Chapter Two: The Battle of the Ages (Part One)

Quel'Saen, chieftain of the Godsworn Tribe, had not slept for several days since receiving news of the Blood Tribe's invasion. He had spent night and day in counsel with the tribal elders, discussing how to withstand the ferocious onslaught. Thanks to the presence of psionic links, their communication was both swift and free from misunderstanding, yet the very same psionic connections made the Blood Tribe’s attacks all the more difficult to counter.

'Honored elders, the Blood Tribe advances with overwhelming force. What are we to do?' As chieftain, Quel'Saen spoke first; the other elders, lost in thought, were compelled to respond.

'Chieftain, as far as I know, the Blood Tribe is vicious beyond measure, addicted to slaughter and bloodshed. Every tribe they conquer is reduced to servitude, and I have even heard that they devour their captives—an evil beyond compare. We must never surrender to them.' The Godsworn Tribe’s Grand Elder was the first to condemn the Blood Tribe.

'The Grand Elder speaks wisely. But how should we respond?' Quel'Saen nodded in agreement, then pressed for further advice.

‘......’

‘In my opinion, we should first muster all the strength within our tribe to withstand the Blood Tribe’s assault. Afterwards, we can summon the forces of other tribes and, united, defeat the enemy. The most crucial thing now is to endure this assault. If even we cannot resist the Blood Tribe’s blade, the others will hardly dare to defy them.’ This suggestion, offered by the Eighth Elder, who oversaw construction, was unexpectedly met with broad approval.

The ensuing discussion revolved entirely around defensive strategies. For three days and nights it continued, until the elders were left utterly exhausted—except for Quel'Saen, who remained vigorous as ever. Looking upon their stalwart chieftain, the elders could not help but feel grateful that he was in his prime; otherwise, defeat and destruction might have been their fate before the battle even began.

The Godsworn Tribe began to gather its warriors. Quel'Saen ordered all gathering and hunting parties to join the coming fight, while women, elders, and children were tasked with crafting all necessary tools and weapons. Amidst these tense preparations, the Blood Tribe’s attack finally arrived.

True to their infamous reputation, a single Blood Tribe warrior could barely be held off by three or four Godsworn warriors. Yet, against the united will of the Godsworn Tribe, even these savage foes began to falter. Reinforcements from neighboring tribes proved the final straw that broke the enemy’s back.

Realizing defeat was imminent, the Blood Tribe’s chieftain ordered a retreat. Their formidable warriors carved a bloody path through the ranks and escaped, vowing that one day they would drown the chieftains of the Godsworn and their allies in Sunset Lake, feeding them to the fishes.

From that day forth, the Godsworn Tribe and the eastern tribes formed an alliance to resist the Blood Tribe of the West. After conquering the west and north, the Blood Tribe was now for the first time thwarted in the heart of the continent, sowing unrest in their ranks. Yet the brutal suppression by the Fang Chieftain temporarily restored order—though every grievance was now tallied against the Godsworn Tribe.

By gathering the strength of many small tribes, the Godsworn Tribe assembled a great army, newly equipped with weapons and armor of their own design, making their coalition all the more formidable. After several failed assaults against the alliance, even Fang had to admit his power was checked, which only deepened his cruelty and tyranny at home.

At this time, a minor chieftain from one of the subjugated tribes could no longer bear Fang’s atrocities. Joining with several others who suffered the same fate, they raised the banner of rebellion. Fang scoffed—if you were vanquished as a chieftain, what resistance can you muster now as a prisoner?

Indeed, Fang crushed the revolt with ease, intimidating the remaining chieftains. One desperate rebel, facing death by Fang’s hand—who threatened to make him into a stew—betrayed a traveler from the Godsworn Tribe in hopes of mercy.

'You claim this man can resolve my troubles?' Fang, holding a goblet fashioned from a skull in his right hand, his eyes glowing red, stared icily at the kneeling petty chieftain before him.

A flicker of terror passed through the chieftain’s bright eyes. He dared not withhold anything, and conveyed his memories and intentions directly into Fang’s mind via psionic link: 'Yes, revered chieftain. This traveler hails from the Godsworn Tribe. It is said he possesses the secrets of their weapon and tool craftsmanship.'

Fang’s eyes narrowed. He had been vexed by the Godsworn Tribe’s new weapons and armor, and now, here was a solution delivered to his door. As for this little chieftain...

Sensing Fang’s gaze, the minor chieftain bowed deeply, not daring to meet his eyes. Fang’s interest quickly waned at such cowardice, and he coldly ordered his guards, 'He dared transmit his thoughts into my mind—such insolence. Boil him into soup.'

Stunned by this undisguised malice, the petty chieftain stared at Fang in disbelief, the light in his eyes shining with a desperate intensity never before seen. 'How can you do this? I am—'

With his left hand, Fang gouged out both of the chieftain’s eyes, cutting short his plea. He toyed with the bloody orbs, smiling with satisfaction. 'Excellent—these are eyes worthy of me.'

The chieftain had no time to react before his eyes were taken; only after did he begin to howl in agony.

'Yes, that’s the scent—rage, defiance, fear. Delicious. Hahahaha!' Amid his screams and Fang’s laughter, the guards dragged him away, presumably to prepare the evening meal.

'As for you,' Fang turned to the man pinned to the floor by his guards, 'I doubt you’ll willingly share your tribe’s secrets.'

'Indeed, villain. You will never wrest knowledge from me. Your reign of terror will be overthrown.' The young technician met Fang’s gaze unflinchingly.

'Very good. I admire your courage.' Fang stepped before him, tossed aside his goblet, and placed his right hand upon the technician’s head.

'Let us see if your bones are as hard as your words. I shall know soon enough.'

'You—what are you going to do?' The technician felt the icy touch on his scalp and a sense of doom enveloped him.

'No! This cannot be—you, you are—!' Agonizing pain exploded without warning throughout his body, as if his very soul and blood were being torn from him by some monstrous force.

In his endless torment, he suddenly grasped why the Blood Tribe’s warriors were so powerful. But this revelation could never reach his people.

When the last wisp of red vapor was drawn into Fang, silence fell. The guards lay prostrate, and the poor technician, after his final wail, was nothing but a shriveled husk, as if he might crumble to ash at any moment.

Though Fang failed to seize all the technician’s memories, he nevertheless gleaned many secrets of weapon-making. Without another glance at the kneeling captives, Fang strode to the Blood Tribe’s forge to craft the new weapons himself.

Armed with these innovations, the Blood Tribe’s already fearsome warriors became unstoppable, winning several battles and nearly breaking the alliance’s lines.

Fortunately, the alliance’s engineers soon developed a new weapon, just as they realized the Blood Tribe had acquired their previous designs. This invention enabled them to repel the Blood Tribe’s assault.

From then on, both sides poured their efforts into military technology. Countless inventions found their sole purpose in killing, and as weapons grew more advanced, so too did the devastation they wrought.

To maintain control, the Blood Tribe resorted to mass slaughter of their captives. News soon spread that they gained strength by butchering their kin, shocking the world.

To counter the Blood Tribe’s evil, fifteen hundred years after the War of the Ages began, the Godsworn Tribe and the Eastern Tribal Alliance united to found the Radiant Empire, better to govern their lands and raise armies.

The Radiant Empire was led by a Consul, aided by a Senate of elders. The Blood Tribe soon followed, establishing the Blood Empire—though reliable sources confirmed nothing had truly changed.

A millennium after the founding of the Radiant Empire, their engineers invented an explosive weapon called gunpowder. Its first appearance on the battlefield wiped out half the Blood Tribe’s forces.

This terrible weapon so alarmed King Fang that he launched a midnight raid on the Radiant Empire’s frontline engineers. The sentries responded swiftly; Fang was unable to capture any engineers and, in his haste, revealed his soul-absorbing sorcery by killing several before fleeing.

After this, the Radiant Empire finally realized that their elusive traitor had been none other than King Fang, using his dark magic.

Upon his return, King Fang quickly reverse-engineered gunpowder, plunging both sides into stalemate once more. But his exposed sorcery only spurred the Radiant Empire onward. Where once their energies were dedicated solely to military technology, now their focus shifted to personal power.

After all, King Fang was unstoppable, and the death of an engineer meant the loss of their secrets. This infuriated the Consul, who slashed the Academy’s funding in half, granting it instead to the High Priest, whom he appointed head of the newly founded Seminary of the Divine. Its mission: to study all mystical arts in search of greater power.

Thus, after centuries of desolation, the High Priest’s doors were beset once more by seekers of knowledge. The most surprising visitor was the Consul’s own son—Savasaen.

This young man possessed wisdom and vision far beyond his peers, as well as an unshakable spirit. After several probing questions, the High Priest accepted him as a disciple and named him heir.

At once, Savasaen became the talk of the capital. As the Consul’s eldest son, he would have been the favorite to succeed his father, but as heir to the High Priest, imperial law forbade him from holding any other office.

Amid the furor, Quel'Saen himself spent an entire night in earnest discussion with his son. In the end, he gave his blessing for Savasaen to succeed the High Priest.