Kingdom Plans

"There are many natural elements like fire, water, air, and earth, but only a few have a direct link with all life forms. One of which is the spirit, but in other words, the soul," the professor said as she looked towards Omen. "Even though some of you resumed late with us, you'll have to find a way to keep up with the rest of the class."

Most of the students around turned their backs to face Omen. By now, the majority of them had heard about his story—a battle slave from the slave city closest to the obsidian border, the special grade slave who had his entire squad wiped out during his graduating mission and only passed because of Colonel Haelkrie. This didn't sit well with most of them though, as not everyone in Brigade Three graduated, and not everyone in Brigade Two passed into the First Brigade, therefore having to repeat.

Now there were rivals of both experienced and inexperienced slaves, and most of them already disliked him. Even though he was famous back in third brigade compared to these guys he was just one of the few talented people the brigade had to offer. Everyone in the second brigade was already a skilled battleslave in hand to hand and weapons combat, and right now they were all training to use their abilities.

Omen looked at them absentmindedly, feeling the weight of their stares, and then faced the beautiful professor emotionlessly.

'Why is he suddenly looking at me? I'm only following protocol! Gods, what kind of deadly glare is that!' the professor thought as she subconsciously flinched in response.

But other things were going through Omen's mind as he pondered something else.

'I can steal potential, but I'm not strong enough to evolve stolen abilities into their true potential. I already have so many abilities, but they all have weak foundations. I can make them stronger by developing them as anyone with that ability would.' Omen groaned as he realised how much time he'd be wasting because of this. 'But the process is too long and tedious, even right now I need nine phases of nine months to become a supreme great grandmaster of soul manipulation.'

The professor flinched as she heard his groan, thinking the unpredictable battleslave would suddenly attack her. After all, he had problems with Brigade Three's sergeants.

"Is there a problem, number 17?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with caution.

Omen shook his head, forcing himself to focus on her words. "No, just… thinking," he replied, his tone flat.

"Alright then," she said, regaining her composure. "Then let's continue. The soul is the essence of life, and understanding it is crucial for any of you who wish to harness the true power of your abilities. It connects us all, and those who can manipulate it can influence the very fabric of existence."

The professor continued, "Those who can tap into their soul's potential can unlock abilities beyond their limitations. But it requires discipline, focus, and a deep self-understanding."

"By now, most of you should be able to have a vague sense of souls, knowing what beings have souls and what beings do not. In one week, we'll have our phase eight test to see if you're eligible to advance," the professor stated, her voice echoing through the classroom as she elaborated on the nuances of soul awareness and manipulation.

As the lecture concluded, Omen walked calmly to his room, his mind racing with thoughts of survival. Unlike most slaves, he had no need for food, but it had been a month since he last killed something, and he needed to absorb external energy to sustain himself.

He calculated that he had only a few days left before he would start experiencing hunger like never before

'How troublesome!' he sighed as he opened his room door and closed it behind him. He walked over to the small window, contemplating his options. The battle slaves of the Second Brigade had their seals relaxed, allowing them to use their abilities under supervision, but it was still somewhat restricted. Seventy percent of their abilities would be sealed when not under supervision, but for Omen, that only meant he still had thirty percent of his other skills in their weakened states.

But the versatility was enough for him.

…..

The council hall was far from calm as the kingdom's most important figures sat around the long oak table, its polished surface reflecting the flickering light of the candles that struggled against the encroaching shadows. At the head of the table sat the king, a crown of gold resting heavily atop his brow, worry etched deeply into his features. His regal attire, adorned with emerald and silver threads, seemed to contrast sharply with the tension in the air. Surrounding him, the five brigadier generals, each a figure of authority and experience, exchanged glances of concern with their most trusted colonels, who sat opposite them.

"What's the news on the demons?" the king began, his voice steady but underlined with urgency. He had many matters demanding his attention, and this meeting felt like an inconvenience more than anything else.

General Alaric, the first brigadier general of the king's army, straightened in his seat, his expression grave. "It's not looking good, Your Highness. The army is greater than us four to one, and it's not just the quantity that concerns me." His dark eyes flickered with apprehension as he continued, "Amongst them are the fae, and they're all backed by Amphitrite's forces—"

"That's impossible!" a voice interrupted sharply, echoing off the stone walls. General Teren, a stout man with a thick beard and a reputation for bluntness, leaned forward, his brows knitted tightly in disbelief. "The realm of the fae protects their gateways more fiercely than any proximity realm. It would be easier to find demons than amphytrites. Are you sure your information is accurate enough?" His tone was laced with scepticism, a challenge to the credibility of Alaric's report.

It was an audacious move; generally, lower-ranking generals would not dare speak so defiantly in the presence of their superior, especially in such dire circumstances. But the fae was a topic of legends, shrouded in mystery and secrecy, making their appearance in this war all the more shocking. So far they had only been able to enslave a few.

"Doubt my words if you may, but my sorcerers brought proof," General Alaric replied coolly, his expression unwavering despite the challenge. He gestured toward one of his subordinates standing far against the wall, a young sorcerer with an anxiety look etched across his pale face.

The sorcerer stepped forward, clutching a weathered scroll tightly in his trembling hands. As he unfurled it, the room fell silent, the scroll began unfolding continuously until it was almost as large as the entire table.

The projection erupted in the air above them, revealing a terrifying sight. Hundreds—no, thousands—of soldiers marched in a horrifying rhythm. The image shifted and expanded, showcasing a massive army composed of goblins, towering giants, and even menacing enormous spaceships gliding ominously in the sky. The sheer scale was overwhelming, and the chilling presence of thousands of androids waiting patiently sent shivers down their spines.

"Currently, they haven't crossed the realm's boundary," General Alaric explained, his voice steady yet laced with dread. "Normally, it would take years for them to walk through the boundary, but we have no idea if they already have secret gateways connecting the realms or if they have spies here as we have over there. Right now, the future is uncertain." His solemn expression reflected the weight of his words, a grim acknowledgement of the danger that loomed.

General Teren, still grappling with the implications of the image before them, chimed in, "It's truly not looking good. If we were to add our entire militants, including the recruited battle slaves, we're barely up to a hundred thousand." He turned to face the king, urgency filling his voice. "Your Highness, if we could request an alliance with the other kingdoms—"

"We will do no such thing!" the king interjected sharply, his eyes blazing with fury. The authority in his voice silenced the room, and all eyes turned toward him, startled. "There is still a lot of tension between the four kingdoms. Right now, there's an ongoing civil war in the western kingdom. The north is pressuring us for our lands and continues to send secret spies who relentlessly kill our soldiers." His frustration was evident, his fists clenched on the table, knuckles white against the dark wood.

"Infact," the king continued, his gaze narrowing as he turned sharply to the left side of the table, where the colonels sat in silence, "what are you colonels doing about the internal mattesr? You still haven't settled this!" His voice rose, reverberating through the hall, punctuating the tension with an edge of anger.

"Your majesty, we're doing everything we can and have succeeded in killing a few spies," Colonel Haelkrie insisted as she spoke up, her voice strained yet resolute as she faced the king. "The rogue knight commander of the fourth brigade has already been detained as well."

The fourth brigadier general Harold shot a glare at Colonel Haelkrie, resentment bubbling beneath the surface. His accusation implied incompetence, and it stung like a fresh wound, igniting the tension in the room.

"Didn't you claim he was loyal, General Harold?" the king turned to green-haired man, eyes narrowing in anger. Harold opened his mouth to respond, but the king's frustration overtook him, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "Seems like we'll have to temporarily stop the recruiting of battle slaves for now until we settle the issues of the spies first."

General Alaric sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the king's decision settle uncomfortably upon him. "That's going to be difficult, Your Majesty," he began, his voice calm, careful to avoid offending the king even though his grave face remained unchanged. "The slaves consist of twenty to thirty percent of our military, and we need to recruit more quickly as the war approaches—"

"What say you, General Arthur?" the king interjected, pivoting his attention toward his most trusted general. "After all, you're in charge of the kingdom's most talented battleslaves."

General Arthur straightened, meeting the king's gaze with unwavering resolve. "I agree with you, your grace. Even though we have a lot of talented fighters, they're not motivated enough. The revenge strategy we evoked doesn't seem to be working either. Their progress is also extremely slow, and halting recruitment will allow us time to investigate the backgrounds of the slaves to see if they have connections to other kingdoms or if they are the spies themselves."

The king nodded at Arthur's words, a look of approval crossing his face. "Good, that's a wonderful suggestion. You should learn from him, General Harold."

General Harold could only grit his teeth in frustration, the sting of the king's words cutting deeper than the surface. He felt the eyes of his peers on him, a mixture of pity and judgment reflected in their expressions.

The third general Thea, the only female among them and the most reserved, finally spoke up. Her voice was soft yet firm, cutting through the charged atmosphere. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, I believe we need to consider alternative strategies as well. If the slaves are already compromised, it may be more prudent to focus on strengthening our existing forces rather than relying heavily on recruitment."

She met the king's gaze, her calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the tension around the table. "I also have an opinion concerning the matter of increasing the strengths of the soldiers," She interjected, her voice steady and confident. "There are nine phases of magic training and six months of combat training. Those foundations do not need to change, so instead of reducing the time for those, we simply fill it up and compress it."

"Hmm." The king leaned forward, his attention fully hooked. "So what do you propose, General Thea?"

"It's quite simple," she replied, her expression resolute. "The slaves should be treated like the soldiers we recruited them to be. We give them too much freedom nowadays, and this may also be why the spies are becoming arrogant. If those free times are instead filled with mentoring and drilling, then the quality of our soldiers would greatly improve."

"Intensive training like that isn't good for their health, General Thea," General Teren cautioned, "I agree that we need to further restrict the slaves' freedom, but we could end up killing them if we take it too far. It could cause a serious revolt. The revenge strategy is already shaky as it is; before you know it, the slaves would be fighting us while the war is only coming."

"I agree with General Teren, your highness," General Arthur began, the weight of his recent losses evident in his voice. "During a recent mission, I lost three of my most talented recruits. If only I had trained them more, a situation like that wouldn't have happened. The slaves do not know the pressure of war; most of them haven't even killed someone yet. I propose a way to weed out the chaff: in three days, we host a slave battle and see who deserves to live and who deserves to die. Those who remain will continue their training as usual; this way, the people we have to observe will also be limited."

"Very good then," the king nodded, a contemplative look crossing his face. "The intensity of the training would also be increased for all brigades, but the chaff strategy is only for the slaves. They aren't all on the same levels so we need to find a way to equalize their matchups considering all their attributes, then in this way, those talented enough to pass phases can advance quickly."

The King liked their suggestions as he began, "Every ranking militant or noble must take one of these slaves as a servant and personally train them to further increase their development. If I see sound results in three months, then recruitment would continue as usual."

The king finished his remarks with a firm nod, signalling the end of the discussion. He stood up, and the atmosphere shifted as the other generals followed suit, bowing respectfully as he exited the room. The air remained thick with tension, each general contemplating the heavy decisions that lay ahead. Thea exchanged a quick glance with Arthur, both knowing the weight of the strategy they were about to implement; it was a path laden with peril, yet perhaps the only way to prepare for the impending storm.