Chapter 64: The Message of Blades
Chapter 64: The Message of Blades
....Just moments ago, Roderick had watched with pride as the slaves dragged themselves atop the floating ridge of the Sigh Mountains.
He could see how broken they were in breath and body. The Centaurs especially, groaning under the unnatural strain, made his smirk stretch wider.
He could tell that they were more obedient now, than they had previously been. Slowly, they were being shaped into tools.
Other aspects of their training would need to be considered. He had already thought of reducing rations and the like, and placing conditions for sleep and rest, to make the slaves more bent to his will.
After all, he did plan to beat his father's record. Cassian had been able to command a hundred slaves of the warrior blood rank 1 to kill themselves.
Roderick wanted to do the same for two hundred. No! One thousand. Yes, that many.
He was sure that his father would have no choice but to look his way.
The training for the day was coming to an end.
Satisfied, Roderick had returned to his quarters.
His room was on appearance, far less disciplined than his father’s cold and sterile sanctum. Unlike Cassian’s well-ordered office with parchment sorted in rows and crystals aligned by color and rank, Roderick’s room bore the mark of youth.
Curtains of red silk fell unevenly across the high windows, half-torn. The walls were decorated with slave collars, brands, and the occasional blood-stained whip, displayed like war trophies. Several small instruments of punishment—some of his own design—lined a shelf above his desk, each tagged with the name of a victim. A broken lute with Centaur string and a black mask hung over his bed like a mockery of comfort.