A day later...

Frosthaven. War Room, morning.

"Are you certain this is what you want, Lord Stormraven?"

Boss, seated at the head of the long conference table, stepped in at Alaric and the small group of close aides gathered around him. The air was thick with the weight of the conversation—vassalization.

"Yes," Alaric replied, his voice steady, but his eyes betrayed him. The uncertainty simmering beneath his calm façade was palpable. Across from him, the giant shifted, a low groan of displeasure rumbling from his chest.

"I understand yesterday's events were... tumultuous," Boss began, his tone even, controlled, "but I never once mentioned vassalage, nor did I corner you into this decision."

"And my family is grateful for your magnanimity, Lord Blackblood," Alaric responded, his words respectful, though there was a resignation in his tone—a quiet acceptance of the inevitable—that Boss didn't miss.

"What prompted this sudden change?" His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table's surface, a soft, insistent sound punctuating the silence.

Alaric drew a slow breath as if weighing his words carefully. "When the founder of our family laid down his sword, he left us with two pieces of wisdom. The first was a warning: never approach nor linger near the Misty Woods if we wish to retain the freedom we once lost."

Boss leaned back in his chair, absorbing the meaning behind those words. Frosthaven had long been a sanctuary for those who had escaped slavery—survivors of both the Empire and the Middle States. The founder's advice was strategic, a clever psychological defense. The fear of the Misty Woods served as a shield, its reputation keeping enemies at bay.

Boss understood Alaric's hesitation. The offer of visualization seemed too straightforward, too sudden. It was like receiving an invitation to dinner, only for the host to suggest servitude by the time dessert was served. Who in their right mind would accept such a proposition? The people of Frosthaven—descendants of those who had fled from chains—still harbored a deep-rooted fear of bondage, even metaphorical chains. And while Boss had shown them irrefutable proof of their shared lineage, he doubted they fully believed him. To them, he was nothing short of a demon in human form.

"And the second piece of advice?" Boss pressed, his voice curious but controlled, masking the flicker of intrigue that passed through his mind.

Alaric met his gaze, voice unwavering. "Whoever wields this sword, follow him to the ends of the world."

A brief silence followed before Mnemon, perched lazily on one of Boss's horns, broke it with a teasing grin. "Told you so."

The giant pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation evident in his posture. "Lord Stormraven," he said, the weariness creeping into his voice, "you're not telling me you've chosen to serve me solely because of that?"

Which Alaric didn't answer. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Boss exhaled, disappointment lacing in his voice. "Let me ask you this: what if, by some slim chance—no matter how tiny—someone else, someone evil, managed to wield that sword? What if they slowly stripped you and your family of everything? Would you still follow them?" His words carried a weight, each syllable deliberate, as though testing Alaric's resolve.

Another pause, longer this time. The tension in the room thickened.

"Many accuse me of being paranoid," Boss continued, firm but thoughtful. "But it's that very paranoia that's kept me alive. You're following your ancestor's wisdom, and I respect that. But at the very least, you need a contingency plan. Tradition is valuable, but the safety of your people should come first." The truth of his words hung in the air, harsh but undeniable.

Boss shifted, the conversation nearing its conclusion. "Anyways, I've heard your answer, but there's one more thing I need to know. Can your people endure the changes that will come with this decision?"

Alaric's brow furrowed slightly. "What kind of changes?"

"Almost everything," Boss shrugged. Mnemon, still perched beside him, leaned in with a smirk.

"Healthcare, education, food, drink… Technically, your worldview will flip upside down. No in-between," the crow added with a serious tone. "And that's the real problem."

Boss nodded at his friend's words. "People don't adapt well to drastic change, Lord Stormraven. Especially when it challenges everything they've believed in all their lives. Say, your wife's crippling condition, my people can cure her, not with magic that I did to your son. Pure science. How would others perceive such news?"

"Witchcraft, demonry," Mnemon mimicked, their wings flapping dramatically.

"Fuckin' heretic!!" Boss followed with a chuckle but soon returned to Alaric. "Ahem. I'll accept your vassalage, but can you truly handle the backlash? The fear, the probability of resistance from your own people?"

"I'll do my best," Alaric answered, his voice heavy with unseen future.

Mnemon shook their head in mock pity. "You really are hell-bent on this, aren't ya?"

Boss rose to his feet, placing a hand over his chest. "Very well. I, the 13th Head of the Blackblood Family, accept your allegiance. Just know this: you and your people will be bound to VoidTech Corporation, as your forebears once were to mine."

Before Alaric and his people could respond, Boss had already extended his hand. "Please," he said, his tone commanding yet strangely informal, "there's no need for kneeling or worship. A simple bow or a hand to the chest like this will do." His gesture was unfamiliar, but they complied without question. A broad, satisfied smile spread across his face. "Good. One more thing—call me 'Boss.' Titles like Lord Blackblood or Milord are cumbersome, and I dislike them. Understood?"

"Yes, Boss," they echoed in unison.

"First off, I need all of your records," Boss sat back on his grand chair that Alaric had ordered to be tailored to Boss's size. With the guest's first wife getting backstabbed, the giant had nothing to sit aside to stand, ... all in just one day, which made Alaric reflect much.

The sudden appearance of tentacles sprouting from Boss's back startled the men. Alaric himself stiffened, though this wasn't his first time seeing them. Still, the grotesque, alien sight made his skin crawl. He found himself praying that those writhing horrors wouldn't haunt his dreams.

"Relax," Boss said, his voice almost amused. "Think of them as extra hands. The real work begins now." His voice hardened as he looked over the assembled men. "I want every document you have concerning this land's affairs. Expenditures, agriculture, natural resources, territory usage—everything."

The maester, Fraud, hesitated before raising his hand like a boy seeking permission in class. "Yes, Fraud?" Boss asked.

"Uhm, Lord—Boss, if I may ask, why do you need all this information?"

"Simple," he replied. "I'm going to rebuild your entire governing system for better efficiency. We're going to reform ourselves. In time, this land will become a country in its own right, with Frosthaven as its capital. This 'audit' is simply a reevaluation to ensure everything is legitimate. No exploitation, no loopholes. And with this 'data'—" he quoted again. "—we'll identify any problems lurking beneath the surface."

"That, but I want to catch the rats before making any changes. Some lesser nobles here are must in cahoot with the Empire. The fact they established a spy network three months earlier, before our interference, meant at least someone backed them up. Hm..."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Boss turned to his PDA watch. "All available captains. Repeat all captains. Important meeting in thirteen minutes. Oh, Legien and Noira must come; got stuff for both of you, too," he said before turning back the dumbfounded ones. "Don't you stand there!" He rushed them. "Go get the paper!"

-------------

Alaric and Fraud sat near Boss during work, and both men were astounded by the fact the giant alone could do multiple paperwork that would take a literate people to do.

"You all see the odd in the data here? He addressed the people in the war room, which slowly turned like Alaric's work chamber at the end of the month. Full of mountains of paper.

He presented two reports. One was an income expenditure, while the other was a requisition estimation report. "The requested funds equaled the estimated expenses, yet the actual expenses exceeded my calculations. Such could be a sham to cover the embezzlement."

"Since we're currently lacking people who know about management and mathematics, I am only required to make a comparison for those in the room now. If you see something odd, do not be afraid to report it to me, even if there is a slight difference. Just go straight up to my face and ask me. Are we clear, gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir," all replied.

"Good," he nodded before returning to the Lord of Frosthaven and his maester. "Now I have some proposals. You can see the vision I have for our future."

A tentacle pulled something out of a seeming gate that appeared mid-air and was brought before them. Two small stacks of paper. Like the books he gave them as a gift before, those well-made papers stuck out most among mountains of paper on the table. It was like silver and gold; this time, the silver had more value than its brother.

Frosthaven Urban Development Plan (With Notes On The Bunker & The Misty Woods)

Alaric and Fraud exchanged a glance before diving into the pages. The content was dense, intricate, and utterly overwhelming. Alaric felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he read. By the gods... this was no ordinary proposal. This was the blueprint for a kingdom.

"You will have a few days to let that sink in, by the way," he smiled at them before a small beep came from his wrist. "Gentlemen," they said as all the personnel in the room looked at him. "Please clear the room and take a small break. Guards, please ensure no one aside from Alaric, Fraud, and Bjorn comes in or out of this room until I say so."

Boss tossed a small disk onto the table, and immediately, a hologram flickered to life, displaying six distinct figures.

"Where are the other two?" he asked, his voice low and probing as he adjusted his glasses absently.

Before anyone could answer, a hand slipped over his eyes. "Hear, hear."

The voice came from behind. Legien stood there, lifting Noira up so she could cover Boss's face. The three others in the room jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion, having been too engrossed in the captivating hologram before them. Alaric and Bjorn exchanged quick glances, their breaths sharp as they tried to steady themselves, while Fraud clutched at his chest, muttering something under his breath as if to calm his racing heart. Alaric couldn't help but think that one day, this old goat might drop dead from the shock of their antics.

"Noira," Boss spoke softly, gently prying her hand away from his eyes, "I'm blind, remember?"

Noira, now grinning from ear to ear, hopped down from Legien's hold and perched herself on the edge of the giant's chair. "Blin?" she snorted. "Bitch, ye see things bludy braw fur someain fa calls himself blin'." She leaned in, quick as a fox, slipping his flask from inside his coat. With a smirk, she took a swig before tossing it back to Legien. "So," she said, leaning back comfortably, "What's cookin'?"

Boss allowed a slight chuckle, though his eyes were already fixed on the hologram. "Something you'll enjoy," he said with a knowing smile, "but we'll save that for the end of our meeting." He straightened up and continued, his tone shifting to something more authoritative. "Before we dive in, I trust all five Chapter Commanders have been briefed by Viper on the current situation?"

"Yes, sir!" came the unified response as the characters in the hologram lit up.

Boss nodded, satisfied. "Good. You all know Alaric here—the descendant of our dear Lord Regent and his Living Saintess wife." His gaze turned to Alaric, eyes sharp as if dissecting the man's soul. "Pre-gene-seeded, mind you." He emphasized the term as though it held a weight none could genuinely understand. "He and his aides have agreed to become our vassals, as their ancestors once served me. I vowed to his forebears that I would guard their legacy should they perish. Even though that promise died with my previous life, I still honor it."

The room seemed to tighten with the weight of his words.

"Frosthaven is ours now, and I have plans for it. Unfortunately," his tone darkened, "the potential for change and enlightenment there is low. Worse still, my arrival here has not gone unnoticed. Rumors are spreading like wildfire."

Boss continued, his voice unwavering. "Our first order of business is to restructure the old system. The military ranks, for one—given that our remaining forces number no more than three hundred. All six Legion Commanders will now be known as Captains, and the six Chapters will become Mobile Task Forces, MTFs for short. You'll answer directly to me, not VoidTech, and certainly not the Convocation of Sevens. Any objections?"

"Negative, sir."

Boss gave a slight nod. "Each MTF will have a distinct role in ensuring Frosthaven's stability and security from threats. Epsilon-6, you will oversee the development and maintenance of infrastructure. You must ensure transportation, utilities, and industrial systems function efficiently. Delta-5, you will handle Population Management and Census Operations, ensuring resources are well-allocated. You'll also monitor anomalies that could destabilize the population—mass migrations, unexplained shifts, etc. Gamma-4, you will be in charge of Healthcare and Medical Research. I'll speak with you later about the Panaceas—certain things from the pre-Collapse era are off-limits."

"Beta-3, Education and Knowledge Preservation is your domain. Maintain the integrity of our educational system and safeguard the populace from misinformation. Alpha-2, your focus will be Law Enforcement and Civil Security. Keep the law intact, combat corruption, and uphold civil rights. Finally, Omicron-1... Counter-intelligence. Your task is to identify and neutralize internal threats and espionage, keeping our government clean while keeping an eye on outsiders. Crush them if you must."

Boss's gaze swept across the room, heavy with a somber intensity that silenced even the faintest whispers. His usually warm voice had taken on a rare, grave tone.

"Many of you are likely wondering why I'm assigning civil responsibilities to soldiers," he began, his words measured and deliberate. "You were built for war, after all." His voice softened like the weight of distant memories had settled over him. "I made you weapons. But those days are over."

He paused, letting the silence stretch, the room heavy with unspoken tension. His eyes seemed to grow distant as though recalling some old memories. "I left you a message long ago, but you denied it. You clung to the painful past, to your old purpose. This is my response to that." His voice grew firmer, his usual smile conspicuously absent, leaving only a cold resolve in its place. "You wish to serve me, to remain shackled to the ghosts of your cursed existence, even though everything me and my friends had sacrificed—lives, time, sanity. All for naught."

His expression was flat yet his tone hardened. "I will work you until you crumble to dust if that's what you desire. But mark my words, any of you who dare to raise this matter again—know that the ship has sailed. Any objections?"

The room was still, the captains' faces a sea of silence. Finally, the symbol of Omnicron-1 flickered, breaking the tension. "No objection, Boss," came Viper's voice, sharp and precise. One by one, others echoed their responses —a chorus of absolution in their final choice.

The crow perched beside him scoffed in disdain, their low voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Bunch of fuckin' fanatical zealots."

"Alright," Boss exhaled, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a looming headache. "Apologies to all of you for listening to that. Now, Alaric, Bjorn, and the rest of your teams—your assignments are simple. Work with the MTFs. You will teach each other. And make sure the people cooperate because, without unity, the future we're fighting for is already dead. Understood?"

Alaric placed his hand on his chest, bowing slightly, and his aides followed suit. "It will be done, Boss."

A faint smile tugged at Boss's lips, the briefest flash of approval. "Good. Oh, and one more thing," he added, turning his gaze on Alaric, who stiffened at the shift in tone. "Monitor the religious affairs. Not lead, just monitor. We're not here to replace anyone's faith, but any occult behavior or organizations? Those are banned. If something arises, contact Omnicron-1 or Alpha-2. They'll handle it."

"Oh yeah, speaking of ban. Slavery," Mnemon added, "that shit's also banned, for we are not that low. Imagine being so bitchless you have to buy some."

Boss nodded as his buddy worked before turning to his wives, Noira and Legien. His voice was flat but direct. "Both of you. I need you for the Black Hand."

Both women straightened immediately, surprise flashing in their eyes. Noira was the first to speak, her brow raised. She blinked in disbelief. " Th' Black Hand??" Her eyes gleamed with an unexpected excitement.

He nodded, though his voice was reluctant. "Ja, Noira. You'll be... a licensed killer."

Alaric was confused, and so were the old maester and his knight. His thoughts raced. A licensed killer? His eyes darted to Boss, who nodded as if to say, 'We'll talk later.'

"Really? Nae shttin'?" Noira's eyes sparkled like a child who had just been handed her dream.

Boss sighed, clearly not sharing her enthusiasm. "As long as your targets are depraved. Corrupt souls. Play with them as much as you like; I don't care. But don't turn it into some grandiose spectacle for everyone to see. Understood?"

Noira raised her hand, eyes dancing with mischief. "Sae, lit me gie thes reit. As lang as they're evil, Ah can dae whatever Ah want wi' them? E'en th' killin' rituals??"

Boss exhaled deeply, nodding. "Ja. Just keep it private. That's all I ask. And as a bonus—tax exemption."

"Deal!" she squealed, jumping from her seat with infectious glee. "Ne'er thooght eh'd see th' day mah hubby approved mah craft. Fuck taxes! Fuck th' IRS! Aw hail Stockholm Syndrome— Uh, Ah mean blissful marriage! Yeah, marriage," she added, covering her mouth as a grin spread across her face.

Boss turned to Legien, who stood tall and composed. "Legien, I need you to accompany her. Make sure she follows the rules and... handle the paperwork. We both know Noira won't." Legien gave a slight bow, her eyes calm and resolute.

"One last reminder, Alaric," Boss finally turned his attention to the Lord of Frosthaven. "I don't skimp on loyalty. Ask any of the captains here. But the day you turn your back on us... I swear in the name of Blackblood, hell will sing, and blood will flow just to make you suffer.""

Alaric could feel the ice creeping down his spine as Boss's hand, cold and heavy, rested on his shoulder.

"I'll be in your care, Alaric. All forces dismissed". "

As the word died down, Alaric's thoughts raced again, his chest tightening.

There was no turning back now.