Chapter 69: Do your Job
Borzoi stuttered. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as if the words refused to come out properly. His body, which had already knelt before Clay, stiffened for a moment, and even his breathing became uneven.
Clay frowned slightly.
"What is it?"
His tone was not loud, but it carried impatience. The kind that made people feel like they were wasting something precious just by hesitating.
Borzoi lowered his head further.
"Young Warchief... I... there is something you must know."
Clay crossed his arms.
"Then say it."
Borzoi swallowed.
Then he began.
"At first, when we were sent here, this land was... normal."
His voice steadied as he spoke, but the content of his words carried a growing heaviness.
"The beasts were strong, yes, but they were not uncontrollable. They fought each other, they hunted, they lived according to their instincts. There was balance. There was order."
He paused briefly.
"But we changed that."
Clay’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Borzoi continued, slower now, as if recalling something he could not undo.
"The treasures we brought... the totems... the rituals... they were not meant for a stable land. They were meant for a battlefield. A place where growth must be forced, where survival itself becomes a weapon."
His fists clenched.
"We used them here."
The air around him felt heavier.
"We awakened the beasts. Not just their bodies, but their instincts. Their hunger. Their rage. Their desire to dominate everything around them."
He lifted his head slightly.
"They began to fight more. Hunt more. Kill more."
His voice deepened.
"And every time they fought... they grew stronger."
Clay did not interrupt.
Borzoi kept going.
"The weaker ones were devoured. The stronger ones absorbed everything. Their bodies adapted. Their bones hardened. Their claws sharpened. Their senses became more acute. Their aggression multiplied."
His eyes darkened.
"And it did not stop."
A long breath escaped him.
"It never stopped."
He looked at Clay again.
"The more time passes... the stronger they become. Not slowly. Not steadily. Rapidly. Violently."
He hesitated again.
"As if something is pushing them forward... forcing them to evolve beyond their natural limits."
Clay’s gaze sharpened further.
"So in the end..."
Borzoi lowered his head once more.
"Even if we give everything we have... even if we gather all the younger generation... even if we stand our ground until the very last breath..."
His voice trembled slightly.
"We cannot guarantee the safety of your Holy Kingdom, Young Warchief."
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
The kind that pressed down on everyone present.
Clay did not react immediately.
He simply stood there.
Thinking.
Just like the story.
His eyes moved slightly.
The beasts grow stronger over time until they become a catastrophe.
He clicked his tongue faintly.
"How long?"
Borzoi blinked.
"How many days before they outgrow you?"
Borzoi did not hesitate this time.
"Half a month."
His answer came quickly.
"At most."
Clay nodded slowly.
"Half a month..."
He murmured.
Then he smiled.
"Alright then."
Before Borzoi could react, Clay moved.
In a single step, he was already in front of him.
Borzoi’s eyes widened slightly.
Then—
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Firm. Steady.
Clay closed his eyes.
And everything changed.
Borzoi felt it immediately.
Heat.
Not ordinary heat.
It came from deep within his body.
From the very core of his being.
The tattoo on his body... the mark that had changed when Clay became Warchief... began to burn.
Not painfully.
But intensely.
As if something was awakening.
His breath hitched.
His eyes widened.
Then slowly...
They closed.
He could not stop it.
He did not want to.
Inside him, something was moving.
Breaking.
Reforming.
His muscles tightened.
His veins pulsed.
His heart beat faster.
Then faster.
Then even faster.
The world around him faded.
All he could feel was that burning sensation spreading across his body, reaching every corner, every cell, every drop of blood.
It was not chaotic.
It was controlled.
Guided.
Directed by the hand resting on his shoulder.
This...
His thoughts trembled.
This is...
He had felt something like this before.
Long ago.
From the Warchief.
But this...
This was different.
Stronger.
Deeper.
More complete.
The heat reached its peak.
Then—
It settled.
Borzoi’s eyes snapped open.
He inhaled sharply.
His entire body trembled.
Then—
He dropped to his knees.
"YOUNG WARCHIEF!"
His voice shook.
He bowed his head to the ground.
Hard.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"Why... why would you do this for me...!"
His voice cracked.
Inside him, he could feel it clearly.
His limits... had been broken.
The barrier that had held him back... was gone.
His potential...
Had been unlocked.
Completely.
He slammed his head to the ground again.
"I... I do not deserve this...!"
His body trembled.
"To receive such a gift... from you...!"
He continued bowing.
Over and over.
Each time harder than the last.
His voice grew more emotional.
"I swear... I swear upon my blood... my life... my existence... I will not fail you...!"
He raised his head slightly.
His eyes were filled with something new.
Not just respect.
Not just fear.
Something deeper.
Devotion.
"Even if my body breaks... even if my bones shatter... even if I must crawl... I will protect this land as you command!"
He bowed again.
"I will protect your people... your family... your name... until my last breath!"
His voice echoed across the battlefield.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Because far away...
Beyond the crack...
The Warchiefs had stood up.
All of them.
Even the Shaman.
Their eyes were wide.
Their expressions were no longer calm.
"What... did he just do...?"
One of them whispered.
"That... that was not normal..."
Another spoke.
"That was not just guidance... that was not just blessing..."
Their voices overlapped.
"He... he forcefully unlocked his potential...!"
The Shaman’s hands trembled.
"Why would he do that...?"
His voice was filled with disbelief.
"That technique... is only used when passing down the throne... and even then... it comes with a cost...!"
His breathing became uneven.
"He sacrificed his own growth... to raise another...!"
Silence fell again.
None of them understood.
None of them could.
Back in the battlefield, Clay opened his eyes.
He looked at Borzoi calmly.
"You can now reach the third phase."
Borzoi froze.
"Just like your previous Warchiefs."
Clay’s tone was casual.
"As long as you keep this town peaceful... I won’t take it back."
Borzoi’s body trembled.
He lowered his head again.
"Yes... Young Warchief..."
Clay turned away.
"But remember..."
His voice became colder.
"I can take it back anytime."
Borzoi did not even hesitate.
"Yes!"
His reply was immediate.
Absolute.
Clay waved his hand.
"Now do your job."
He began to walk away.
"I’m going to relax."
Behind him, Borzoi remained kneeling.
His head lowered.
His fists clenched.
His entire being burning with determination.
Inside Clay’s mind, however—
You wish.
He smirked faintly.
I’ll take it back later.
Once you’re done.
He did not say it out loud.
But the thought was clear.
He glanced slightly to the side.
"Maid Cy."
Cerys stepped forward immediately.
"Yes, young master."
"Follow me."
She nodded.
"Of course."
They began to walk.
Step by step.
Away from the battlefield.
Away from the chaos.
Toward something calmer.
Or at least... that was what Clay intended.
Then—
A sound echoed in his mind.
Ding!
Clay froze mid-step.
His eyes widened.
No way...