Journey to Become the Zenith

Training the Subordinate

After a few minutes, Eon and Brinda returned alongside twenty others.

Their footsteps rolled through the corridor before they appeared, heavy boots striking old stone in uneven rhythm. The air in the room changed before the door even opened—rougher, denser, touched by the scent of sweat, iron, and the streets.

Then they entered.

Victor’s golden eyes lifted.

He counted without seeming to count.

Twenty.

Exactly.

Among the twenty they brought back, three of them looked out of place from the group of burly-looking men.

Eon led ten men built like siege towers—broad shoulders, scarred jaws, hands that looked made for crushing bone. Men who had lived by blades, fists, and alley blood.

Behind Brinda came the others.

Two were pretty, dangerously alluring women wearing little more than thin layered fabric draped to tempt more than conceal. Their eyes held the cautious intelligence of low-born mages who had survived by charm and instinct.

The third was different.

A handsome young man.

Too refined for this room.

Too clean.

He looked like some rich merchant’s son who had somehow wandered into a den of wolves.

But his eyes ruined the illusion.

They burned.

The moment he entered, those eyes locked onto Victor.

And glared.

Not cautious.

Possessive.

Jealous.

Victor noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But only leaned back in his chair as if watching a play begin.

"These guys are the best in my crew," Eon said, gesturing at the men behind him.

There was rough pride in his voice.

Not empty boasting.

These were killers he trusted.

Brinda stepped forward next.

"These are mine."

She lightly motioned toward the two women.

"The two girls over here are the beginner mages I told you about..."

Then she indicated the handsome young man.

"And this man here is the Intermediate-rank mage."

Her voice had barely settled when the young man took a step.

His jaw was tight.

His fists clenched.

"Is that the guy, Brinda?"

His voice cracked with irritation.

"Is this the man you’re talking about... the one who has your heart?"

Everyone felt it.

Not a question.

A wound.

Brinda turned.

And instead of diffusing it—

she made it worse.

"Yeah."

Then she looked at Victor.

A slow, flirty gaze.

Expectant.

Hungry for acknowledgment.

Victor caught it.

Only smiled.

Just enough.

Just enough to make Brinda’s pulse quicken.

And just enough to drive the young mage mad.

"What the hell!"

His voice rose.

"He doesn’t look like anything much, and you’re telling me he has your heart?!"

Lane’s eyes narrowed.

Clara’s hand drifted toward her sword.

Videl went still.

Only Victor remained calm.

The young man’s glare became killing intent.

Mana stirred.

A spell nearly formed.

Then—

BOOM.

His face smashed onto the floor.

Hard.

Dust jumped.

Wood creaked.

A strangled gasp escaped him.

He couldn’t move.

His entire body was pinned beneath invisible force.

He looked toward Victor in horror.

Victor had not moved from his spot.

Not a finger.

Not a breath.

And yet crushing pressure held him like a mountain pressing down.

Mana pressure.

Pure domination.

The newcomers turned pale.

Some stepped back.

Others forgot to breathe.

Only those who already knew Victor showed no surprise.

To them this was merely Victor.

To the others—

it was terror.

Silence swallowed the room.

Then Victor rose.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Each step sounded louder than it should.

He walked toward the young mage.

Then knelt on one knee before him.

Almost gentle.

Which made it far more frightening.

His voice lowered.

Cold silk over a blade.

"I don’t care what kind of drama is going on between you and Brinda..."

A brief pause.

His golden eyes flickered toward Brinda.

There was, strangely, a trace of amusement there.

Perhaps even a soft corner she alone noticed.

Then his gaze returned to the pinned man.

"...but the moment you direct killing intent my way for a second time..."

His smile vanished.

"...will be your last."

The pressure increased.

The young mage coughed blood onto the floor.

Victor continued.

"The only reason you get this oh-so miraculous second chance..."

His tone almost mocked.

"...is simply because you are a valuable commodity."

A pause.

"Yet even with that..."

His eyes sharpened.

"A second time will not be tolerated."

No one moved.

No one dared.

Then Victor lifted his gaze.

Toward the others.

Still stepping casually on the young man’s face.

"So..."

He smiled.

"How about you people?"

His voice turned almost conversational.

"Do you have any complaints about me?"

Nineteen heads shook so fast it bordered absurd.

Some nearly bowed while doing it.

"Good."

Victor removed his foot.

The pressure vanished.

The mage sucked air like a drowning man reaching surface.

Brinda stared at Victor with shining eyes.

Not fear.

Something much more dangerous.

Desire sharpened by awe.

Victor noticed.

Ignored it.

Then turned.

"Okay then."

His voice carried now.

Filled the chamber.

"Let me tell you what’s about to happen to you people."

Even Eon straightened.

Because something larger than intimidation was beginning.

"First..."

Victor raised one finger.

"I want you all to register as adventurers."

He glanced at Eon and Brinda.

"That includes you two."

Shock.

Visible.

Some of the men exchanged confused looks.

Adventurers?

From slum enforcers?

Victor continued before questions formed.

"After that..."

His lips curved.

"I will personally train you all..."

Silence deepened.

"...to become suitable people..."

His golden eyes burned now.

"...to be called my subordinates."

Something primal stirred in the room.

Even the skeptics felt it.

The gravity of those words.

Not hired hands.

Not criminals.

Subordinates.

Chosen pieces.

Victor paced before them.

Hands behind his back.

Like a general inspecting recruits.

"I will train you all..."

His voice hardened.

"...until you have the basic strength required to be called my subordinates."

A burly man in Eon’s crew swallowed.

"Train... all of us?"

Victor stopped.

Looked at him.

The poor man nearly regretted speaking.

Then Victor smirked.

"No."

The man blinked.

Relieved too soon.

Victor added:

"I will break all of you first."

Even Clara felt a chill.

Lane hid a smile.

That sounded exactly like him.

The young mage slowly pushed himself upright, humiliated, breathing hard.

Yet when he looked at Victor now—

there was fear where jealousy had been.

Victor noticed.

And unexpectedly spoke to him again.

"You."

The young man stiffened.

"If you can survive my training..."

Victor’s mouth tilted.

"Perhaps you may someday become worthy of competing for Brinda’s attention."

The room froze.

Then Brinda actually laughed.

Low and delighted.

"Oh my... Sir Victor, are you encouraging a rival?"

Victor glanced at her.

Dryly.

"I said survive."

Even Eon barked a laugh.

Tension cracked.

But only briefly.

Because Victor was not done.

He turned again.

And now the air itself seemed to listen.

"You think strength is swinging a blade in alley fights."

He looked across the room.

"You know nothing."

He pointed at the mages.

"You will sharpen mana."

At the fighters.

"You will temper body."

At them all.

"And I..."

he said softly,

"...will forge something this kingdom has never seen."

Ancient forge clan discipline.

Street predators.

Information networks.

Combat mages.

The shape of a hidden army.

Though none fully grasped it.

Not yet.

Only Videl.

And maybe Clara.

Victor looked over all of them one final time.

No longer merely a charming rogue.

Not merely an underworld conqueror.

Something harder.

Something imperial.

Then he repeated, final as law:

"First I want you all to register as adventurers... that includes you Eon and Brinda."

He let the words settle.

"After that I will personally train you all to become suitable people, to be called my subordinates."

His gaze sharpened.

"I will train you all, until you have the basic strength required to be called my subordinates."