Chapter 46: Master
Borzoi frowned the moment the words left Clay’s mouth. His brows knitted together as if he had just heard something ridiculous... something beneath his notice.
Yet there was a strange firmness in Clay’s tone that made him pause for a brief moment, just enough for instinct to whisper at the back of his mind that something was not right.
"What nonsense are you saying?"
His voice carried irritation, but there was a faint crack within it... something that did not match the confidence he had shown earlier.
Still, he followed the direction of Clay’s finger.
Slowly and carefully, his sharp eyes crawled relaxly. As if nothing in this battlefield could truly threaten him.
But the moment his gaze dropped to his left side...
Everything in his view, froze.
There was no hand.
There was no arm beyond the wrist.
Only a clean, terrifying cut.
And blood.
A thin stream of dark red blood dripped down from the severed part, falling one drop at a time onto the ground below. Each drop echoing louder than any roar of beasts, louder than any clash of magic that had filled the battlefield earlier.
For a brief moment, Borzoi simply stared at it intently, as if he couldn’t believe he was seeing this. When he finally accepted it in his head, his eyes widened. His pupils shrank. His breathing stopped.
"What... is this..."
The soldiers who knows it since earlier were stunned. Along with the Captain too.
The archers above the walls leaned forward, their mouths slowly opening as disbelief took over their faces. Their eyes moved from Borzoi’s arm to the severed hand lying not far away, then to Borzoi’s face, and then to his back to his arm and then to the hand and then back to his face again.
as if their minds was thinking the most ridiculous thing.
"He- He- He didn’t... ...know?"
One of them whispered.
"He didn’t really notice... and he only found put... ...now?"
"He’s not ignoring it and just didn’t feel it?"
The words spread like fire.
The Captain’s heart pounded violently inside his chest.
We... we didn’t do that... none of us touched him... then who...
Then his gaze landed on Clay.
Meanwhile, Borzoi’s entire body trembled.
Not from fear. But from rage. From confusion. From something that he had experienced before.
He slowly raised what remained of his arm, staring at it as if it belonged to someone else. His mind tried to piece together what had happened... trying to recall the moment his hand had been taken. But there was nothing. No memory. No sensation. No pain until now.
Only absence.
Only loss.
"Who..."
His voice was low.
Dangerous.
"Who did this..."
Clay did not answer.
He simply stood there, his expression calm, his eyes filled with amusement— as if he had expected this exact reaction. As if everything was unfolding exactly as he had planned.
Good... very good...
Inside his mind, Clay could not help but grin.
This is perfect... the oath is already binding... now there’s no escape...
Far away, in that distant continent where the Warchiefs watched, the Bersuka Warchief slammed his hand down once more. The ground beneath him cracking even further as his roar filled the entire chamber.
"You idiot!"
"You absolute idiot!"
His face twisted in fury.
"You swore an oath while already bleeding?!"
The other Warchiefs stared at the projection. Their expressions no longer relaxed. Their eyes were sharp as they tried to understand what had just happethe... Now Borzoi, someone they considered strong even among the younger generation, had lost his hand without even noticing.
The Shaman’s old eyes narrowed.
Back at the battlefield, Borzoi’s eyes snapped upward.
His senses spread wildly, searching, scanning every corner, every shadow, every movement. But there was nothing... no presence, no trace of the one who had taken his hand. And that made his anger burn even hotter.
"Show yourself!"
He roared.
"Whoever did this, come out!"
The wind carried his voice across the battlefield, but no one answered.
The soldiers remained still.
The archers held their breath.
Even the beasts in the distance seemed to quiet down, as if the world itself was waiting.
Then...
A soft voice spoke.
"Young master."
It came from beside Clay.
The Captain flinched.
The guards turned their heads so fast that their necks almost snapped.
And there she was.
Cerys.
She stood there as if she had always been there. Her posture straight, her expression calm. Her presence so natural yet so terrifying that it sent a chill down the spine of everyone who saw her.
The Captain’s throat went dry.
When... when did she appear...
Clay glanced at her.
"You took your time."
Cerys lowered her head slightly.
"I was observing."
Her voice was gentle.
Yet there was something cold beneath it.
Borzoi’s eyes locked onto her.
And for the first time since his arrival...
He felt something.
Not fear.
But danger.
Real danger.
"You..."
He stared at her, his instincts screaming louder than ever before.
"You’re the one who did it..."
Cerys did not answer immediately.
She simply looked at him.
Then... she spoke.
"Your hand was in the way."
Her tone was calm.
As if she had merely moved an object aside.
As if what she did was nothing worth mentioning.
The soldiers felt their hearts skip.
The Captain clenched his fists.
She was indeed who did it... she cut his hand... without him noticing...
Borzoi’s lips curled into a wide grin.
Not of amusement.
But of excitement.
"So it was you..."
His eyes gleamed.
"Good... very good..."
His body trembled slightly as his skin began to turn darker. The red hue spreads across his entire body like fire crawling beneath his flesh. His muscles were tightening as a violent aura erupted around him.
"You are strong."
He took a step forward.
The ground cracked beneath his foot.
"But..."
His voice deepened.
"You already made me bleed."
He raised his remaining hand.
"And I swore an oath."
The air grew heavy. His face was indignant... But the presence of the ancient totem reappeared behind him as if reminding him of the binding words he had spoken.
For a moment...
Silence.
Then Borzoi exhaled slowly.
The rage in his eyes did not disappear.
But something else appeared alongside it.
Acceptance.
He lowered his head.
Not fully.
But enough.
"I am... a man of my word."
His voice was rough.
Each word felt like it was being forced out.
"I, Borzoi of the Bersuka Tribe..."
His fists clenched.
"Will serve..."
He paused.
His teeth ground against each other.
"...as your subordinate."
The soldiers froze.
The Captain’s eyes widened.
The archers nearly dropped their bows.
He... he accepted...
Far away, the Bersuka Warchief collapsed back onto his seat. His face dark. His eyes filled with disbelief and fury. His chest rising and falling heavily as he stared at the projection.
"He... accepted it..."
He whispered.
"He really accepted it..."
Back at the battlefield, Clay tilted his head slightly.
Then he smiled.
"Good."
He stepped forward.
Slow.
Relaxed.
As if he had just acquired something valuable.
"From now on..."
He stopped in front of Borzoi.
His eyes met his.
"You listen to me."
Borzoi did not respond immediately.
His jaw tightened.
But in the end...
He nodded.
A small motion.
But enough.
And at that moment, the battlefield changed.
The balance shifted.
Not by force.
But by a single drop of blood.