CHAPTER 91: THE ARCHITECT’S PROPOSAL

Rhys stopped and turned back to them, his pitch-black eyes burning with a fire that seemed to consume the very air.

"I am offering you a chance to be a part of that. A chance to see a world you cannot even imagine, to achieve a level of power your ancestors could only dream of."

The five heirs were silent, their minds reeling. The offer was insane. It was audacious. It was impossible. But looking at the floating city around them, at the silent Titan in the distance, they knew that with this man, the impossible was just a matter of time.

It was Anya Sterling who finally broke the silence. She stepped forward, her green eyes sharp and analytical. She was not swayed by the grand vision or the promise of glory. She was a pragmatist.

"We could refuse," she said, her voice clear and steady.

"We could return to our families, fortify our cities, and simply remain neutral. We cannot fight you, that is clear. But we do not have to help you.

Why should we trade our current autonomy, our positions as heirs, to become cogs in your grand machine? What do we truly get in return for our support?"

Rhys looked at her, a genuine smile finally reaching his eyes. It was the question he had been waiting for.

He appreciated her intelligence, her refusal to be swept away by his words. She understood that this was a negotiation.

He met her gaze, his smile fading, replaced by an expression of absolute certainty. He gave her a single, simple answer that shattered their understanding of the world and sealed their fate.

"Power."

*

* *

Power in its uncontrolled form was a matter of destruction. But in its controlled form... It’s a chain. A chain which no one could escape from.

’There is something wrong with the new Ashton heir....’

[...]

’Kaelen... isn’t it?’

[...]

’But how?’

[Technically he isn’t Kaelen. Blood demons can take control over the blood, but they can’t do the same with the mind. He is Joric and at the same time Kaelen. One of the strange occurrences, that one-in-a-billion probability, to occur. A human body where the mind and blood have different consciousnesses...]

’I should’ve killed him, if you didn’t stop me.’

[Learning from him will help the Host a lot. One of the drawbacks your army has is that they are dead beings; they cannot evolve further than the talent they had, nor can they ascend. Because they aren’t living beings. But imagine the possibility of them having blood.....]

’And I have a way to control their blood?’

[Correct.]

Rhys had sensed Kaelen from Joric. If the system had not stopped him, he would’ve already killed that man.

The silence on the construction platform was absolute, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thud of the Titan’s work and the gentle hum of the city’s formations.

The five heirs stood frozen.

Rhys’s words had not been a threat; they had been a lecture, a redefinition of their reality that left them feeling small and ignorant.

He let them process it. He turned his back on them, his gaze returning to the glowing blueprints that detailed the future of their province.

He was giving them a choice, but the act of turning away made it clear that their decision, while important to them, was merely a logistical detail to him.

The machine would be built regardless; they were simply deciding if they wanted to be its primary gears or be ground into dust and replaced.

It was Anya Sterling who spoke first, her voice cutting through the tension with the sharp clarity of cut crystal.

"The Wastelands," she said, not as a question, but as a statement of dawning, horrifying belief.

"The ancient texts in my family’s library... they speak of a Great Barrier to the north, beyond the Whisperwood. We always assumed it was a natural formation, impassable. But the texts described it as a seal. A seal to keep things out... or to keep us in."

She looked at Rhys, her eyes bright with a terrifying new understanding. "You’re not from here, are you? Not originally."

’Where the fuck is this lore going?’ Rhys cursed internally.

[...]

Rhys didn’t turn.

"Does it matter where the architect is from, as long as the city he builds is strong?"

[Edgy...]

’Not useless like someone who can’t analyse a blood demon...’

[That’s because he isn’t from the mortal world!]

’Not that great an excuse...’

"No," Anya admitted with a slow shake of her head. "It doesn’t." She took a deep breath, the pragmatist in her taking over.

"Your vision is... vast. The resources required to arm an entire province, to build academies and guilds, to fund an expansion beyond the Barrier... even with the Labyrinth’s treasures, it seems impossible."

"You are thinking like a provincial lord," Rhys said, finally turning to face them. He tapped a finger on the blueprint.

"You think in terms of gold and spiritual stones. I think in terms of systems. The Eon Conglomerate will not be funded by treasure; it will be an engine that creates its own.

The hunters will bring in materials, the alchemists and forgers will turn them into products, the traders will sell those products, and the soldiers will protect the routes.

Every part feeds the other. It is a self-sustaining cycle. My only contribution is the initial catalyst and the knowledge to make the engine run efficiently."

"Don’t tell me you are making a new currency..."

Rhys moved his hands and lifespan crystals fell before the heirs. This time these crystals were coated with Celestial ore, so they couldn’t be broken by anyone.

"Lifespan crystals... they... but..."

"I can fix that problem. It will never run out."

His gaze then shifted, moving past the others to settle on the silent, pale-faced Joric Ashton. The look was different. It was sharper, more analytical, like a biologist studying a rare and dangerous specimen.

"And you, Joric Ashton. The military history of your family is long. Do you believe they are capable of becoming the sword of this new empire?"

Joric flinched under the intensity of the gaze. For a moment, he was the same timid, insecure disciple. But then, something shifted.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, a shadow of the manic glee Rhys knew so well.

It was gone in an instant, but it was there.

"The Ashton clan has always been a sword, Lord Rhys," Joric said, his voice smoother, more confident than before.

"We have simply been rusting in a forgotten scabbard. Give us a war worthy of our name, and we will show you what a true blade can do."

The change was so subtle that only Rhys, who was looking for it, and perhaps Anya, whose insight was unnaturally sharp, seemed to notice. Aiden and Lysander were too caught up in their own turmoil.

But Daemon’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had been warned to be wary of Joric, and this sudden confidence was jarring.

Daemon finally stepped forward, reasserting his position as their leader. He had processed the shock, and the mind of a prince was now calculating the new political landscape.

"Your proposal is... audacious. You ask us to surrender the sovereignty our families have held for a thousand years."

"I ask you to trade a small, rotting kingdom for a seat at the table of a global empire," Rhys corrected him calmly.

"Your family will still govern. Your title of Prince will still hold weight. In fact, it will hold more weight than ever before. Would you rather be the king of a wasteland, or the chief administrator of a rising world power?"