Adrian called out, “Varik.”

The administrator stepped forward, bowing low. “Yes, my lord?”

Adrian’s gaze sharpened. “Cancel all tributes from the star systems. From today, no quotas, no forced tithes.”

The words fell like thunder. The vassals gasped.

“Release the children from the armies and send them back to their families. Any soldier conscripted against their will may resign and return to their families.”

Even the SSS-rank commanders, hardened men and women who had lived under Drakenholt iron, flinched as if struck.

Varik’s face drained of color. “My lord… if you do this, the mercenary business will collapse.”

His voice trembled. “The Drakenholt clan’s foundation was mercenary contracts. Without soldiers, without quotas, there will be nothing left.”

“The army will dissolve, the contracts will vanish, and the income will bleed away.”

Adrian’s expression remained stone. “Listen well. The Origin Clan’s specialty will not be mercenary blood trade.”

“Our blades won’t be for sale.”

Murmurs rippled through the commanders.

“We will keep an army,” Adrian continued, “but an army of volunteers. Warriors who fight to protect their star systems, their homes, their clan.”

“Not slaves bound in chains. If that weakens us now, so be it. We will rise differently.”

The chamber rippled with silence. Even the hardened SSS-rank commanders faltered, their faces showing confusion.

Some had known nothing but orders and chains their entire lives.

Septimus’s staff tapped the stone. “Mercenary contracts fill vaults, yes. But it hollows the soul.”

“A clan cannot endure forever on blood money.”

Aurelia’s tone was cool, but approving. “This is risky. But necessary.”

“No empire remembers mercenary clans in their histories. Only those who built legacies.”

Varik pressed forward, desperation creeping into his voice. “But my lord, without mercenary contracts, the vaults will run dry.”

“The soldiers who remain will need pay, supplies, and arms. The crystals will burn out in a few short years.”

His hands clenched. “Do you have another source of income?”

Behind him, commanders shifted uneasily, muttering of wages, of their futures. Fear crept across their faces.

Adrian turned, meeting every eye. “I will find another way. I will not trade my people’s blood for crystals.”

“If we must starve, then we starve free. But I promise you, our future will not be bought by death.”

Silence fell again. The weight of his words settled them.

And then, as if the words themselves were etched into the air, Varik bowed deeply. “Then let this be written as the first decree of the Origin Clan.”

…

Later, when the hall emptied, only Varik remained. The others had dispersed, some to spread word of the new decree.

“Show us the library.”

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Varik nodded, guiding them deeper into the hall. They passed through reinforced doors into a massive chamber lined with shelves.

Books and scrolls hummed faintly with mana, collected for generations. The air itself thrummed with knowledge.

“Here,” Varik explained, “the Drakenholt stored every skill book, scroll, and record they gathered.”

“Though they wielded only fire, they still hoarded other concepts, trading, plundering, buying.”

Adrian walked the aisles, fingertips brushing glowing titles. Galactic basics of water, earth, wind, lightning, all here.

“Most are basic galactic concepts. Not all affinities are represented… rare ones like space, time, life, or death are absent.”

The rare ones were missing, but even these basics would let his people step onto the galactic path properly.

His gaze shifted as another door opened. From it leaked a wave of scorching heat.

“What is that?” Adrian asked.

Varik bowed, ushering them toward the blazing doorway. The heat grew more intense with each step.

A vast chamber blazed within, its floor etched with complex runes. At its center pulsed a mountain of fire-aspected mana crystals.

They glowed like a caged sun. The runes drank the crystals’ essence, weaving it into a shimmering world.

Molten rivers flowed through the air. Volcanic eruptions froze mid-birth, firestorms suspended in time.

“This,” Varik said, reverent, “is the Fire Simulation Chamber. A sealed domain.”

“For centuries, the Drakenholt used it to raise their heirs. It mimics the galaxy’s teachings, visions of fire concepts.”

Kael studied the flowing runes with professional interest. “Incredible craftsmanship. These formations must have cost fortunes.”

“Skill books are written knowledge,” Varik continued. “A cultivator has to imagine and meditate based on words and diagrams.”

“Many fail to comprehend anything just by reading. But with this method, just sitting here, watching, breathing it…”

“One may comprehend much faster and easier than using skill books.”

Thomas’s eyes widened, heat sparking in his gaze. He stepped forward like a man approaching destiny.

“This… this could let me bloom my seed. Without treasures. Without chains.”

He sat cross-legged before the blazing visions. The simulated flames danced across his face.

Even Draven muttered enviously, “Would’ve been nice if someone made one for blood…”

Cassian chuckled. “Perhaps we can commission one. After we figure out how to pay for it.”

Adrian joined Thomas in the circle, his Source stirring as the visions of flame unfurled before him.

Every vision reminded him of Tharion’s fists breaking his bones. How close death had been in that arena.

After the fight with Tharion, he could not underestimate anyone. It felt better to get as strong as possible, soon.

…

Meanwhile, word of Adrian’s decree spread. Nodes lit across twenty-three star systems, messages cascading into homes and plazas.

The first transmission reached Korvan Prime, a volcanic mining world where sulfur clouds choked the sky. Overseer Thane read the decree twice before his hands began shaking.

“Release the children?” he whispered. “All conscripts may return home?”

In the mining tunnels below, ten-year-old Jace hauled ore carts with bleeding hands. His mother, Mira, had wept for three years since they took him.

Thane’s voice cracked over the colony speakers. “By decree of Lord Adrian Blackwood… all conscripted children are to be released immediately.”

Mira dropped her pickaxe. The sound echoed through the cavern like a prayer answered.

When the transport arrived, she ran through the settlement’s dusty streets. Her neighbors followed, mothers and fathers who had lost children to Drakenholt’s hunger.

Jace stumbled from the shuttle, chains gone, his small frame trembling. Mira caught him in her arms, both of them collapsing to their knees.

“Mama?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“You’re home,” she sobbed. “You’re finally home.”

Around them, other families reunited. Children who had forgotten their parents’ faces. Parents who had aged decades in months of grief.

On Thessar’s Reach, an agricultural planet stripped bare by tribute, farmer Korren stared at his empty grain silos. For years, the Drakenholt had seized ninety percent of every harvest.

His wife Lyanna joined him, their infant daughter crying against her chest. “The message came through,” she said, voice hollow with disbelief.

“No more quotas. No more tribute.”

Korren’s weathered hands touched the sealed granary doors. Inside lay their hidden reserves, grain they had risked execution to keep.

“Then perhaps we eat well this month,” Lyanna whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Their neighbors emerged from their homes, faces gaunt but eyes brightening. For the first time in generations, they would keep what they grew.

On planet Valdris, a mercenary planet, Captain Gareth read the decree to his assembled troops. Battle-scarred veterans who had known nothing but war.

“Any soldier conscripted against their will may resign,” he announced. “No punishment. No pursuit.”

The silence stretched. Then weapons clattered to the deck as men and women broke ranks.

Orion, who had fought for twenty years, dropped his weapon. “My daughter… she’d be grown now. I wonder if she remembers me.”

Others followed. Some wept. Some laughed. Some simply walked away, finally free to choose their own paths.

Those who stayed did so with lifted heads. They were no longer slaves bound by fear.

Throughout the systems, disbelief turned into laughter, into tears, into the first fragile hope in generations. Communication nodes buzzed with messages of gratitude.

Children played in streets where soldiers once marched. Families gathered around tables that had stood empty for years.

The banners of the Origin Clan did not signify chains. They signified release.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep