Zeke arrived at his office and immediately began preparing the space. He had managed to procure a couple of decent chairs, placing one behind his desk and the other across from it. If Frost wanted a meeting, Zeke would ensure it had all the formality and hospitality of an official encounter.

He sat down and waited, turning over in his mind all the possible reasons Frost might be seeking him out. Before long, he heard footsteps approaching, followed by a knock as they stopped outside the room.

“Enter,” Zeke said casually.

The door swung open, and Zeke got his first look at his guest. Frost looked terrible. Dark blue veins snaked across his exposed skin, and he was drenched in sweat. Even with his strong constitution, it was clear he shouldn't be up and about. Whatever had brought him here must be urgent.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” he said, attempting a domineering tone but failing miserably. “I knew it! My eyes didn’t deceive me. You were at the gate this morning.”

“What can I do for you, Lord Frost?” Zeke said, neither acknowledging nor denying his statement.

Frost clicked his tongue, taking in the room instead of answering. “This is quite the base you people have built for yourselves. I hadn’t believed the rumors when I heard them, but it turns out they were true…”

Zeke furrowed his brows. Where was Frost going with this? Was he just rambling?

“However…” Frost added. “If you think that these walls will protect you when the enemy breaches our stronghold, you are wrong. The might of their chief is not something that barriers can stop.”

“What are you trying to say?” Zeke asked.

“I want you to join me, join my faction,” Frost said. “In exchange, I will make sure to keep you safe and send you up the mountain. You can hide away there, at my sister’s side, if that is your wish.”

Zeke's expression flickered, unable to understand what had prompted this request. However, he soon regained his composure. “And what would you ask in return for such a boon?”

Frost took a step forward but was immediately blocked by Vulcanos. “You have survived the poison; I can see it clearly. You were on death’s door first we met, but now you are fine. Don’t deny it!”

Zeke hadn’t covered himself for this meeting, and it was blatantly obvious that he was no longer suffering. “I did,” he admitted.

“How? Is it a tool? Human Magic? Tell me!” Frost demanded.

Zeke frowned, not out of displeasure but because he hadn’t anticipated this request. Frost was poisoned, yes, but he would recover on his own. So this request could only mean...

“You want me to save your men,” Zeke stated.

Frost gnashed his teeth. “I command it!” he snarled, trying to step closer only to be blocked again. Zeke's expression remained unchanged. Even without Vulcanos’ presence, he doubted Frost could match him in his current state. Instead, he studied the man more closely, noticing the exhaustion and helplessness hidden behind the facade of strength.

Zeke leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. This turn of events was unexpected, but Frost's genuine care for his men was changing Zeke's opinion of him. He wasn’t the callous warlord Zeke had imagined. Until now, Zeke had seen Frost as just a hurdle to overcome, but he began to realize there might be another path.

The only problem was… could he even help?

Zeke stood, walked around the table, and approached the Pureblood. Frost eyed him warily, bristling as Zeke came closer. Though the man appeared fully human, it was clear that he was anything but. The Chimeroi's animalistic instincts kicked in, sensing danger.

Before Frost could act, Zeke stopped just a step away. “I can’t guarantee that my method will save your men,” he said honestly. “I need to run an experiment first, but I must warn you—it will be quite invasive.”

Frost looked confused for a moment, then realization dawned on him. “You want to conduct that experiment… on me?” he asked in disbelief.

Zeke nodded.

“You are delusional if you think I will put my life in the hands of a human,” he spat.

Zeke’s expression remained unchanged. “It doesn’t have to be you,” he said casually. “You can choose any of your men instead. However, I have to warn you, depending on their condition, there is a real risk they might die.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Frost glared at him but remained otherwise silent and motionless. The uneasy quiet lasted until the Pureblood let out a defeated sigh. “Do it.”

Zeke nodded and stepped closer. As he extended his hand, a tendril of blood pierced through the skin of his index finger, forming a thin string. Frost tensed at the sight.

“Relax,” Zeke said in a soft voice. “You won’t feel any pain.” The moment the last word had left his mouth, the tendril reached the spot above Frost's wrist and punctured his skin. Zeke closed his eyes and focused on his connection with the tendril. At the same time, he ordered more and more of his blood to enter the Pureblood’s body.

Frost was initially tense, which hindered his progress, but he began to relax as nothing harmful occurred. Being so closely connected, Zeke could feel the foreign blood calling to him. Controlling another Mage’s Blood was nearly impossible due to its high Mana saturation, but Zeke quickly realized that Chimeroi were much more vulnerable to such attacks.

Now that their lifeblood was intermixed, Zeke was certain that he could drain the man dry with nothing but a thought. It was a sobering realization, one that he would have to consider at a later date, but not now. He had work to do.

His initial plan had been to let Akasha handle this task, but ultimately he refrained. Though the spirit had a knack for complex tasks, her control over Blood Magic was severely lacking compared to him. She was a Mind spirit at heart, while he had a perfect affinity for Blood Magic.

Zeke concentrated, using their connection to take control of Frost’s blood. He immediately noticed that it was diluted, as if a different fluid had mingled with it. While this might have been a major problem for others, to Zeke’s senses, the two substances felt entirely distinct. The poison stood out sharply, like a lighthouse in the dark, its presence glaringly unnatural.

His first step was to separate the two substances and create an isolation layer around the poison. Using the traces of his own blood in Frost’s system, he easily formed a thin membrane. With Frost’s blood cooperating fully, the process, though draining, proceeded swiftly.

Zeke lost track of time as he worked. He only regained his senses after he could no longer detect any poison. He carefully retracted his blood, gathering it into a sphere at the tip of his finger.

“Bring me one of the vials,” he ordered, and Vulcanos sprang into action. After Vulcanos handed him the container, Zeke opened the sphere and allowed the poison to flow out, transferring it to the bottle.

Frost remained frozen in place, watching with wide eyes. When Zeke looked up, he saw the significant changes: the man looked healthy. Though not yet fully restored, he was clearly on the path to recovery.

Zeke wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and smiled. “It was a success.”

Frost blinked, finally noticing the changes. He clenched his fist and punched the air experimentally. His eyes widened further as he realized the extent of his recovery.

“Marvelous,” he muttered, a childlike wonder on his face. However, his eyes soon regained their edge as he glared, not at Zeke, but at Vulcanos, who was standing by his side. “I will not be able to bring you away from here,” he proclaimed in a serious voice. “However, you have my word that I will bring more men.”

Zeke blinked, glanced at Vulcanos, and then refocused on Frost. It took a moment for him to grasp what was happening, but when he did, a chuckle escaped his lips. “There’s no need for that,” he assured.

“No!” Frost protested. “You have to save my men! You have to!”

Zeke raised his palms soothingly. “I will,” he stated with utmost confidence. “Vulcanos, leave us.”

The big man turned to him with a worried expression. “Are you certain?”

“I am.”

Reluctantly, Vulcanos obeyed. However, he didn’t forget to shoot a warning glare at Frost before exiting the room.

Silenced descended before Frost managed to speak. “You… you are not a prisoner?”

Zeke nodded.

Frost gaped like a man who had been told something unbelievable. “You are the leader?”

Zeke nodded again.

“How?” Frost burst out. “I might not be all that familiar with humans, but my senses are telling me that any one of these three could defeat you—quite easily at that.”

Zeke forced a smile. Though it stung to be dismissed so easily, he couldn't deny the truth. “Fighting prowess isn’t everything,” he said instead.

Frost snorted, clearly not sharing his opinion. However, before he could open his mouth, Zeke continued, “Despite all your strength, your tribe’s strength, your father’s strength, there is nobody besides me who can save your men, right?”

Frost snapped his mouth shut, and Zeke smiled victoriously. “Fighting prowess isn’t everything,” he repeated.

Frost looked like he had been forced to swallow a lemon, but he didn’t retort. Maybe he was actually convinced, or he was worried that Zeke would go back on his word if he pressed him on this.

Zeke’s expression turned serious. “You don’t have to worry; I will definitely save your men. However, there are some conditions…”

Frost gritted his teeth, likely imagining the worst. “Speak,” he forced out. “But If you want me to serve you like these three, then you can forget about it. As much as I want to save my men, I will not abandon my pride.”

Zeke shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “I don’t expect you to serve me, but I would like to propose an agreement.”

“What agreement?” Frost asked, trying to maintain a neutral expression. However, his poor poker face failed to hide his nerves. Zeke could sense the man's anxiety and concern for his men. He could likely leverage this to push the Pureblood into a pit of despair if he chose to. Fortunately for Frost, that was not what he intended to do.

Instead, he chose a completely different approach. “Do you know the root of all conflicts, Lord Frost?” Zeke asked all of a sudden. The man didn’t answer, but Zeke hadn’t expected him to anyway. “It is the clash of ambitions and ideals,” he said, answering his own question. “Two people desire the same woman, position, object. That is where all conflict stems from.”

“What are you getting at?” Frost asked.

“If two people want the same thing, it is impossible to avoid a confrontation unless one of the two surrenders his claim. At the same time, if there is no such clash, there is also no need for conflict.”

Frost listened intently to Zeke’s explanation, clearly engaged and absorbed by what he was saying.

“Tell me, Lord Frost, do you have any idea what I want from your Tribe?”