B8 - Chapter 16: Rallying the Troops II

“Move your scaly butts! Move! Move! MOVE!”

Zelkara’s voice thundered across the mountainside like a warhorn, echoing from the peaks down into the valleys below. If this had been a battlefield, every enemy within miles would have heard.

Maybe that was even her intention: making enough noise to draw out anything bold enough to test them. If something actually dared to approach, it would serve as a convenient training exercise for her troops.

Ash was already moving, taking his customary position at the front. His role had always been that of a scout. Had been. When there had been a need for it.

But after Winter’s return to prominence, the surrounding tribes had gone silent. Even the occasional skirmishes had ceased.

This had marked the first time Ash had ever known peace.

Raised as a gladiator, he had never known calm—every day had been a fight for survival. Even after joining Ezekiel, danger and chaos had remained constants in his life.

And yet, instead of the relief he’d expected upon leaving that life behind, all he truly felt was… boredom.

He vaulted over a jagged outcropping of volcanic stone, casting a quick glance over his shoulder midair.

He had gained a bit of distance on the main troop, but the Bloodguard was still hot on his trail. Their serpentine bodies allowed the Frostscale warriors to glide over nearly any terrain with deceptive speed. Even the razor-sharp rocks of the volcano posed no hindrance to their hardened scales.

Ash’s eyes lingered on the formation behind him. Despite their pace, the ranks held tight—no gaps, no weak links. Every eye was alert, every weapon ready.

They had come a long way.

Once a ragtag band of undisciplined prisoners, now a hardened fighting force.

His pulse quickened at the sight. His lips curled back, revealing sharpened teeth. How many of them could he still take? How long had it been since he’d truly fought at his limit?

The thought vanished as his feet hit the ground again. His focus snapped forward, scanning the path ahead. As a scout, distraction meant death—not just his own, but that of everyone following him.

The rocky slopes gradually softened into signs of life. At first, only the occasional stalk of mountain weed broke through the cracks. Then a few hardy flowers. Soon after, the landscape shifted fully: trees, grass, and the faint hum of living things returned.

Ash’s stride adapted seamlessly to the changing terrain. Old instincts, passed down through blood, filled in the gaps. His eyes naturally found the best vantage points, his feet landed true on every step. The motions were so ingrained they required no conscious thought.

A day passed like that. Then another.

Fatigue began to creep in. He hadn’t rested once on the journey here, and neither had the troop slowed on their march back. Truthfully, he was exhausted—his muscles heavy, his lungs raw from the constant exertion.

But rest never crossed his mind.

One glance over his shoulder revealed the reason why. The Bloodguard still pursued him with relentless focus. Despite fighting multiple skirmishes along the way, they hadn’t faltered or stopped.

Ash gritted his teeth and pushed forward. Pride demanded he wouldn’t be the first to call for rest. He promised himself that much.

And so the march continued for another day.

It was as if Zelkara had heard his silent promise and taken it as a personal challenge. She drove the Bloodguard onward, her voice carrying across the mountains like a war horn. Even miles ahead, Ash could still hear her sharp commands and colorful curses.

It was clear that none of them dared to demand rest.

The only people left to slow the Bloodguard were Gravitas and Vulcanos—and out of the three, Ash had always been the one with the best stamina.

Gravitas, however, no longer bothered with running at all. She hovered above the formation on a gleaming metal disk, eyes closed, gliding effortlessly through the air. What looked at first like a palanquin was, in fact, her latest invention and favorite mode of travel. By using her power to levitate a few feet above the ground, she had turned herself from the slowest member of their group into the fastest.

That left Vulcanos.

Despite his physical might, his sheer bulk had always meant he tired faster than the leaner Ash.

So why, then, was he running at the very front of the formation—with a grin stretching across his face?

Ever since Vulcanos had crawled out of that pit of lava, it seemed his energy reserves had become limitless. Nothing slowed him down. Nothing seemed to faze him as he kept pace with the others as if the march were a leisurely stroll.

Ash couldn’t decide whether to applaud his old friend… or curse him.

Did the man really have to choose this exact moment to overcome his limits?

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There was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and continue the endless trek through the wilderness.

Until, at last, the sight he’d longed for came into view—a mountain that pierced the heavens, twice as tall as any of its neighbors. From its middle rose a thin band of white that thickened near the peak until ice and snow swallowed it completely, vanishing into the clouds.

They were home.

Ash’s steps grew lighter. The steep incline barely slowed him as the promise of rest pulled him onward.

Before long, he reached the familiar gate he had once defended so fiercely—the entrance to the Icefang tribe. The battlefield of old had returned to being just a checkpoint, manned by a handful of lazy guards lounging at their posts.

Ash frowned. Even in peaceful times, such a lack of vigilance seemed careless.

He slowed when he recognized the man standing at the gate—a young talent from the tribe, newly promoted to gate duty.

“What’s going on?” Ash asked the moment he saw the absent look on the guard’s face.

“They… uh… I don’t really know how to explain it.”

The vague reply did nothing to clarify things, but the man’s relaxed tone at least told Ash there hadn’t been an attack.

The young guard shook his head. “It’s better if you see for yourself. They’re all gathered in the central square. The Progenitor’s there too...”

Ash’s expression hardened. If whatever this was had drawn Winter’s personal attention, it couldn’t be anything trivial.

He turned to look down the slope. The Bloodguard was cresting the hill, their movement a dark ripple across the pristine snow. At their head, Vulcanos’s charred skin and glowing scars burned like a beacon.

There was no need to worry about them losing their way.

“I’m going ahead.”

Buildings blurred past as Ash sprinted through the settlement. Then, without warning, a familiar pressure slammed into him: an invisible weight that pressed down on every inch of his body. Cold seeped into his bones, sharp and merciless.

He knew this feeling.

Bloodline Suppression.

Fighting through the tyrannical force, Ash forced his legs to move, each step a battle of will. He turned the final corner—and stopped dead.

Hovering a few feet above the central square was an airship unlike anything he had ever seen. Its hull was blacker than night, shaped like a creature of the deep sea, the kind that swallowed light rather than reflected it.

Beneath it, glaring up with undisguised irritation, stood the Progenitor of the Icefang tribe. Winter’s crimson eyes burned cold as he scowled at the ominous vessel as though it had personally insulted him.

Ash approached carefully, stopping at a respectful distance.

“Progenitor… what is that thing?”

Winter turned slightly, one blood-red eye fixing on him. The sheer weight of that gaze made Ash’s entire body feel as if it were freezing solid.

“Shouldn’t you know best? Or is your title as envoy just a farce?”

Ash exhaled slowly. “Did Master send this ship?”

Winter gave a faint nod but offered no further explanation.

“…Is there a problem with it?” Ash asked carefully.

Winter didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, and Ash realized the question was more complicated than it seemed. Something about the Progenitor’s frown suggested genuine unease.

“Do you know how that ship got here?” Winter asked at last.

Ash shook his head. He hadn’t been present for the arrival—how could he know? Still, how else would an airship arrive except by flying through the sky?

Winter’s gaze returned to the black vessel. “Neither do I. Nor any of my men.”

Ash frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“I’m not being cryptic,” Winter said flatly. “The ship didn’t arrive: it appeared. One moment, the sky was empty. The next, it was here.”

Ash’s brow furrowed deeper. His attention shifted toward a group standing off to the side, surrounded by Icefang warriors. Humans. That alone explained why they were being closely watched.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“The crew,” Winter replied without looking away from the ship. “It’s through them that we learned they were sent by the young Dragon.”

Ash nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. “Why not ask them about the ship? Given your relationship with Master, I wouldn’t think they’d hide anything.”

“They don’t know,” Winter said after a pause. “Apparently, it’s a secret.”

Ash swallowed hard, saying nothing. His instincts screamed at him that something was wrong, that he was standing on the edge of something dangerous, though he couldn’t say why.

“…Humans have always been creatures of innovation,” Winter said at last, his tone measured. “Where claws and fangs failed them, they forged tools instead. I’ve always viewed their tinkering with a kind of pity. Born fragile, they had little choice but to compensate.”

His gaze flicked toward the hovering vessel before settling back on Ash. “But this… this is not one of their crude toys. This is something else entirely.”

He paused, the air between them growing colder. “This is a power that frightens me.”

Winter’s eyes locked onto his. There was no malice in them—only piercing, unrelenting focus. “Tell me, envoy. Is this the level humanity has reached?”

Ash drew a slow breath, his eyes flicking to the dark vessel hovering above the plaza. He had lived among humans most of his life, but if someone had asked whether he understood their craftsmanship, he would have denied it without hesitation.

Unfortunately, Winter wasn’t asking.

“I don’t think… this is something humanity has achieved yet,” he said carefully. “At least, I’ve never heard of a ship able to simply appear—not in all my years among them.”

Winter’s gaze sharpened. “Are you calling me a liar?”

Ash’s lips twitched. His body was too tense for a real smile, but it was the best he could manage. “I wouldn’t dare.”

That much was true. Even if Winter had claimed the ship had fallen from the heavens as a gift to the Icefang Tribe, Ash wouldn’t have risked questioning him.

Fortunately, he had a better explanation. “I believe this might be something Master created himself.”

“…That brat?”

Ash nodded eagerly. “Despite Master’s formidable strength and bloodline, it’s his mind that remains his greatest weapon. If anyone in the world could design something this far beyond comprehension… it would be him.”

Winter’s piercing eyes lingered on Ash for a long moment before he turned back toward the ship. It seemed that there was more appreciation in the Progenitor’s gaze now.

“So that’s how it is,” he murmured.

Ash felt the pressure around him shift. Winter never truly withdrew his aura, Ash doubted he even knew how, but its intensity could change. The suffocating blizzard that had pressed down on him moments ago softened, settling into something gentler. Still cold. Still heavy. But no longer crushing. More like snow draped over his shoulders than a storm trying to bury him.

“He’s going to war?” Winter asked quietly.

Ash didn’t dare hide anything. “The Bloodguard is returning to the human lands. They’ll fight beside Master.”

Winter’s head tilted slightly. “And you, little envoy?”

Ash hesitated before lowering his eyes. “…My place is with the tribe now, Progenitor.”

Winter exhaled sharply, and frost spread across the stone at his feet. “Do you think you can deceive me when you can’t even deceive yourself?”

Ash had no answer.

“A sheep can grow fangs and learn to bite,” the Progenitor said, his tone distant, almost reflective. “But a wolf will never learn to graze.”

The words cut deep—straight into the part of Ash he’d tried hardest to bury.

“Tell me, little envoy,” Winter said at last, his crimson gaze locking onto him. “Which are you? A sheep that learned to bite… or a wolf pretending to graze?”

“I… am a wolf.”

The Progenitor smiled then—an expression that stretched impossibly wide across his human features.

“Good,” he said softly. “That’s good, little envoy.

“I have use for a wolf.”