"Excellent, excellent!"

  Lord Varick Lee leaned over the map in his command tent, a cold smile playing on his lips. "It seems the Thorne family has truly reached the end of their rope. They can no longer even guarantee food for their own kin. Three more days—that is all the time we need before we strike."

  A scout standing nearby scratched his head in confusion. "But My Lord, I saw Ewan Thorne earlier today. He seemed full of vigor; he even drove back several of our men."

  Varick let out a dismissive snort. "Nonsense. If a House couldn't even feed its Blood Condensation warriors, we wouldn't need to wait three days; we could simply walk in. They are starving the weak to keep their elites fed. It is a desperate, final struggle."

  He turned back to the map, tracing the paths leading out of the Thorne estate with a charcoal brush. In a clan war, there was no room for mercy, and certainly no room for survivors. He remembered the legends of his own ancestor—a boy spared by a rival house who eventually returned to slaughter them all. He would not repeat that mistake. Every Thorne would die, and even their sacred tree would be hacked into kindling.

  "Lord Patriarch! Great-Uncle Harek has completed his breakthrough!" a messenger cried out, bursting into the tent. "He has reached the Late-Stage of Blood Condensation!"

  Varick’s eyes lit up with predatory joy. This was the true turning point. His house now boasted three Late-Stage masters, while the Thornes had only two—one of whom was an old man past his prime. Even if the Thorne’s "Ancient Ancestor" made a move, they now had the numbers to overwhelm them.

  "The victory is ours," Varick murmured. "We could crush them tonight... but no. Let them wither for three more days. We will minimize our own losses while they rot from within."

  As night fell, Lord Silas Thorne paced the high walls of his estate. Seeing that the perimeter was secure, he let out a long sigh of relief. The day's foraging had bought them a little more time.

  He made his way toward the Sanctum. As he approached the heavy doors, he noticed a silver radiance bleeding through the cracks. It seemed brighter tonight—far brighter than before.

  When he pushed the doors open, he froze in astonishment.

  The Guardian Tree had changed. It was taller, its trunk thicker and more imposing. The leaves, which had been dull only days ago, now shimmered like translucent jade, casting a rhythmic, pulsing light against the stone walls.

  "The sacrifice..." Silas whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "The sacrifice of the beasts last night... it worked."

  But his joy was quickly tempered by a grim realization. He had ordered his men not to hunt tonight. The Azure Gale-Wolf—a beast of the Silver Rank—was still prowling the nearby ravines. To send his men out again was to send them to their deaths.

  Yet, looking at the tree’s magnificent growth, Silas felt a pang of guilt. If he stopped the offerings now, would the Guardian stop its transformation? He remembered the elders saying that in "critical moments," a Guardian required a daily tithe to manifest its true power.

  "If I fail to provide tonight, I will be the ruin of this House," Silas muttered to himself. "But who can I send? If Ewan goes and meets that wolf, he won't return."

  "Lord Patriarch, I will go."

  A calm, steady voice came from the shadows. Caleb Thorne stepped forward. He looked at the glowing tree with a neutral expression, his eyes showing neither the religious fervor of his father nor any sign of fear.

  "Caleb? When did you arrive?" Silas asked, startled.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "Just now," Caleb replied. He adjusted the grip on his blade. "For tonight’s hunt, I alone am enough."

  Silas hesitated. Caleb was the strongest warrior in the family now, a Late-Stage master in his prime. Unlike the older generation, his blood energy was at its peak. If anyone could avoid the wolf and bring back a prize, it was him.

  "Go then," Silas said, his voice heavy with concern. "But be cautious. If you sense anything amiss, retreat immediately. Do not force a confrontation."

  Caleb nodded curtly, though his eyes suggested he had his own counsel. He turned and vanished into the darkness of the hidden tunnel.

  ***

  Just as Caleb reached the mouth of the tunnel, a sudden, rhythmic rustling echoed through the Sanctum.

  Both men turned back toward the tree. High above, the jade-like canopy swayed as if caught in a phantom wind. A brilliant light gathered at the tip of a branch, and a single, emerald-green leaf detached itself.

  It didn't fall like a normal leaf. It drifted through the air with purpose, glowing with an intense, mystical light, until it hovered directly in front of Caleb’s face.

  Caleb frowned, his skepticism clear. "It is but a leaf, Father. How is this a blessing?"

  "Take it, Caleb!" Silas urged, his eyes wide. "The Guardian does not cast its crown lightly. This is its protection!"

  With a sigh, Caleb reached out. The moment his fingers touched the leaf, the emerald glow faded, and it transformed into a piece of vegetation that felt as heavy and cold as polished jade. He tucked it into his tunic, his expression remaining indifferent.

  If this tree truly wanted to help, it would stand up and drive the Lees away itself, Caleb thought. A leaf cannot save a House.

  He didn't wait for his father’s further prayers. With a swift movement, he leaped into the tunnel and was gone.

  Inside the tree, York felt a sharp pang of exhaustion.

  That leaf cost me two points of Vitality, York thought, his consciousness vibrating with a dull ache. That’s more than it took to heal a dozen wounded soldiers. My meager reserves are stretched thin enough as it is.

  He had seen the arrogance in Caleb’s eyes, but he couldn't afford to let the boy die. Caleb was the pillar of the Thorne family’s military strength. If he fell, the "House" York was supposed to guard would collapse overnight, leaving York as nothing more than a trophy for the Lee family.

  I’ve made my investment, York mused, settling back into his trance to draw in the moonlight. Now, brat, you’d better bring back something worth the price.

  The Sanctum fell silent after Silas departed. York extended his roots, feeling the vibrations of the estate. He could sense the guards on the walls and the anxious whispers of the servants.

  "Caspian, do you think the Lees will attack tonight?"

  York recognized the voice. It was one of the two boys who had tried to "help" him a few days ago. Caspian and Cedric were patrolling the perimeter, clutching their spears with white-knuckled grips.

  "I don't know," Caspian replied, his voice trembling slightly.

  "If they come, what do we do?"

  "We fight them, of course!" Caspian snapped, though his eyes betrayed his fear.

  "I have a plan," Cedric said suddenly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  "Another one?"

  "Listen—we go back to the Sanctum and hack a piece of bark off the Guardian Tree. If it can heal the Patriarch, maybe if we eat it, we’ll become masters overnight! We could save everyone!"

  In the Sanctum, York’s leaves rustled with indignation. If those two little vandals come near me with a knife again, I’ll show them exactly how 'healing' I can be.

  "We can't," Caspian sighed. "The Patriarch is always there now, and the guards watch that tree like it’s made of gold. We’d be caught before we even got close."

  "A shame," Cedric muttered. "That tree is the only thing in this valley that doesn't look like it's dying. It’s not like it can run away."

  I’m right here, you little shits, York thought, though a part of him felt a grim relief that the "God" status was keeping the local thieves at bay.

  Three miles away, in the depths of the Black Ravine.

  Caleb Thorne stood atop the crown of a massive dead oak, surveying the forest. He had been out for nearly an hour, but the woods were eerily silent.

  Usually, the ravine was home to dozens of Iron-Rank beasts—boars, hyenas, and shadow-cats. But tonight, he hadn't seen a single one. Even the insects seemed to have gone quiet.

  The scent, Caleb realized, sniffing the air.

  There was a lingering metallic tang in the breeze, mixed with the sharp scent of ozone. It was the mark of a predator at the very top of the food chain. The Azure Gale-Wolf had passed through here recently, and its mere presence had terrified every other living thing into hiding.

  Caleb reached into his tunic and felt the cold, jade-like leaf York had given him. For the first time that night, his arrogance wavered. He was a Late-Stage master, but against a Silver-Rank beast, he was little more than prey.

  "Fine," Caleb whispered to the dark. "If the small prey has fled, I will just have to find something too stubborn to run."

  He leaped from the branch, landing silently in the dirt, and began to track the scent of ozone deeper into the heart of the ravine.