Chapter 67: New Offering

He stood, his legs slightly shaky and sore from having sat far too long, as Malric Vaunt faced him through the bars.

The Mystic Arcanuum didn’t pace about in front of him or glower menacingly. He just stood there with his arms behind his back, and his posture rigid as an old pillar bracing against a storm. His expression wasn’t cruel, or amused, or even apathetic the way it had been back in Terraxum. He looked… tired? Disappointed?

“You misunderstand why we are here,” Malric said quietly, as if he didn’t want to waste the effort of volume. “If killing you was the objective, Pierce, it would have been done already. My orders were to… recruit you. I am to persuade you. Even convince you to our side, if possible. That would have been preferable. The option I wanted, if I am to be Blechard.”

“Blechard?” Alex asked.

“Yes, to be honest. Forthright in conversation,” Malric stated, his tone that of a man explaining the color of the sky.

“Oh, you mean Frank.”

“Who is Frank?”

“Who is Blechard?”

“I don’t… I am here to recruit you, Pierce.”

Alex sighed and shook his heard.

Back in Terraxum, he’d pegged the Mystic Arcanuum as the Empire’s black-ops wolves: the deadly-edged blade, the hunters you didn’t see until it was already over for you. The way they’d moved, the way the soldiers obeyed order in utter silence, that had been the impression to Alex.

But standing here, watching Malric’s face, he felt a crack split apart that carefully painted mental picture. Maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe the Arcanuum weren’t assassins or shock troops. Maybe they were something more insidious.

Recruiters. He knew the type from back on Earth. He’d been drawn in by one himself. Enforcers with pens as sharp as daggers, with authority that blurred between soldier, spy, and police. The Empire’s hand-picked shepherds, sent out to watch, assess, and then collect the useful harvest.

And Alex couldn’t help but wonder if there was even a difference between “recruitment” and exploitation?

His hand twitched toward where Obby should have been tucked into his bracelet. His pockets were empty, though, every item stripped away except for the translator ring. Even so, when he stretched his awareness inward, there was still a faint tug, a string of attention buried deep in his soulspace, pulling toward some distant direction in the ship. Obby was out there. Alive, if the little river pebble could be considered as such. Probably locked up like the rest of them.

That information wasn’t helpful right now. But he noted it in his mind.

Alex exhaled through his nose, meeting Malric’s unflinching gaze. “Recruit us for what? Exactly?”

The words came out sharper than he meant, but his voice didn’t shake. He wasn’t sure if it was defiance or exhaustion keeping him standing upright. Maybe both.

Malric didn’t give him an answer right away. He studied Alex, like he was an experiment and Malric was the one jotting down results. When he finally spoke, his tone carried only sheer certainty. “For the future.”

Alex let out a dry laugh, “That’s the most vague shit I’ve ever heard.”

Malric didn’t bristle at the disrespect. He only lifted one shoulder in a faint shrug, as though Alex’s skepticism were nothing more than the sound of wind passing on the leaves. “The Empire has resources, Alex. But not an unlimited amount of them. Every investment must pay off. Mages are… fickle prospects. One can be brilliant, even prodigious, and yet die in their first true trial. Potential is wasted more often than it bears fruit. That is the nature of cultivation.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing as unbidden memories rose to the forefront of his mind. He thought to Terraxum, the military tattoos, the Heavenly System that parceled out power like candy to those who proved their worth and but not before, never before. Terraxum had means and resources that could have saved men in the trenches but weren’t handed out until command deemed them “useful enough.”

And then there was Kailan. His body turned into a walking bomb, the man’s flesh etched in runes that made him a nuclear furnace. Alex imagined the Prince’s tired smile. He imagined what his final scream might have sounded like.

He shook his head quickly, forcing the thoughts back into their cage. He had no space for ghosts.

“So what… you’re saying the Empire sees us as worth investing in?” His words were edged with anger, but also curiosity.

“Not all of you, no,” Malric admitted. “But some. I argued for more. Your kind’s… peculiar loyalty to one another, it impressed me. Enough that my superiors were convinced to extend the offer to all of you. Though understand this: not every Worldstrider will be granted the same resources. But all will be offered a proper education in the Empire’s academy. It formal school run by the Empire. Nothing like the private teachings a noble house might offer it descendants, but nothing to scoff at, I assure you.”

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Alex’s lips twisted. “You still haven’t said why. Are you just going to fatten us up for slaughter and send us into a war, like Terraxum tried to do?”

Malric gave a soft exhale, the sound seeming to Alex like a half sigh, half chuckle. “No. Terraxum was shortsighted. Or perhaps simply too poor. They wanted weapons for a war they were already losing. Urhara thinks further ahead.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small silver timepiece, flipping it open with a precise motion. The face gleamed under the arcane lamp-light, his eyes scanning it before he clicked it shut again.

“Urhara needs not elite Adepts,” Malric said, his gaze returning to Alex. “Nor even Magi. They desire Sages. That is what the Empire offers.”

The word, Sage, hung heavy between the two of them. Alex understood the importance of such an offer. A path to Sage Tier—an actual Sage, not some half-measure boost through forced glyph enchantments like Terraxum had done with Kailan and the Magus Tier—was staggering. Terraxum didn’t even have a Magi to speak of, let alone bankroll multiple promising Adepts toward that level. That wasn’t even mentioning the Tier above, Sage. If Urhara could offer that… then just how powerful was this Empire?

They gave a five-story arcane ship to a platoon of Adepts, offered sponsorship to elevate several of their team members to Fourth Tier, and all they asked in return… what? The thought made his gut tighten.

Probably war. More blood. Endless campaigns of obedience. Every mission given as a deadly test, every spell taught another debt owed to them. He thought.

They couldn’t just take the deal, get stronger, and skip out of continent. Not without consequences. He knew they would be bound to System oaths again. And Alex didn’t have a Core to swear on, so Urhara would have other contingencies. Probably contracts written in magic, perhaps with life, essence, or even his soul as collateral. They would be tied to Aetherios, trapped under the Empire’s thumb, even if they passed the System Trial Quest.

He stared at Malric. Was it worth it? The power, Sage-level cultivation, the chance to truly ascend… or the chains that would inevitably come with it?

Alex clenched his fists, the question gnawing at him. This choice concerned the survival of himself and his friends. Making it to the end of the Trial timer and being granted relief from that looming threat once and for all. But it included more than that, as it was about their freedom and the cost of power. Would he choose to be a tool in hand of another once again?

He needed to think. And quickly.

Alex’s gaze swept over the others in the cell with him—Henry, Holly, and Zach. Their faces were mirrors of his own grim and thoughtful tension. Across the thin iron bars, in the neighboring cell, he caught the eyes of Rynel, Doran, Sarson, Peter, and Cole. They, too, were deep in thought, processing the implications of the offer.

But eventually, their voices began to rise up with responses that were unshaken and defiant.

Holly spat out her fierce refusal, “No, I won’t be anyone’s pawn again.”

Zach followed that with a string of colorful expletives, making his position abundantly clear. Henry’s expression remained cold, his slow shake of the head a silent but absolute rejection.

Alex understood their reactions. They didn’t want it either. And even if the Worldstriders accepted the offer, what of Ghrukk and his team? They were Aetherios natives, strong sure, but would the Empire even care about them? Or would they be left behind, as tools discarded once the investment no longer seemed profitable?

Alex turned back to Malric, his scowl hardening. “No. We are not toys for others, not anymore. That life is far behind us.”

Malric’s lips curved into a faint, almost knowing smile. “You say that for now. We will see if your tune changes when presented first-hand with power just beyond your reach.” Without another word, the Mystic Arcanuum turned and walked away, leaving Alex and the others in silence.

Hours passed slowly aboard the Andreia, the dim glow of arcane lamps casting soft shadows across the polished wooden floors and walls of the lower decks. The quiet was uneasy, punctuated by the occasional creak of the ship’s hull and the distant murmur of guards patrolling above.

From somewhere in the corridors, Alex could hear raised voices, the tension between the Empire soldiers clear even without seeing them.

Two factions argued bitterly, their grumblings echoing across the deck. One side insisted on increasing the search for the other half of Alex’s team, the Worldstriders who had fled, while the other faction advocated a slower, more methodical approach. Citing recent failures, and close calls.

Apparently, the “prey” out in the mountains had been giving their hunters more trouble than anticipated.

Alex pressed himself against the cool iron of the cell bars, ears straining as he did his best at memorizing voices and cadences. He wanted to commit to memory the guard shifts, and patrol patterns. Symon, lounging casually across the cell in his usual theatrical pose, provided a running commentary in his usual sardonic tone.

“Ah, the empire, all glorious unity and regalia,” he quipped, “yet apparently two grown men can’t agree on breakfast without nearly starting a civil war. Charming, is it not?”

From the far corner of the cell, Aburi’s gravelly voice rumbled quietly, drawing his attention. “You see it too, don’t you? That this Empire’s not as united as it pretends?”

Alex’s eyes flicked toward the hulking man. His expression was unreadable, but the man’s observation hit the mark. Alex thought carefully; his mind began to work in quiet, precise movements.

He subtly coordinated with Holly, Doran, and Peter. They communicated in subtle gestures and small nods, forming a silent network across the cells. Readying themselves, quietly, for the opportunity they all knew might come.

Meanwhile, the mute child from the neighboring cell sat on the floor with his back against the wall. As he sat, his small hands moving deftly. Faint glyphs shimmered across the air where his fingers traced them. Each pulsed softly in colors that seemed to fade right when a guard’s footstep echoed nearby. When the sounded faded, he would start again.

Alex’s gaze lingered on the child for a moment. He couldn’t read the symbols in the air, couldn’t tell what power or purpose they held, but there was no denying their strange, careful precision. Something about the glyphs felt… important. Alex was also impressed the kid would even use his aether given the enchantments on the manacles they all wore. Alex had his many Meridian Imprints to assist, and even then it was difficult for him. What did this kid have? What was his secret?

Hours stretched on.

The ship continued its smooth glide through the air currents, but in the shadows, plans were forming, and subtle, almost imperceptible threads of strategy began to weave themselves through the minds of the captured Worldstriders.

All of it was a puzzle Alex was determined to solve before the opportunity came.

They would break out, soon.

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