Chapter 170: The Judgment of Thunder
Barely had Caelen and Varis pressed their hands to their ears when the flash reached the core of the underground charges.
A second later, the earth did not merely roar; it tore open.
The ground of the testing field erupted into a column of fire, dirt, and black smoke that billowed into the sky like an unleashed monster. The blast was no ordinary sound, but a physical shockwave that shook the hill where they stood. The blast of hot air struck the merchants’ faces as a shower of rocks, dirt, and shrapnel rained down against the sandbag barrier protecting them.
The ground trembled with the fury of an earthquake. Trees along the perimeter shook, losing their leaves in an instant.
When the roar finally subsided, a deathly silence claimed the parade ground. The dense cloud of dust and sulfur began to dissipate with the breeze, revealing a massive, smoking crater where flat dirt had stood moments before.
Caelen collapsed to his knees behind the barrier, his eyes wide, his mouth agape, and his face pale as wax. The air had been knocked from his lungs, and his hands shook. Varis clung with white knuckles to the trench log, petrified. All the composure of an experienced merchant, all the haughtiness of the imperial capital, and the mockery of seconds ago had evaporated in the inferno.
Had an entire formation of mercenaries or armored knights been marching over that spot, nothing would have remained of them. Neither reinforced steel armor nor magic shields could have saved them from such slaughter.
Kellar took a step forward, unfazed, brushing a layer of dust from the shoulder of his tunic. He looked down at the two terrified men and framed a faint smile.
"Tell me..." said Kellar, his voice cutting through the ringing silence. "Do they still look like fireworks from the capital to you?"
Varis swallowed with difficulty, trying to catch his breath and regain his composure. He stared at the smoking crater and then at the Great Shaman, feeling a cold sweat run down his spine. Any notion of colonial superiority or commercial advantage had been reduced to ashes.
"No... no, Great Shaman," said Varis, his voice cracked as he bowed his head in submission. "This is no trick. It is... the unleashed might of a deity."
Caelen stood up clumsily, swaying. The young heir’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of dread and greed. He lunged a step forward, all diplomatic etiquette forgotten.
"The formula!" Caelen gasped in desperation. "Great Shaman, we will pay whatever you ask for the formula of that powder and the design of the artifacts. Anything! Name your price! The Golden Rose Company can offer you tons of pure gold, hundreds of high-rank beast cores, even thousands of trained slaves to work your mines... Whatever you desire!"
Kellar looked down at him from his full height, his golden eyes cold as ice. He did not flinch at the offer.
"No," said Kellar, his voice firm. "The formula of the Fire of the Bear God is not for sale. Not for all the gold in your capital, nor for ten thousand slaves."
"Great Shaman, please reconsider!" said Varis, stepping in with hands outstretched. "We can guarantee you riches that will transform your tribe into an empire. We only ask for the composition of the sacred sand."
"My answer is no," said Kellar, taking a step toward them with a menacing aura. "The only thing the Overlord Tribe is willing to sell is the finished product, and under our strict conditions. And hear me well: if any of your alchemists in the north attempt to replicate or dismantle the weapons we sell you, defying the will of the Bear God, and the sacred sand detonates destroying your own workshops... it will be your own fault. You will not come to me complaining about your own ignorance."
Varis gritted his teeth, understanding the hidden warning behind the threat. Kellar was refusing to sell the most valuable military secret of his civilization while implicitly threatening them with traps or sabotage if they attempted reverse engineering.
"We understand..." said Varis, bowing deeply in total surrender. "We will respect the will of the Bear God and his Great Shaman. If we cannot purchase the formula, let us negotiate the acquisition of the finished weapons instead. We will accept your prices and your terms without objection."
Kellar framed a smile of calculated satisfaction as he gazed at the smoking crater behind them.
"A wise decision, Varis," said Kellar. "Now, let us return to the hall. It is time to set the purchase price."
Back in the great hall of the residence, the atmosphere had become tense and calculating. The northern caravan’s initial arrogance had vanished, replaced by the true nature of two powers negotiating across the table.
Kellar leaned back into his wooden throne and looked at the two merchants.
"Let us discuss the payment," said Kellar. "If you want a batch of our weapons, I will not accept trinkets. I demand refined precious metals, high-quality medicinal herbs, and whatever of true value your company can supply."
Varis bowed respectfully over the table, seeking to regain strategic ground with an offer that would cost him almost nothing in the north.
"We can offer fine northern ceramics and top-tier blacksmithing supplies," proposed Varis in a persuasive tone. "Furthermore, Great Shaman, while your weapons possess terrifying offensive power, they are useless in close-quarters defense. Your tribe could benefit from chainmail and full-body armor to protect your warriors."
Kellar kept his eyes locked on the old merchant and asked a direct question:
"Would you sell slaves?"
Varis and Caelen exchanged a quick glance before the old man nodded.
"We can supply them," said Varis. "Strong men, craftsmen, and trained labor."
"Good," said Kellar, resting his elbows on the armrests as the bargaining began. "I want a thousand slaves, one hundred tons of pure metals, five tons of herbs, and for future armor to be included as a tribute for the right to trade."