A heavy silence fell over the room. Breaths were held. All eyes were fixed on Kaiser, filled with uncertainty but also, for the first time in a long while after being reduced to slavery, there was a glimmer of hope.
Gunar kept his gaze locked on Kaiser for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons. Finally, he slowly inclined his head. The doubt in his eyes gave way to pragmatic curiosity.
"Alright," he admitted, his hoarse voice softening a little. "Then lay out your plan. What exactly do you have in mind?"
"You took your time biting the hook, man..."
Kaiser sank a little deeper into the back of the armchair, crossing his fingers over his chest.
"I'm talking about founding an organization," he began. "But not a mercenary guild or a sloppy crime syndicate like the dozens that already exist in Alexandria. I want to build a solid, disciplined structure, with a hierarchy and roles as clear as those of an army. Its name will be Black Neon."
An attentive silence greeted this announcement. Several former slaves, intrigued, drew closer, forming a loose circle around the armchair.
Kaiser continued, his voice becoming more commanding, more precise.
"Black Neon will be divided into several distinct sections. At the very top will be The Predator, the undisputed master of the organization. Below him, the operational elite, the strike force, will be called The Beasts. Then will come The Jackals, specialized in hunting, tracking, and targeted assassinations. Finally, the information web that collects and manipulates intelligence will be embodied by The Spider."
Gunar frowned, his expression betraying intense thought. The logic and preparation behind this plan were obvious; everything had been carefully considered.
"To turn you into effective tools," Kaiser went on, "I will recruit instructors. They will teach you not only how to fight, but also how to obey in a disciplined manner, how to plan, and how to exploit your unique talents. You will be divided into groups according to your natural aptitudes. And in three years, there will be a grand tournament, a battle royale. Only the strongest, the smartest, and the most resilient will earn the right to officially join the section The Beasts. Your only job until then will be to train to the limit of your strength. As for funding, weapons, and housing, those are my problems, not yours."
Murmurs ran through the group of beastkins. They exchanged glances mixing surprise and a spark of newborn hope. For the first time in a long while, they were being offered not only potential revenge, but also a path, a structured purpose.
Kaiser then turned his head toward Kara, who was watching the scene in silence.
"I expressed the desire for you to become my bodyguard, didn't I? But you will still have to prove I wasn't wrong about your potential. Watch, learn, and grow stronger. When the time comes, you will have your chance to enter the top, and then I will know I was right."
Kara lifted her chin, meeting Kaiser's gaze without flinching. Fierce determination was written across her face. She was ready to accept this challenge.
"I'll probably be in the top, so just wait."
Finally, Kaiser let his gaze slowly sweep the room. His eyes stopped on a figure standing apart, leaning against a wall in a dark corner. It was a young woman with pointed elven ears partially hidden by short blonde hair.
Her skin had the coppery tone of the peoples of Babylon. A thick, long fringe completely covered her left eye, but a golden glow sometimes filtered from beneath the strand. Her other eye, jet black, observed the room with cold intensity. Her posture was straight and arrogant.
"You there," Kaiser called. "Who are you, and what is your story?"
The young woman held his gaze without the slightest hesitation, her voice completely neutral and devoid of inflection.
"My name is Eleanor. I am twenty years old. I was a disciple of the Tower of Sorcery. My own master sold me to clear a debt incurred after one of his experiments went wrong." She gave a small shrug, empty of emotion.
"Wizards know no loyalty, only market value. They sell anything that can offset their mistakes, including their apprentices."
"Hm? And where are your parents?"
She continued, answering the unspoken question about her skills.
"In the Kingdom of Babylon, society is entirely structured around Towers. The Tower of the Forge, the Tower of Alchemists, and the one I come from, the Tower of Sorcery. Altitude determines status: the higher you live, the more powerful you are. There are no family ties, only the relationship between a master and his disciple."
"So that's how it was in the story. They didn't develop much about the elves from Babylon. Only a few antagonists."
"What are the differences between the towers?"
She paused, letting her words sink into the assembly.
"A Forger creates golems using advanced technological principles. An Alchemist brings homunculi to life by manipulating organic matter. A Sorcerer, however, creates living creatures by fusing DNA and grafting organs from different races. That was my field of training."
A shiver of horror and fascination ran through the crowd. Even Gunar, the hardened warrior, seemed slightly disturbed by this icy revelation.
After all, dark elves were masters at desecrating corpses.
Kaiser, on the other hand, immediately recognized Eleanor's inestimable value. She was the product of a rigid, methodical system, possessing the confidence of a scientist and the detachment of someone who had already lost everything. She was born to work within an organized structure.
"Perfect," he declared, not hiding his satisfaction. "Your first task will be to compile a complete report on every former slave present here. Their race, estimated age, specific skills, the extent of their injuries; everything must be included. Then you will send me a detailed assessment of the material damage they caused during their escape."
Eleanor nodded sharply, her golden eye already mentally analyzing and categorizing the group.
"Understood. I'll take care of it immediately."
Finally, Kaiser stood up. He walked over to Isaak's body, which had been placed with some modesty against the wall. As he lifted it, his gaze darkened. A familiar tension began to tighten his chest, the weight of the consequences awaiting him.
He thought of Addams. His favorite son was dead. What the hell was he going to say?
Revealing that Kris was the real culprit was risky; it would trigger open war, a conflict he was not yet ready to face. He therefore had to forge another truth, a credible version of events that would calm his father's anger and buy him time.