To purge emotions... that was what the Volkovs taught.
Clarity... That was what he achieved with his hands, and what pushed his Will to awaken.
Two systems. Two truths.
One suppressed emotion to ascend, freeing themselves of its shackles. The other refined it, wielded it like a blade, or as a convenient ladder to ascend.
But to weaponize emotion, you first had to master it.
To master it... you must first be able to suppress it.
Once suppressed, it can becomes yours to wield.
Not as a shackle, but a sword.
He would weaponize it for freedom, so that never again would his fate be scripted by others. By no being; not by a man, not even by an apex lifeform. Only himself.
He would be a true assassin, but he would live. An assassin was contracted to kill, and rewarded for the completion of his job. In this case, the Existential Compendium would be his contractor, and the reward for each kill, would be power.
That was the distinction, the freedom he wanted. Everyone was a slave to one thing or the other; ranging from emotions, habits, hobbies, family, their goals, and many more.
His freedom now, was choosing his own master. Who would he be slaved to?
He wanted to taste true freedom... True freedom, and as an assassin.
And what did assassins do best? Kill.
So he would kill his way out of this place, kill his way back home, if he had to, carving a path with blood and blade until he got to the Crimson family in Xenith.
And then he would drown Ares in crimson; in the blood of those who had killed the only person he ever surrendered to, in the screams of those who had taken her from him, and in the fear of those who once dared to target his life for whatever reason.
He would wipe out the Dragonborns...whoever they were, and every other person associated. This was his second vow.
There was no room for forgiveness, nor mercy. That was his promise of the assassin’s path.
To live free, he would first become death. The irony of a slave who held the reins, even as their chains bite deep
[Your Will has evolved]
[An Awakened Will: A sprout of defiance! Your authority over the world increases]
In the forge, the sound of metal striking metal rang out in a rhythmic cadence, drowning all else.
The young orcs had long abandoned their tasks. They simply watched—silent, still—as Menelaus’ arm rose and fell with practiced savagery.
His hammer moved like an extension of his will, striking with a force so precise, so raw, it drew their gaze like a fire in the night.
There was always a certain aura about him when he wielded the hammer. But today... it was different. More intense. More dangerous. His eyes burned—not with emotion, but something deeper. A focused rage. A fire that made the whites of his eyes glow red.
No one dared interrupt the silence. Still, the occasional whisper escaped—soft, nearly nonexistent.
"Something’s off about him today," one orc murmured to the one beside him.
"Of course," came the sharp reply. "That human runt killed Nestor."
They were Castor and Democles—the same orcs who had, respectfully, escorted Kallen to his quarters.
"It’s understandable. I wish I could kill him myself," Castor spat under his breath.
"And get us all killed?" Democles replied calmly, not even glancing at him. "He’s still alive for a reason. If Father really wanted him dead, he’d be ashes. Who wouldn’t have killed him, after that?"
"Yeah... It must be taking everything in him to hold back," Castor said, scowling. "But what the hell could stop him from avenging his own son?"
"Good question," Democles replied. "But it’s better we don’t go sticking our noses into matters above our level."
"All we can do now is make life as hard as possible for him... That much we can do," Castor muttered, kissing his teeth in a mix of irritation and grim satisfaction.
"How exactly do you plan to do that?" Democles asked, raising a brow, his eyes still fixed on Menelaus’ every move.
"What do you mean?" Castor replied, puzzled.
"Maybe because he’s human, you’re underestimating him. But don’t forget—that human killed Nestor. Alone. And while at a disadvantage," Democles said coolly.
"I’ll admit I might’ve underestimated him," Castor said, frowning. "But how was he disadvantaged? And how does that change anything?"
Democles studied him for a long moment before sighing. "I can’t tell if you’re playing dumb or if you really don’t see the point."
Castor’s expression darkened, but Democles went on, unbothered.
"Nestor’s ability could control metal, right? And up there, at the top, almost everything’s made of metal. Not just any metal, either. Our forged weapons. That entire place was like his domain."
"It could’ve been a sneak attack," Castor shot back, sharply. "You’re forgetting that he’s a human."
"That’s a fair point," Democles admitted. "But that only makes him more dangerous."
Castor scoffed. "Then it’s Nestor’s fault. Getting killed by a human, falling for a sneak attack—a typical human trickery... disgraceful. He was surrounded by an endless arsenal, and still failed."
Democles stared at him for a long beat, then said, "Nestor was a First Ascension ascendant, and he still lost. We may have numbers on our side, but even with Father’s so-called careful gaze... that human is still a threat. Where was that gaze when Nestor died?"
"You!... are you mad?" Castor hissed, glancing around in panic. "Watch your mouth!" But his raised voice had already drawn attention.
Scowling at the stares, he cursed under his breath, and turned back to Democles.
But Democles remained calm. "What did I say that’s wrong? It never hurts to be too cautious."
He began walking away, then paused after a few steps to glance back over his shoulder.
"And Castor... humans aren’t the only ones who use underhanded means or commit despicable acts."
With that, he walked off.
Castor clenched his fists at his side, his gaze locked on Democles’ back, eyes burning holes into him.