command on Dark Magician and a summoned Celtic Guardian.
Atem stepped forward, lifted his chin, and spoke clearly: "Celtic Guardian—form left flank. Dark Magician—cover the center."
The Celtic Guardian moved without hesitation, blade sweeping into place. Dark Magician threaded a ward to cover Atem's right. The coordination snapped into place as if they had rehearsed it for years.
Dark Magician inclined his head. "Master, your directive was concise. My response registered as tactical alignment. The aura augmented our cohesion."
Atem felt the subtle reward of command working—clean, efficient, not forced. The Guardians behaved like officers following a well-understood order.
<
A pack of fang wolves slunk through a shadowed pass, eyes glinting and teeth bared. They smelled intruders, hunger sharp in their motions. Atem did not reach for a weapon. He inhaled, centered, and lifted his presence to firm, then spoke in a voice that filled the small chamber.
"Stop."
The single-syllable command was like a drum. The wolves' hackles rose, then fell. They stalled mid-lunge. Instead of snarling at Atem they lowered themselves a fraction, disoriented—instinct pressed by something older than fear.
One wolf snarled and shook, trying to push through the hollow force. Atem pressed slightly more, not cruelly, only enough to insist. The wolf stared into him, then backed away with the others, uneasy but alive.
The Oracle provided a readout in his mind: <
Atem exhaled, hands unclenching. The experience was powerful but not absolute—wild animals could be coerced into submission if his will overshadowed their instinct.
He decided to test a stronger demonstration. The cave echoed with the heavy steps of an Armorsaurus, a lumbering beast with plated hide and a tested temperament. Its nostrils flared as it sensed intrusion. This was not a small predator; it was a territorial force.
Atem drew in deeper. He raised his voice to the crown level, the imperative binding. The pressure roared out of him like a tide that demanded attention.
"By my will—halt!"
The Armorsaurus slowed almost imperceptibly. Its eyes clouded. For a few heartbeats, its powerful legs trembled. The beast hesitated—teeth bared, head lowered, confusion flaring where aggression had been.
Then, almost like a stone struck too hard, it shook itself and pushed forward. The authoritative pressure had slowed it, but it did not submit. The Armorsaurus' raw, lizardlike will was too strong to yield entirely.
Atem felt the strain in his chest like a physical weight—this level of command cost him. The Oracle warned instantly:
<
He released the projection. The beast snorted and retreated a cautious few meters, uncertain but still dangerous.
Atem realized the boundary: Pharaoh's Authority could dominate many, but not all. Strength of target, its will, and Atem's own reserves decided outcomes. He had to be careful—overreach left him open.
He combined Pharaoh's Authority with King of Games in a controlled test. A tempest serpent—fast and cunning—slithered from a pool, scales shimmering. Instead of forcing it to bow, Atem stamped a Binding Duel circle around them. He used King of Games to model the serpent's probable attacks and Pharaoh's Authority to limit unpredictable variables in the duel space.
"Serpent," Atem intoned, voice even. "We will duel on my terms. Strike where I allow."
The serpent tasted the command in its reptile mind and felt—briefly—an obligation to the duel's rules. It lunged, but the authority made its feints more predictable; King of Games refined the probabilities. Dark Magician and a summoned Baby Dragon supported in precise patterns, responding to Atem's presence and to the Oracle's micro-corrections.
The duel ended quickly. Atem confirmed absorption as the serpent fell. The combined use of skills had not only managed the beast but also conserved will: Pharaoh's Authority controlled the duel's temperament, and King of Games selected the optimum strike.
<
After the trials, Atem sat on a flat stone and let his breath return to normal. Dark Magician stood in the dim light, staff planted. Kuriboh blinked, small and affectionate on his shoulder.
"You must be careful," Dark Magician said softly. "Authority is a tool. Your voice can order peace, but it can also breed fear."
Atem nodded. "A king's will should not be a tyrant's lash. I command to protect, not to rule by fear."
Kuriboh chirped as if agreeing. The Oracle added, in its measured tone:
<
Atem's face was thoughtful. He remembered his old throne, the complex weave of reverence and fear he had once commanded. He did not want to become a ruler who forced obedience by intimidation. "So it is as I suspected," he said. "Power must be precise. I will use authority sparingly—where it protects rather than subjugates."
<
Before he moved deeper into the cave, Atem tested one final small thing. A trembling bat, wounded and terrified, hovered weakly. He lowered his voice to the gentlest presence. The aura wrapped the bat like a warm blanket. It calmed, folded its wings, and landed on his palm, trusting.
"You are safe," he said, and the bat's tiny heart slowed in response.
Kuriboh chirped happily. Dark Magician's expression was unreadable but not displeased.
<
Atem rested his hand over his chest, feeling the faint hum of his Spirit Deck and the echo of his Authority. He had learned that his command could move stones and still animals; that it could bolster friends and bend battles; and that its misuse would be costly in will, in consequence, and in the risk of becoming the thing he fought to avoid.
He rose, voice steady. "Then we proceed. With discipline."
<