"So," Aziz said casually, "when Silver took control of Danso and Azurian, I could sense it."
Every Elder in the chamber stared at him, eyes wide. The mixture of emotions they wore was almost laughable – shock, awe, a tinge of fear, and beneath it all, a gnawing, bitter jealousy.
"It's also how I knew he was an Original," Aziz continued, voice unhurried. "The purity of his bloodline was something else entirely."
With a flick of his wrist, the floating droplets of blood still circling his hands suddenly hardened – miniature crimson bullets – and shot forward, punching cleanly into the far wall with a sharp, rhythmic *thk-thk-thk.*
A not-so-subtle reminder of what he could do.
"And the fact that he managed to hide himself from me using illusions while still actively channelling his bloodline?" Aziz shook his head. "That kind of mastery is only achievable by a genuine Original."
The room was silent again. Silent, but far from peaceful.
It was clear to all of them now.
Aziz wasn't just strong. He was playing an entirely different game. No wonder he never treated them as his equals – because, frankly, he didn't see them that way.
Jabari, standing a pace behind his Master, stared at his back with a heavy heart. Guilt writhed in his chest. Aziz had already told him the truth—that revealing his bloodline ability to others could bring him unimaginable danger.
And yet, here he was, putting everything on the line to shield Jabari.
The knowledge didn't sit well. Jabari clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tight.
Then Aziz exhaled, casually shifting the conversation like it was nothing.
"Right, right. You lot also wanted to know what happened the day this brat failed his awakening."
Jabari winced as his Master smirked.
"Well," Aziz said, "after hearing him scream like a little girl, I strolled in and found him flailing on the floor like a little wuss.
I made a cut above his heart where the blood of Imamu had been and used my ability to extract it. But the blood wasn't ordinary blood. It still held a trace of Imamu's consciousness, and it saw me as a threat."
Aziz's tone darkened. "It entered me, trying to attack from within, but it didn't know that my blood manipulation works best when I'm the target."
He crossed his arms.
"I tried to purge it, but the blood of a Magical Beast like Imamu isn't something you simply wash off. In the end, I had to refine it with my own blood – and that refining process made me a Beast-Warrior."
The room held its breath.
Aziz had said it so simply. So cleanly. But every Elder present knew what that process actually entailed.
The blood of Imamu was notoriously difficult to control. The lingering consciousness within it was precisely why the Beast-Warrior ritual worked – it was a trial of will and survival. That Aziz had forcibly refined it, unaided and outside the official process, and survived…
That alone was a feat few could even fathom.
They sat there in silence – staring, listening, trying to find a fault. But there wasn't one.
Aziz had done nothing but save his disciple's life. And that, perhaps, was the hardest truth for them to swallow, until Diallo's cold voice pierced the quiet.
"How do we know the words of you and your disciple are even true?" he said, gaze hardening. "This could all be a lie – a convenient story you spun to get one over on us."
Aziz turned his head, and for the first time, he didn't answer with words.
Instead, he looked to Jabari, who gave a faint nod.
Aziz bit the fleshy part of his thumb, drawing blood, and wiped it across his opposite palm. Jabari raised his own still-bloodied palm. And then, in perfect unison, their voices rang out:
"I, Jabari/Aziz, swear on my life, with the Heavens as my witness, that everything I've said here at the trial is true."
A faint, ethereal glow shimmered over their palms, and then the blood vanished into the air like mist burned away by sunlight.
The chamber was stunned.
Some of the Elders had considered demanding a blood oath, but the thought of asking Aziz for one had terrified them into silence. The fact that both Master and disciple had done it of their own accord rendered them completely speechless.
Until Diallo found a new thread to pull.
"You just admitted," he said sharply, "that your bloodline ability lets you manipulate blood. What if you used some kind of trick to fool us? What if that oath was nothing but theatre?"
Aziz's head snapped toward the Supreme Elder. His eyes gleamed with dangerous amusement.
"Are you a complete idiot?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Blood oaths are governed by Heaven itself," Aziz said, voice low and sharp. "Not even someone like your Patriarch could fake one. Not even Imamu could break it. No bloodline ability – not mine, or even my family's original – can replicate that power."
Diallo opened his mouth, but nothing came out because Aziz was right, and everyone in the room knew it.
"Even if that's true," Diallo bit out, clinging to the last vestiges of control, "it's still a fact that you've become a Beast-Warrior without the permission of the Institute. Don't you think you should compensate us?"
Aziz raised an eyebrow, the picture of casual disinterest. "And what sort of compensation did you have in mind?"
"The secrets of how to become a Weapon-Wielder," Diallo said, his voice laced with both excitement and greed.
Aziz paused, considering the request. "That's fine. How about this – I'll increase the number of people I teach from two to six?"
"I agree. That seems fair," Diallo said quickly.
"And you're not going to come crawling back to ask me to teach anyone else after that, right?" Aziz asked, his tone light, but his eyes sharp.
"I promise," Diallo replied, lips curling ever so slightly.
"Good," Aziz said, smiling pleasantly. "Glad we got that settled."
"So am I. I'll find you at a later date with the list of names you'll be teaching."
"Ooh, I think there's been some sort of misunderstanding," Aziz said with an apologetic shrug that held no sincerity at all.
"I've already taught six members of the Institute the knowledge necessary to become Weapon-Wielders."
Diallo blinked. "You what? That's impossible – you're lying! You said the only two people you taught were August and your disciple!"
Aziz stretched his arms behind his head. "No, I admitted that I'd taught two people. I never said they were the only two."
"Then who were the other four?!" Diallo snapped, eyes narrowing.
"The first was Grand Elder Nala," Aziz said nonchalantly. "She was actually the first person I taught. The brat and August were second and third."
Murmurs rippled across the room.
"The fourth and fifth were Danso and Azurian."
A table cracked under a hammering palm as Elder Chiumbo exploded. "You're lying!"
"What my colleague means to say," came a calm and composed voice, "is that, as the mentors of both boys, if you'd really taught them something like that, we would know."
All eyes turned toward the speaker.
Jabari recognised her immediately. A light-skinned woman who appeared no older than 30. Her long brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail, and soft brown eyes focused on Aziz without a trace of fear. Azurian's mentor, Elder Zola – the youngest Elder present.
"He's telling the truth," Azurian said, his voice low but firm, turning toward his mentor. "When Mr Aziz fought that mercenary, he explained the path of the Weapon-Wielder, and what it meant."
"He even let Jabari explain what was required to become one," Danso added, looking at Elder Chiumbo with a guilty expression. "We were going to tell you, but it wasn't our secret to share."
Chiumbo stared at his disciple for a moment but ultimately said nothing. He simply leaned back and folded his arms.
"We don't blame you," Elder Zola said calmly, before turning her gaze back to Aziz. "On behalf of our students, I'd like to express our gratitude for your graciousness."
"No need to be polite," Aziz replied with a shrug, grinning as he pointed at Jabari. "Any friend of this little idiot is a friend of mine."
Jabari glared at him. Aziz only winked in response.
"Out of curiosity…" Idir interjected, folding his arms. "Who's the sixth?"
"That would be me," Zaire said smoothly, still standing beside Jabari and August.
As he spoke, a flickering white aura erupted from his spear, drawing stunned gasps from all corners of the room.
Even Jabari and August's jaws dropped.
"When did you become a Spearman?!" Jabari asked, stunned.
"You really think I'd let my apprentice surpass me in weapon handling?" Zaire replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. "After our training sessions ended and you returned to your residence, your Master began teaching me about the path of the Weapon-Wielders."
"During the beast tide," Zaire continued, "I felt myself on the verge of a breakthrough. The night before last, your Master sparred with me until I made that final step."
He spun the spear lightly in one hand, the aura around it shimmering with quiet power.
"But technically…" Jabari said with a playful smirk, "I still got there first."
"I suppose you did," Zaire replied, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.
"Shameless brat," Aziz muttered under his breath, loud enough for Jabari to hear.
Jabari chuckled, scratching the back of his head. Technically, Aziz was right. He could only use his Glaive Force when paired with his bloodline. He wasn't a true Weapon-Wielder yet.
But that little secret was just between Master and disciple.
Aziz turned away from Jabari, his eyes dancing with amusement as he met Diallo's smouldering glare. "I'm sorry," he said, voice dripping with mock sincerity. "But it looks like I won't be able to help you much after all. I've already filled all six quotas."
His words crashed like thunder through the hall, snuffing out the flickering hopes of every Elder and seeded student still clinging to the fantasy of learning the secrets of Weapon-Wielding.
The temperature seemed to drop. Elders exchanged bitter glances. Several students slumped in their seats in silent disappointment.
But Diallo's reaction was far more visceral.
The Supreme Elder's expression darkened to something primal. Rage boiled in his veins, his thoughts turning chaotic beneath the weight of his pride and humiliation. He stared at Aziz's calm, mocking smile… and saw red.
"You…" he seethed.
"Me?" Aziz replied, tilting his head, face the picture of innocence. "What about me?"
"You tricked me." Diallo's voice cut like broken glass, sharp and cold.
He rose to his feet. A tide of malice erupted from his body like a crashing wave. The air thickened with a crushing weight as a terrifying bloodlust surged outward, sweeping through the entire chamber like a living entity.
This time, it wasn't the unfocused outburst of a man lashing out in anger. This was a deliberate, surgical release of killing intent.
The reaction was immediate.
The students trembled beneath the Supreme Elder's aura. Gasps echoed as they dropped their gazes to the floor, their bodies unwilling to move.
To them, it was as if the very embodiment of death had stepped into the room.
Chidi slumped sideways, unconscious before his body even hit the ground.
Chantelle curled into herself, shivering, rocking as a soft whisper escaped her lips, over and over: "Make it stop…
Make it stop!"
Danso, Jamal, and Azurian had leapt back, their backs pressing against the cold stone wall. Their breaths were shallow, knees buckling. Despite their best efforts, the flight response had overwhelmed them.
Yet two stood firm.
August, chest heaving, stood like a wall, sweat running down his back in rivers, but his eyes burned with defiance. His legs trembled. His arms shook. But his spine never bent.
Jabari stood ramrod, his sweat-soaked hair clinging to his brow. His eyes, clear and unwavering, remained locked on Diallo's.
Aziz didn't look at Diallo. His gaze rested solely on those two figures. There was no mockery now. Just quiet observance, and the faintest trace of something rare: pride.
Then his expression shifted. He frowned.
Diallo had stepped forward again. The bloodlust thickened, becoming almost tangible. It clung to skin like oil and invaded lungs like smoke.
At ten metres away, the pressure became unbearable.
But Jabari and August moved.
August's body erupted with power as the power of a unique bloodline took hold – his figure doubling in size, growing into a ten-foot mountain of muscle and rage. A guttural roar tore from his throat as he hurled his battle axe – which somehow magically grew in size with him – like a meteor streaking through the air.
At the same time, Jabari's glaive surged with [Glaive Force], a fierce white aura erupting from the weapon as he executed the [Burst Step], becoming a blur of motion as he launched forward like a bolt of lightning.
Two attacks. One from either side.
Diallo's eyes widened, stunned for the first time in years.
'They dare?!'
Just before the axe could cleave him and Jabari's glaive could strike, Diallo snarled.
"Since you're in such a hurry to die…
ALLOW ME TO HELP YOU!"
His spear swept out in a fluid arc. With absurd ease, he batted the colossal axe aside, sending it spiralling across the room.
The same motion continued.
His spear tore through the air – aimed straight for Jabari's neck.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Too precise.
If Jabari continued, he would find his head rolling. And yet, he didn't even try to stop.
His eyes were distant – focused not on the incoming spear, but on his own strike. As if he were acting purely on instinct, his body following a rhythm even his mind struggled to keep up with.
The glaive thrust forward, brilliant with condensed [Glaive Force].
The entire hall watched in suspended horror. Not a single Elder moved. Even those who'd previously shown concern for Jabari held their breath, paralysed.
And Aziz? He didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Didn't lift a finger. His disciple was about to die, and he simply watched.
A few Elders glanced toward him in disbelief.
But Jabari felt nothing. No fear. No hesitation. Only instinct. Only will.
The clash appeared inevitable.
Just as the edge of Diallo's spear kissed the skin of Jabari's neck, slicing a thin line of crimson-
A voice resounded through the chamber. A single word.
"Enough."
It wasn't shouted. It wasn't angry. And yet, it struck harder than any attack ever could.
The moment it rang out, the world changed. Time stilled. Space buckled.
Everything – Diallo's sweeping spear, Jabari's thrusting glaive, even August's descending battle axe – froze mid-motion, suspended in an eerie stillness. The hall, moments ago on the edge of a massacre, became a temple of absolute silence.
Jabari and August slumped into unconsciousness, floating gently in the air like puppets whose strings had been severed. Their final desperate attacks had consumed the last dregs of their strength. Having stood against Diallo's crushing bloodlust, their bodies had reached the brink – and now, the price of their defiance had come due.
But Diallo remained conscious. And for him, that was a curse in and of itself.
His eyes widened in disbelief as a crushing, sacred pressure enveloped him. His spear slipped from his hand. His knees buckled with a bone-jarring crack as he collapsed to the floor. Sweat poured from his brow, soaking through his robes in seconds.
His heart pounded like a war drum, each beat echoing louder in his ears than the last.
"P…
Pa…
Patriarch…" he stammered, unable to lift his gaze from the floor.
Then, as one, the Elders followed suit. None even glanced at their disgraced Supreme Elder. Every man and woman dropped to their knees, closed their eyes, and thumped their fists against their hearts.
"We greet Patriarch Darnell!" they intoned, their voices united in reverence.
To the people of Ulo, Patriarch Darnell was more than a man. He was legend incarnate. An immovable pillar. A walking myth.
And now, his voice – disembodied but omnipotent – filled the hall once more.
There was no emotion in his tone, but each word struck like a divine decree, unchallengeable and final.
"For his repeated failures as Supreme Elder, Diallo is hereby demoted to the rank of Elder. Nala Asare is promoted to Supreme Elder of the Western Branch. Zaire is hereby elevated to Grand Elder."
The silence that followed was thunderous.
But the voice continued, unrelenting.
"As punishment for becoming a Beast-Warrior without authorisation, foreign ambassador Aziz Amin will be confined to the Western Branch for the next six months, where he will continue instructing those he has already begun teaching in the way of a Weapon-Wielder."
Aziz blinked once, his expression unreadable.
Then came the final verdict.
"As punishment for attacking a branch Supreme Elder of our Beast Warrior Institute, Jabari and August Owusu are sentenced to six months in the Anarchic Desert."
Gasps swept through the Elders. Even the most stoic among them faltered.
"With no external support, they must complete either one E-Rank mission each, or a D-Rank mission together. Failure will result in expulsion. They have until Sunday night to prepare."
And just like that, the unseen presence vanished. The moment the last syllable faded, reality resumed.
*Clang!*
August's massive axe crashed to the floor.
*Thud! Thud!*
Then came the boys, their unconscious bodies landing softly on the stone as the frozen time relinquished its hold.
Aziz stepped forward, unbothered by the display that had just occurred.
The Elders still knelt.
The chamber was silent.
"Why are all you old ghosts the same?" Aziz muttered, half to himself. "Always acting mysterious for no reason."
He walked past Diallo's trembling, kneeling form without so much as a glance.
With casual ease, he lifted both Jabari and August, slinging one unconscious body over each shoulder.
He then picked up August's axe in one hand – its immense weight seemingly nothing to him.
He paused at the edge of the hall, glancing at the death grip Jabari still had on his glaive.
A flicker of a proud smile passed across his face.
"I'll be at my accommodation if anyone needs anything," he said, turning toward the doors, not bothering to wait for a response.
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