The return to Hearth's Watch was not a triumphant march, but a slow, weary trudge. Damien's body, the Glacial Vermilion Body, was resilient, but his spirit was hollowed out. The mental battle with the Canker and the reckless expenditure of his core mana left him feeling like a glass vessel that had been struck and miraculously not shattered. Every step sent phantom echoes of the Fell-Wyrm's hatred through his nerves, a chilling reminder of the weapon he'd briefly unsheathed.
He emerged from the fissure as dusk painted the sky in bruised purples. The town lay below, its watch-fires already lit. His Mana-Vision, though strained, immediately picked out the anomaly. The toxic cyan plume from the mine was gone. In its place was a faint, steady, deep-blue radiance—the signature of his own purified frost energy, now seeping into the local geomantic web. The very air felt cleaner, sharper.
He had not gone unseen.
Two hundred yards from the palisade, three figures detached themselves from the shadow of the trees. They moved with disciplined silence, fanning out to block his path. Their auras were muted silver, mirroring the Factor's, but weaker: 2nd Order, 1st and 2nd Ranks. Town guards, but of a different caliber—the Factor's personal retinue.
The lead guard, a woman with a scar across her chin, held up a hand. "Halt. You are the one who went to the mine."
It wasn't a question. Damien stopped, his posture weary, non-threatening. He let them see the dirt, the exhaustion. "I am."
"The corruption is gone," another guard, a younger man, said, wonder warring with suspicion in his voice. "We felt the… shift. What did you do?"
"I cleansed it," Damien replied simply. He had no energy for elaborate lies.
The scarred woman's eyes narrowed. "With what power? You register as a void to my spiritual sense. A blind beggar boy doesn't cleanse geomantic curses."
Damien tilted his head. "The town's problem is solved. The mine can be reopened. Is that not enough?"
"Not for Factor Jaxom," she said. "He wants to see you. Now. Come willingly, or we escort you."
A command, not an invitation. Damien calculated. Fighting was possible but wasteful. He was drained. The Factor, a 4th Rank cultivator, was a serious threat in his current state. Compliance was the optimal path for gathering data.
"Lead the way," he said.
They took him not to the Factor's official house, but to a smaller, stone-built outbuilding behind it—a private study or interrogation room. It was sparsely furnished, lit by a single mana-lamp. The air smelled of oiled leather, parchment, and a faint, astringent cleansing powder.
Factor Jaxom sat behind a heavy oak desk. He was a man in his late forties, with a lean, ascetic face and hair gone prematurely steel-grey. His eyes were the color of old ice, and they saw too much. His silver aura was a tightly controlled mantle, humming with the disciplined energy of the Argent Mirror school—a path of reflection, analysis, and piercing insight. He wore simple but fine grey robes. Before him on the desk lay Damien's Frost-Knife, the troll leg-spike, and the sack containing the Canker's purified core fragment.
Damien's guards stood him before the desk and retreated to the door.
Jaxom steepled his fingers. "You have no discernible cultivation base," he began, his voice dry and precise. "Yet you walk into a death-tainted mine and emerge hours later having not only survived but fundamentally altered its spiritual nature. You carry tools that are either masterwork artifacts or manifestations of a rare innate ability. And you see without eyes." He picked up the Frost-Knife. "This is not forged. It is grown. Sustained by a will I cannot perceive. Explain."
Damien stood silently. The System was running a low-level threat analysis.
[Subject: Jaxom Ferros (Factor). Cultivation: 2nd Order, 4th Rank. School: Argent Mirror (Analysis/Reflection). Primary Motivation: Consolidation of personal power and accurate reporting to Lord Ferros. Current emotional state: Cautious curiosity, high alert.]
"You have questions," Damien stated. "I have a condition."
A faint smile touched Jaxom's lips. "Bold. For a boy in a room with four armed cultivators."
"You need me," Damien said, his blind gaze fixed on a point just past Jaxom's shoulder. "The mine is cleansed, but only I understand the new… equilibrium. The silver will be pure, perhaps even of slightly higher spiritual grade. But the process to mine it safely now requires specific knowledge. My knowledge."
He was bluffing, but it was a logical bluff. He had reshaped the mine's energy; it was reasonable to assume he controlled its new state.
Jaxom's smile vanished. "You presume to bargain?"
"I am stating a mutually beneficial reality. You report to Lord Ferros that the mine is operational, thanks to your decisive action in recruiting a specialist. Tribute flows again. Your standing improves. I get the Miner's Bounty promised by the town charter, and non-interference."
"And what are you, specialist?" Jaxom's eyes glittered. "A lost scion of some fallen frost-aligned clan? A wandering adept?"
"I am a problem-solver," Damien said. "My past is irrelevant. My utility is not."
Jaxom leaned back, studying him. The Argent Mirror techniques were likely trying to reflect Damien's spirit, to see his truth. They would see only the void, the perfect cold, and the diamond-hard will at the center. An enigma.
"The town will see you as a savior," Jaxom said slowly. "That grants you influence. Influence I manage here."
"I have no interest in governing a dying town," Damien replied, the truth in his words lending them weight. "I require resources. The mine's output, a quiet place to cultivate, and access to information. You manage the politics. I solve the… infrastructural issues."
It was an offer of a partnership, with Damien in the subordinate but essential role. A tool Jaxom could wield.
The Factor was silent for a long minute. He picked up the Canker's core fragment. It was a lump of deep blue crystal now, swirling with inner light. "This is the source's heart. Purified. Its energy is potent, cold-aligned. Valuable." He set it down. "The Miner's Bounty is one-tenth of the mine's refined output. I will grant it. You may take a vacant house by the north wall. You will report to me on the mine's status weekly. And you will explain, in theory, how you achieved this cleansing."
Damien gave a single nod. "Acceptable."
"One more thing," Jaxom said, his voice dropping. "There is a… gathering. Of the Vale's minor lords and their champions, in three months' time at Ferros Keep. A display of strength, a settling of disputes. Lord Ferros enjoys unique talents. If you wish for more than silver and a hovel, demonstrate your value there. Cleanse the mine, restore full production, and I will take you as my retinue."
A path to a larger stage. To the seat of power in the Frostscar Vale. To the potential for accessing higher-grade information and resources. It was a faster route than slowly building from Hearth's Watch.
"I will be ready," Damien said.
Jaxom gestured dismissal. The guards escorted him out, not to a cell, but to the promised house—a small, sturdy stone cottage, cold and empty. They left him at the door.
Inside, Damien collapsed onto the bare floor. The strain of the day crashed over him. But his mind was already working.
He had a base. A resource stream. A patron of sorts, who was undoubtedly planning to use him and discard him when convenient. And a deadline: three months to fully secure the mine and prepare for a political gathering where he would be a curiosity, a weapon, or a pawn.
He accessed the System.
[New Directive Generated: 'Secure Resource Base & Prepare for Ferros Conclave'.]
[Sub-Objectives: 1. Establish safe mining protocols for the Silver Vein Mine. 2. Use mine's spiritual silver to cultivate and reach 2nd Order, 2nd Rank. 3. Design and forge a 'display piece' of power for the Conclave.]
[Long-term Alert: Factor Jaxom's loyalty is to himself. Probability of betrayal once host's use is maximized: 87%. Prepare countermeasures.]
Damien Karyon, lying on the cold stone of his first owned property, allowed himself a slow breath. The solitude of the mountain was over. Now he was in the tangled, treacherous web of human power.
He preferred the Drake. At least its hunger was honest.
He closed his sightless eyes and began the slow, careful work of cycling the scant wisps of ambient mana, his Conquered Frost avatar a silent sentinel in his soul, already planning the next conquest.