Chapter 44: Rage Baiting
Clay stood there as though nothing in front of him deserved urgent attention, his posture relaxed, one hand resting loosely at his side while the other brushed off the dust from his sleeve, his eyes fixed on Borzoi with a calm curiosity that did not match the chaos surrounding them, as if this entire battlefield had turned into nothing more than a stage prepared for his own amusement.
He tilted his head slightly, studying the man before him.
So this is one of them... The Bersuka Tribe... or something close to it.
The body, the aura, the way he speaks... it matches too well.
Even though he already had an idea, he still wanted confirmation.
There was something satisfying about hearing it directly.
Something that made everything feel more real.
Clay’s lips curved into a faint smile.
Borzoi, on the other hand, stood frozen for a moment.
The word echoed in his head.
Slave.
His eyes slowly moved toward Clay, his gaze darkening, his presence growing heavier as though something deep inside him had been touched in the worst possible way.
"What did you say to me?" Borzoi asked, his voice low, controlled, yet carrying something dangerous beneath it.
Clay did not hesitate.
"Slave," he replied casually, as if repeating the word made no difference at all. "You look like one."
He paused for a moment, as if thinking.
Then added, "A strong slave though. I’ll give you that."
The air around them seemed to tighten.
Borzoi’s expression did not explode immediately.
Instead, it sank... it became darker and deeper... or simply more dangerous.
His fingers twitched.
"You..." he began, his voice slower now, each word pressed out with effort. "Do you know what you are saying?"
Clay shrugged lightly.
"Of course I do. I don’t speak nonsense."
He glanced at Borzoi’s missing arm, then back at his face.
"Well... except maybe to slaves."
A few soldiers behind Clay nearly choked on their breath.
The Captain’s face turned pale.
Is he... trying to provoke him...?
No... he is provoking him...
But why...?
Borzoi’s jaw tightened.
"You are either very brave..." he said slowly, "or very stupid."
Clay smiled.
"I’ve heard that before."
He took a step forward.
"Usually from people who ended up kneeling later."
Borzoi’s eyes flickered.
The redness in his skin deepened slightly.
"You speak too much," Borzoi said. "And you speak without understanding."
Clay raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? Then enlighten me."
Borzoi’s chest rose as he inhaled deeply, as if restraining something.
"You called me a slave," he said. "Do you even know what that word means to us?"
Clay’s smile remained.
"I know enough."
He leaned forward slightly.
"It means someone weaker bows to someone stronger. That sounds about right, doesn’t it?"
Borzoi’s expression twisted.
"No," he said, his voice dropping lower. "It means chains. It means humiliation. It means being treated like less than an animal."
His fists clenched.
"It means being forced to live under someone who thinks they own you."
Clay blinked once.
Then nodded slowly.
"Ah... so you’ve experienced it."
The words were calm.
Too calm.
Borzoi’s aura trembled.
"I have not," he said.
"But my people have."
Clay hummed softly.
"And now you do the same to others, right?"
Borzoi did not answer immediately.
"You invade. You test. You decide who lives and who dies."
Clay’s gaze sharpened slightly.
"Sounds like slavery with extra steps."
The soldiers behind Clay felt their hearts pound harder.
He’s pushing him too far...
This is not going to end well...
Borzoi’s body trembled.
Not from fear.
From anger.
"Do not compare us to those filth," he said, his voice growing harsher.
Clay tilted his head again.
"Why not? Strong doing whatever they want to the weak. That’s what you said, right?"
He spread his hands slightly.
"I’m just following your logic."
Borzoi’s breathing grew heavier.
"You twist words," he said.
Clay laughed softly.
"No. I just understand them better than you."
The redness in Borzoi’s skin spread further.
Veins began to show.
His eyes burned with a growing intensity.
"You think you are clever," he said.
Clay shrugged.
"I think I’m bored."
Then he looked at Borzoi again.
"But now... I’m entertained."
Meanwhile, far away, in that massive chamber filled with watching eyes, the Bersuka Warchief stood still no longer.
His aura erupted.
The ground beneath him cracked.
"Kill him!"
His voice thundered across the chamber, echoing against the walls.
"Kill that insect!"
His fists clenched tightly, his entire body radiating fury.
"How dare he... how dare he use that word...!"
The other Warchiefs remained silent.
They understood.
They knew.
That word...
Slave.
It was not just an insult to them.
It was a scar... a reverse scale.
Long ago, the Bersuka Tribe had been enslaved by spell casters, forced into submission, treated as tools, beaten, controlled, and stripped of dignity.
That history had burned itself into their blood, into their bones, into their very identity.
When they rose...
They did not stop at revenge.
They eradicated the ones who enslaved them.
And then...
They went further.
Every tribe that resembled those spell casters...
Every group that relied too heavily on magic from a distance...
They hunted them, destroyed them, eradicated them, and they even refused to enslave them as if their goal was to wipe them out without mercy and without hesitation.
That was why they were called the strongest Tribe.
That was why they were feared.
And now...
That word had been spoken by someone.
The Bersuka Warchief’s eyes burned.
"Kill him... kill him slowly..."
Back at the border town, Borzoi’s control finally broke.
"YOU DARE CALL ME SLAVE?!"
His voice exploded across the battlefield, his aura surging violently as the ground beneath him cracked further, dust rising into the air as his body radiated a deep red glow.
"I WILL TEAR YOU APART!"
His eyes locked onto Clay.
"I WILL BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY!"
His voice grew louder.
"AND I WILL CARVE YOUR NAME INTO MY SKIN!"
He took a step forward.
"SO THAT EVERY TIME I DRINK BLOOD... I WILL REMEMBER THE DAY I KILLED YOU!"
The soldiers trembled.
The pressure alone made it hard to breathe.
Clay, however, remained calm.
He smiled.
"Finally," he said quietly. "My peaceful life is getting interesting."
Then he straightened.
"You want my name?"
His voice rose slightly.
"Listen carefully."
"I am Clay Valmont."
His gaze sharpened.
"Most promising talent from the House or Valmots."
His presence changed slightly.
"Future ruler of my own fate."
He took another step forward.
"And from this moment on..."
His smile widened.
"You will call me master."
Silence.
Then—
Borzoi screamed.
His skin turned fully red.
His aura exploded outward like a storm.
Clay did not even flinch.
Instead, he turned his head slightly.
"You," he said to one of the soldiers. "Cast a light spell. Aim it at that slave."
The soldier froze.
"S... sir...?"
The Captain stepped forward, his voice trembling.
"Sir... is this... really okay...?"
They all saw it.
Borzoi’s body was changing.
Growing more violent.
More dangerous.
Clay only laughed softly.
"Yeah."
Before the Captain could respond, a presence appeared beside Clay.
Cerys.
Silent.
Sudden.
The Captain and the knights nearly jumped in shock.
"Young master," she said calmly. "Would you like me to kill him?"
Clay looked at Borzoi for a long moment.
Then shook his head.
"Wait for my command."
Cerys nodded immediately.
"Yes, young master."
Then she vanished again.
The Captain swallowed hard.
Clay looked at him.
"Go on."
The Captain hesitated.
Then turned.
"Ready your spells!"
The soldiers moved quickly, raising their weapons, gathering mana as light began to glow around them.
Their fear was still there.
But so was their resolve.
Clay’s voice came again.
"Go on."
The Captain raised his hand.
Took a deep breath.
Then shouted—
"FIRE!"