Chapter 15: The First Trial

The sky was still dark when Valerius and his brothers moved out. The Darius estate, normally a place of calculated silence and controlled ambition, was alive with preparations for war.

Their target: House Grimlow, one of the lesser noble families that had long whispered of rebellion against the Darius Clan. They were useful—skilled knights, a handful of minor Magi, and a bloodline with a hint of magical heritage.

Perfect test subjects.

The Night Hunt Begins

Leonidas adjusted his armor, checking the reinforced plates woven with magical inscriptions. His crimson eyes gleamed in the torchlight.

"I almost feel bad for them." His voice dripped with amusement. "They have no idea what's coming."

Valerius barely spared him a glance. "Feeling merciful?"

Leonidas smirked. "Not in the slightest."

Tiberius, ever the strategist, gestured toward the distant estate. "House Grimlow has seventy trained warriors, ten lesser Magi, and at least two mid-rank Knights. If we strike too soon, we risk them scattering. If we wait too long, they might notice our movements."

Valerius' gaze was cold. "We give them no time to react."

He lifted his hand, and in the next moment—

A wave of black fire erupted into the sky.

It was not a mere attack. It was a signal.

Across the battlefield, hidden among the shadows, the loyal warriors of the Darius Clan moved as one. A hundred blades, a hundred spells—every trained soldier and Magus in their force struck at once.

Screams filled the night.

This was not a war. This was a culling.

The Purification Begins

The first stage of Valerius' experiment was simple: separate the weak from the strong.

As the battle raged, Valerius observed who could endure the chaos. He was not looking for skill alone—he needed individuals whose bodies and spirits could withstand transformation.

A lesser Magus attempted to flee. With a flick of Valerius' fingers, an invisible force crushed his legs, forcing him to the ground.

"Pathetic," Valerius murmured.

Nearby, Leonidas decapitated a knight in a single slash, his body covered in glowing battle inscriptions—the mark of a knight who had begun to fuse magic into his physique.

Valerius' eyes flickered. A candidate.

The Survivors' Choice

By dawn, House Grimlow was no more.

Those who had fallen were burned, their bodies reduced to essence, their Blood Cores extracted.

The survivors—fifty warriors and seven Magi—were gathered in the ruined courtyard, their expressions shifting between fear and defiance.

Valerius stepped forward.

"You have two choices," he said, his voice calm and absolute.

"Swear loyalty to the Darius Clan… and undergo the transformation."

"Or…" His gaze darkened.

"Die."