B8 - Chapter 22: Hidden Realm

Zeke led the way, approaching the same door the Bloodguard had disappeared through earlier.

“…After you.”

Zelkara entered first without hesitation. Vulcanos shot Zeke a curious glance but followed without comment.

Zeke stepped in after them, only to find both Chimeroi frozen a few paces ahead. Their wide eyes swept across the space, filled with awe and confusion.

He joined them, taking in the sight with quiet satisfaction.

Beyond the unassuming door—which looked as though it belonged to a closet or storage room—they stepped into a vast, hangar-like space. It was likely large enough to fit the entire

Alexandria

inside.

The Bloodguard were scattered throughout, exploring the area with the same mix of awe and disbelief that filled Vulcanos and Zelkara’s faces.

“What… how… what…” Vulcanos stammered, his words barely coherent, but Zeke understood well enough.

What was this place, and how could it possibly exist?

Now that Vulcanos had formally joined the Bloodguard, there was no reason to keep

everything

secret. Still, there was little point in overexplaining. He doubted Vulcanos had much interest in the theory behind it anyway.

“Space magic,” Zeke said simply.

As expected, the answer was enough. Even though any novice mage would know it couldn’t be

that

simple, Vulcanos nodded appreciatively.

“Quite handy,” he said, admiring the construction.

“Let me show you around,” Zeke offered, leading the way.

The space within the World Anchor had finally grown large enough to serve a real purpose beyond storing trinkets. It stretched several hundred steps in both width and height—a scale he hadn’t fully appreciated before.

When he’d used it to simulate natural environments, the height hadn’t mattered much. But now that he’d transformed the interior into an industrial complex, the vertical space could finally be put to proper use with multiple levels.

“This is the greenhouse,” he said, gesturing toward a vast, multi-story structure made mostly of glass panels.

“We… are growing our own crops?” Vulcanos asked, his eyes wide.

“Among other things. On this floor, there are spices, mainly.”

Through the transparent walls, rows upon rows of meticulously arranged sections came into view. The precision and care within were far beyond anything found in nature, yet the thriving clusters of plants proved how well the environment suited them.

They stopped, and Zeke pointed upward at the dozen or so levels above. “Each floor has its own climate, tailored to the yields it supports. Aside from magical plants, there’s nothing we can’t produce in here.”

He gave them a moment to take in the marvel of industrialized farming. Then—

“Zelkara.”

“Yes, Progenitor.” Her response came instantly.

“From now on, you and your men will be responsible for maintaining this place.”

Zelkara looked from his face to the massive glass structure and back again before dropping to her knees, as if she had committed some grave offense.

“My apologies, Progenitor, but I lack the knowledge to care for such plants.”

“Get up,” Zeke ordered. She obeyed at once. “I didn’t expect you to. Even trained gardeners or botanists wouldn’t know how to care for all of these.”

Zelkara visibly relaxed at his reassurance.

“I’ll instruct your men telepathically on how to tend to each crop until they’ve learned. Your job is to organize them and make sure they stay diligent.”

Zelkara placed her fist over her chest. “Consider it done, Progenitor.”

They next stopped before a massive building with a clean, utilitarian design. “This is where you’ll be staying,” Zeke said.

The corridors were tight, as if someone had crammed in as many rooms as possible to maximize efficiency. That didn’t mean he’d skimped on quality, though. Within this space, he could create nearly anything he wanted—so he hadn’t held back with rare materials when designing the quarters. The only thing he’d been sparing with was space.

“You two can take the larger rooms on the top floor,” he added, “though I doubt you’ll spend much time here…”

With those ominous words, Zeke gestured for them to follow him to the final area. In a relatively hidden section of the hall stood something resembling the greenhouse—but this one was different. The glass containers weren’t shaped for plants. Their outlines were unmistakably humanoid.

“What are these, Master?” Vulcanos asked.

Zeke’s expression grew serious. He needed them to understand the weight of what he was about to reveal.

“This is my secret weapon,” he said. “The reason I was able to advance faster than any other Mage. The reason I wandered the continent for two years instead of chasing immediate power. And also…the key for you to grow stronger.”

Vulcanos swallowed hard, staring at the pods with newfound reverence. Even Zelkara’s usual composure gave way to a rare seriousness.

“They’re Mana Purifying Devices,” Zeke explained. “Version Three, to be exact.”

Stolen story; please report.

“What… what do they do?” Vulcanos asked, unable to tear his eyes from the pod closest to him.

“They filter and condense ambient Mana, making it easier for the Core to absorb.”

Vulcanos frowned. “But, Master… we don’t have cores.”

“I’m well aware,” Zeke replied. “Nonetheless, you rely on mana just as we mages do.”

Vulcanos looked genuinely confused. “I can use mana?”

“Not as fuel, no,” Zeke corrected. “Your abilities don’t function

with

ambient mana. However, you still depend on it to grow stronger. At least… that’s the theory.”

Vulcanos blinked. “You’re not sure about this?”

Zeke shook his head. “The fundamentals are sound. The problem is, I have no idea how it will work in practice. There are too many variables for me to predict accurately—especially with you.”

He met the Chimeroi’s eyes. “Remember, gaining strength isn’t simple for your kind. It’s tied to everything—your body, your power, even your aging. This process will push all of that into overdrive. It might strengthen you in ways we can’t foresee, in ways your species was never meant to evolve. Or… it might kill you.”

Vulcanos fell silent, his gaze fixed on the Mana Purifying Device.

Zeke decided to give him a moment and turned to Zelkara. “As a Pureblood, your physiology is closer to that of humans. You’re more responsive to mana and likely have a higher potential ceiling.”

Zelkara’s eyes gleamed with joy, as if he had just offered her heartfelt praise rather than simple biological reality.

“I want you to spend at least five hours inside each day—more, if possible.”

Zelkara nodded. “How do I use this device?”

Zeke pointed to the cushioned surface. “Lie down and relax.”

“That’s all?”

Zeke smiled faintly. “Since you’re one of the first of your kind to try it, you’ll need to be monitored constantly. But don’t worry—I’ll handle that. All you need to do is climb inside and rest.”

Zelkara nodded obediently. “Should I start right now?”

Zeke shrugged. “Might as well.”

The Pureblood didn’t waste another moment. The bearskin mantle she wore slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet and revealing the simple, snow-white tunic beneath. It suited her—clean, unadorned, matching her bright hair perfectly.

Without a trace of hesitation, she lay down on the cushioned surface, leaned back, and waited.

Zeke watched in quiet amazement. He knew the Honor Guard Ritual affected Chimeroi differently than humans, but seeing this woman—someone he had met only once before, barely conscious at the time—place such unquestioning trust in him still felt strange.

Even so, he wouldn’t complain about such loyalty. And in truth, this experiment was as much for her benefit as his own.

With a mental nudge, he instructed Akasha to proceed.

At once, the device came to life. With a soft whir of gears and a hiss of pressurized seals, the glass capsule closed around her—smoothly, almost gracefully, like an oyster sealing its shell.

Zelkara didn’t resist or panic. Instead, she observed the process with detached curiosity. It seemed the idea that Zeke might harm her hadn’t even occurred to her—or perhaps she wouldn’t have resisted even if it had. Her mindset was difficult to read.

“Relax,”

Zeke sent telepathically.

Moments later, he felt her consciousness dim: The telltale sign that she had fallen asleep. Akasha’s doing, no doubt. Though Zelkara could have resisted if she wished, her obedient nature made the process seamless.

“Did she just fall asleep?” Vulcanos asked, watching the entire process.

Zeke nodded, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping Pureblood. “The properties of purified mana make it incredibly addictive. By putting her to sleep, I can counteract the mental dependence.”

“…And the physical one?”

“That won’t be a problem with just a few hours a day,” Zeke said, finally tearing his eyes away after confirming everything was stable. “But even if it did, I could simply keep her asleep until the withdrawal passed. That’s one of the reasons I want to monitor her closely.”

He studied Vulcanos’ expression, trying to gauge his resolve. “Have you decided?”

Vulcanos smiled faintly. “There was never really a choice. I just needed a moment to make peace with it.”

Zeke’s gaze darkened. “I won’t pretend I wouldn’t do the same in your place—but I still have to say it: there’s no need for you to go through with this. You’re already strong enough.”

“Would I win against you, Master?”

Zeke didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“How are my chances?”

“A thousand to one.”

Vulcanos smiled again, this time without humor. “You might as well have said there’s no chance at all.”

Zeke shook his head. “I’m not that arrogant.”

Vulcanos nodded slowly, a strange look crossing his face. “I used to be stronger than you, Master. Much stronger. Do you remember? You used to depend on me.”

I still depend on you.

The words never left Zeke’s lips. He couldn’t bring himself to say them. Deep down, he knew they weren’t true. He no longer needed Vulcanos—not like he had back in Korrovan. In the grand scheme of things, Vulcanos had become almost insignificant within Zeke’s growing power structure.

David, Raileh, even Zelkara—they had all surpassed him, some by a wide margin. Vulcanos had become little more than another face in the crowd. If not in Zeke’s heart, then certainly in terms of the strength he could offer.

“…Don’t do it for me,” Zeke said softly, his tone almost pleading.

Vulcanos shook his head, and this time his smile was genuine. “It’s all I have, Master.”

Without another word, he strode to the pod beside Zelkara’s and lay down. Whether out of obedience or simply to avoid further argument, the Chimeroi closed his eyes.

It was as good as saying his decision was final.

Zeke sighed and was about to signal Akasha to close the pod when a familiar, raspy voice echoed in the back of his mind.

“…Give him a drop.”

Zeke froze. “What?”

“Give him a drop of your blood—of

my

blood. Give him a drop of Draconic Essence.”

“Why?” Zeke asked quickly.

“He is a fine warrior, but an even finer retainer,” Khai’Zar’s voice rumbled. “I will not see his path blocked.”

“What will the blood do?”

“Possibility.”

“…Possibility?” Zeke echoed. “Can you be a bit more specific?”

But the Dragon said nothing more. Only its lingering presence remained, heavy and expectant.

Zeke stood over Vulcanos, weighing his options. For a long moment, he hesitated. Then he exhaled slowly.

He would trust Khai’Zar. The Dragon had never led him astray.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed.

The dagger at his waist slid free of its sheath and glided into his hand, the blade gleaming as he turned it toward his own chest. With only a moment’s hesitation, Zeke made the first cut. A jolt of pain, sharp as a static shock, rippled through him as the edge bit into his flesh—layer by layer—until he could see the faint glimmer of his ribs and the heart beating beneath.

Ordinarily, such recklessness would have meant certain death. But Zeke had long mastered his own blood. It was the one aspect of himself he controlled completely.

Not a single drop spilled.

Carefully, with the knife’s tip, he pressed against the scaled surface of his inhuman heart.

Instead of blood, a single golden drop welled up—a liquid so dense it seemed almost solid, too heavy for its size, too radiant to be mistaken for anything mortal. It clung to the edge of the blade like molten light.

Zeke reached for Vulcanos, slicing open the Chimeroi’s arm—not with the dagger, but with a thin, razor-sharp filament of blood extending from his fingertip. The cut was so clean that Vulcanos likely hadn’t even felt it.

He tilted the dagger, letting the golden droplet roll into the wound.

The reaction was immediate. The Draconic Essence came alive, spreading through Vulcanos’ veins with a will of its own. The Chimeroi’s body tensed, a silent gasp escaping him as pain and ecstasy warred across his face.

“Now, Akasha,”

Zeke commanded wordlessly.

The spirit obeyed instantly. Taking advantage of the mental chaos, she slipped into Vulcanos’ mind and forced him into unconsciousness. It wasn’t a gentle act—it was more like pressing a rag soaked in potent narcotics to his face. But Zeke didn’t regret it. Whatever the Draconic Essence was doing, it wasn’t something he wanted the man to feel awake.

For a long moment, Zeke stood over him: this foolish, loyal man whose life he had once bought for a handful of metal coins.

Fate was a funny thing sometimes.

He had purchased him without a second thought. Now he stood over that same man, chest torn open, having carved out a piece of his own heart—all for the faint hope that it might help him on the path ahead.

Truly… a funny thing.