In the morning, it wasn't the light that woke Antares. It was the smell.
It was a rich, heavy scent—savory, smoky, and laced with the unmistakable metallic tang of high-grade mana. It was the smell of Stonefang serpent meat roasting over open fires. It permeated the heavy canvas of the Royal Tent, slipping through the gaps in the leather flaps and pulling Antares from a deep, dreamless sleep.
He sat up, his stomach letting out a treacherous growl that seemed to vibrate against his ribs. He realized with a start that he hadn't eaten a proper meal since the morning prior. The adrenaline of the hunt, the massacre of the serpents, and the tension with Yanrid had distracted him, but now that his body was at rest, the demand for fuel was overwhelming and could no longer be ignored.
He threw off the heavy furs and moved to the washbasin. The water was freezing, a thin layer of ice needing to be cracked before he could splash his face. He caught his reflection in the polished bronze mirror—wild, shoulder-length black hair that refused to be tamed, and eyes that glowed with a permanent, piercing crimson light. He looked less like a human noble and more like a wild warlord.
He dressed quickly, foregoing the heavy plate armor for a set of lighter, weather-adaptable leathers lined with terror-wolf fur. He strapped Eos to his back, the golden weapon feeling light and familiar, and stepped out into the biting morning air.
The camp was alive.
Usually, the morning routine was a grim, silent affair of changing guards and checking perimeters. But today, there was a buzz, a vibration of excitement that hummed through the very ground.
Antares followed his nose toward the central plaza, where the great fire pits had been dug. What he saw made a genuine smile break through his usually stoic mask.
Dozens of massive skewers were turning slowly over roaring fires. Huge slabs of serpent meat, glistening with rendered fat and dusted with crushed rock-salt and herbs, sizzled and popped. The smoke was thick and white, carrying the promise of satisfaction.
The camp helpers, non-combatant Antmen who managed logistics were working alongside off-duty warriors, turning the cranks and basting the meat. A long, orderly line of soldiers snaked around the plaza, waiting for their meals.
As Antares approached, the chatter died down. The soldiers nearest to him stiffened, their instincts screaming to salute.
"At ease!" Antares called out, raising a hand before they could drop to their knees. "I didn't come here to stress. I came here because I'm also hungry."
A ripple of laughter went through the line. It was hesitant at first, but when they saw the King's grin, it became genuine.
Antares walked to the back of the line.
"Sire?" a young Ashfang warrior stammered, his eyes wide. "Please, take my place. The King should not wait."
"Nonsense," Antares said, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "Hunger knows no rank, soldier. besides, the smell is half the meal. Let me enjoy the anticipation."
He stood there, chatting with the men and women of the camp. He asked about their families back in the underground settlement. He joked about the toughness of the meat. He listened to a forager complain about the cold in a way that suggested he was proud of surviving it.
This wasn't just a meal; it was statecraft. Antares knew that loyalty wasn't bought with gold or fear. It was bought with shared hardship and shared bread. By standing in the snow with a wooden bowl, waiting for his turn, he was telling them: I am not above you. I am with you.
When he finally reached the front, the cook—a burly, scarred Antman with a missing ear—heaped a massive, steaming portion of serpent flank into Antares's bowl.
" The rib meat, Sire," the cook whispered conspiratorially. "Best part. melts in the mouth."
"I'll hold you to that, Horgus," Antares replied with a wink.
He found a seat on a log near the fire, surrounded by his troops. The meat was incredible. It was dense, requiring real effort to chew, but as it broke down, it released a flood of warm, tingling energy that spread through his limbs. This was the power of consuming higher-tier monsters; it wasn't just food, it was also a cultivation resource.
He was halfway through his second skewer, laughing at a story a scout was telling about a clumsy snow-bear, when two shadows fell over him.
Levi and Eli stood there. They were in full combat gear, their expressions serious.
"My Lord," Levi said, bowing low. "Apologies for the interruption."
Antares swallowed the last bite, wiping the grease from his lips with the back of his hand. "Let me guess. The council is gathered?"
"They are waiting in your tent, Sire," Eli confirmed. "All the Clan Leaders are present."
Antares sighed, the moment of peace evaporating like breath in the cold air. He stood up, placing his empty bowl on the log. "Duty calls. Finish your meals, everyone. We have a tons of work to do today."
The walk back to the Royal Tent was short. Levi and Eli flanked him, their movements synchronized, serving as a reminder that the relaxed man that was just eating snake BBQ a moment ago, was also the most protected being in the region.
When Antares entered the tent, the atmosphere shifted from the warm camaraderie of the fireside to the heavy, suffocating tension of a war room.
Lord Kael was pacing. The Master Smith, usually as solid and immovable as his anvil, looked like a man on the edge of a breakdown. His hands were clasped behind his back, his fingers twitching.
Lady Sira, the elegant and sharp-tongued diplomat of the tribe, sat with perfect posture, her eyes scanning a scroll of trade goods.
Velas and Yajin stood near the map table, speaking in low tones.
"My King," Kael said, stopping his pacing the moment Antares entered. He looked desperate.
Antares walked to his desk and sat down, gesturing for everyone to take their places. "Sit, Kael. Everyone, take a seat. We have much to cover and very little time."
He looked around the room, meeting each of their gazes.
"I'm not going to beat around the bush," Antares started, his voice firm. "We are splitting our forces today. This marks the beginning of our true expansion."
He directly pointed to the North on the map.
"First, the rescue mission. A specialized detachment led by myself will depart immediately for the Godwall Mountains. Our objective is simple: locate and retrieve Kael's sons."
Kael stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. He bowed deeply, his voice trembling. "Sire... I... I cannot express my gratitude. To risk your own life for the sons of a smith... it is a debt I can never repay."
"Sit down, Kael," Antares said gently, but with authority. "They are not just sons of a smith. They are children of the Hive. And we do not leave our own to die in the cold. Besides, I need them. If they have half your talent, they are valuable assets to the tribe."
Kael sat, wiping a hand across his eyes, his anxiety replaced by a fierce, silent loyalty.
Antares turned to the map, tracing a line to the South.
"While I am in the mountains, we must look to the future. Lord Yajin, Lady Sira. You will take the trade delegation South."
Sira leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "To the coast, Sire? To the Redbeard Pirates?"
"Precisely," Antares said. "We have a tentative agreement, but pirates respect only two things: strength and wealth. I need you to honor the meeting, but listen to me closely, Stall them."
Yajin frowned. "Stall them, Sire? Do we not want their products as fast as possible?"
"We do," Antares replied. "But I want to look their Captain in the eye myself. I want to gauge if they are merely trading partners or potential vassals or future foes. Drag out the negotiations. Show them the goods, let them touch the merchandise, but do not sign the final treaty until I descend from the mountain and join you."
Lady Sira bowed her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "I understand, my King. I will, they won't realize they are waiting until you are standing in front of them. I vow to carry out this mission flawlessly."
The tent flap opened, letting in a gust of freezing wind.
Yanrid entered.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. He was dressed in his sleek, light leather armor, a quiver of ice-arrows on his back. His face was a mask of professional detachment, ignoring Yajin entirely.
"The rescue party is ready, Your Majesty," Yanrid said coldly. "The rescue unit is assembled at the North Gate. Weather conditions are optimal for flight."
Antares nodded, acknowledging the tension but choosing to ignore it for now. "Excellent."
He turned to Velas. "Lord Velas, you are the shield while we are gone, you hold the camp. You supervise the foraging units, you ensure the perimeter is secure, and you maintain the peace." He shot a quick glance at Yajin, implying the incident with Azir. "Ensure the safety of our people, Velas. You are the Steward until I return."
Velas placed a fist over his heart. " The camp will be a fortress, Sire. Nothing gets in or out without my permission."
Yajin cleared his throat. "Regarding logistics, Sire. The carts of meat and wood are already en route to the underground settlement. The two wounded recruits are also on their way back to the settlement. They will receive treatment there."
"Good," Antares said, leaning back. "That meat will fill the new ice-storage rooms. It guarantees the tribe survives the rest of winter comfortably. But there is one specific order regarding the spoils."
He looked at Yajin. "The Alpha Stonefang meat. it's heart, organs and meat. Send it all directly to the Palace. To my wife Queen Solara."
Sira raised an eyebrow elegantly. "To the Queen, Sire? Is it for a feast?"
"It is for the future," Antares said, his voice leaving no room for questions. "Solara will know what to do with it. That's all I can say for now. Send it to her with my regards."
"It will be done," Yajin said.
Antares stood up, pacing over to the table where Sira's trade scroll lay.
"Lady Sira, regarding the trade goods for the Redbeards. We are not paying them in gold. We are paying them in monsters parts this time."
He tapped the list. "The Stonefang bones, the venom sacs, the lesser scales, the eyes. These are materials the humans and dwarves would kill for. Use them to acquire top-quality goods."
"And the Alpha?" Kael asked, his voice steadying. "Do we sell the Alpha's parts?"
Antares turned to the smith, his red eyes glowing. "Absolutely not. The Alpha is ours."
He walked over to Kael, lowering his voice. "Kael, I want you to use the Alpha's body for the Royal Guard. The fangs are harder and sharper than most blades, turn them into daggers, swords, spear and arrow tips. The scales are nearly impervious to normal physical attacks, forge them into plates for the warriors. And the bones... the spinal column specifically... I have a plan specifically for it but we shall discuss it when I return."
Kael's eyes widened, his craftsman's soul igniting. "Sire... materials of that tier... I vow to forge weapons worthy of your praise. I will not waste a single splinter of bone."
"I know you won't," Antares said.
He looked around the room one last time. "Everyone has their orders, if there's an emergency contact me."
The gathered leaders bowed in unison. "Yes, your Majesty!"
Antares didn't wait for them to disperse. He strode to his weapon rack, grabbing Eos and feeling the hum of the golden sword resonate with his own soul. He walked out of the tent, Levi and Eli falling into step behind him instantly.
Outside, the wind was picking up, swirling the snow around the base of the Tower. Antares looked North, toward the looming white wall of the mountains.
"Yanrid," Antares called out without looking back, knowing the scout was following. "Let's go get those boys."
"Right behind you, Sire," Yanrid replied.
The rescue mission had begun.