Trinity of Magic

Zeke blinked, processing the words as Frost’s revelation settled in. His hands paused mid-motion, still clutching the shoulder of the next warrior in line.

“Retreated?” he echoed, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and cautious curiosity.

Frost nodded firmly, the earlier gloom gone. His posture sagged with relief, as if the weight of those words had drained the tension from his body. “Yes. They retreated. Our frontline held strong, thanks to your... tactics.”

Zeke straightened, scanning the room with renewed focus. The constant buzz of combat he’d heard in the distance had indeed faded, replaced by a stunned quiet. His awareness stretched outward, reaching for the battlefield. What he felt was undeniable—the enemy’s presence was dwindling, their numbers scattering into the area beyond his reach.

Zeke let go of the patient whose shoulder he was still grasping. He had been too focused on his task, not paying any attention to the battle. This was not a good look, especially for the commander. He quickly put on a serious expression and nodded back at Frost.

“I’m well aware,” he said, subtly scanning the area to assess the current situation. “We should address the men. Will you join me?”

Frost agreed without hesitation, and together they made their way to the spot where Zeke had previously spoken. As the soldiers saw him approach—with their former commander by his side no less—the crowd immediately fell silent, waiting expectantly.

Zeke stepped up beside Frost, surveying the gathered crowd in silence. What he saw was no longer the disheartened group of desperate survivors from hours ago, but a well-organized fighting force, their eyes burning with determination.

[Question]

Do you need me to prepare a speech?

Zeke froze for an instant. A speech… Akasha wanted to write a speech for him? The Spirit had many talents, but motivational speaking wasn’t one of them. He shuddered at the thought of how stiff and awkward that speech would be.

“I think I’ll manage,” he replied mentally, his gaze returning to the gathered crowd.

He needed to find the right words to resonate with them; mere flattery wouldn’t suffice. This had to be a turning point in the war, a definitive break from their past failures. After a moment's thought, he cleared his throat.

“Warriors of the Icefang tribe,” Zeke began, his voice ringing through the cavern. "For too long, you've allowed these cowardly snakes to terrorize your home, running rampant on your mountain—far too long. Forced to retreat, helpless, as they drove you deeper into these tunnels..."

He saw fists and claws tighten in anger and shame, his words hitting like salt on an open wound.

“But!” he continued, his tone steady. “Those days are behind you now. Today, you have shown the true strength of Winter’s descendants. You’ve brought honor to his name—and to your own.”

At his words, many heads lifted, and Zeke met their eyes with an encouraging smile, like a parent proud of a child's first step.

“Today, you’ve had your first taste of victory!” he declared, sweeping his gaze over the crowd. Their eyes were locked on him, hanging on every word. “How did it taste? Sweet? Well, get used to it, because this is just the beginning! Soon, it will be the snakes who live in fear, regretting the day they dared set foot on our mountain. They will learn to fear our jaws and fangs once more, as they always should have!”

His words lingered in the air, their echoes still bouncing off the cavern walls as the crowd stared in stunned silence. Then, the tension snapped, and the warriors roared as one. It was as if they were releasing all the pent-up stress from weeks of desperate struggle. Some even gave in to their animalistic instincts, howling wildly. It was a scene of chaos and madness, yet Zeke saw only the beauty in it.

This was exactly what these warriors needed—a chance to release their frustrations, a turning point in their desperate fight for survival. It was something Zeke was more than happy to provide.

“Eat and drink to your heart's content tonight!” he shouted over the celebrating crowd. “Tomorrow will be a long day. There’s more honor and victory to claim, and I need you all strong and ready!”

His words were met with even louder cheers, and Zeke nodded in satisfaction, turning to Frost beside him. “Do you want to add anything?”

Frost looked from him to the wildly celebrating crowd and then back again. His expression turned complicated. “If I’d known you were so good at this, I would have given you control right away…” he muttered, though Zeke heard him loud and clear.

“Would you have believed me if I told you?” he asked.

Frost blinked, a small smile emerging on his usually stoic face. “I can still barely believe it now,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

Zeke grinned and playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “I told you, we share the same goal—you and I.”

While the two of them walked toward the sanctum, he could feel Akasha drawing on his Core again. “What are you doing?” he asked.

[Answer]

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I deemed it necessary to reorganize the scouts. The enemy forces have retreated ahead of schedule, and it is unclear what they are planning to do next. We should extend our surveillance network in case they choose to launch a surprise attack.

Zeke’s smile faltered. In his excitement over their victory, he hadn’t even considered what came next. But as the commander, it was his duty to prepare for every possibility. His inexperience was glaring in moments like this—he’d let himself get carried away by the mood too easily. Thankfully, he had Akasha.

“Can I leave it to you?” he asked, slightly embarrassed.

[Answer]

It is already done, Host, alongside any other duties that needed your attention.

Zeke nodded, once again thanking fate that it had allowed him to contract with a Spirit like Akasha.

“Let’s go,” he told Frost, who was waiting for him.

As they entered the sanctum, he noticed the change in the way the warriors regarded him. Conversations hushed when he passed, and their gazes, once uncertain or indifferent, now followed him with respect and deference. The shift felt unnatural to Zeke, who wasn’t used to being the center of such attention. He could sense it in the way the warriors stood taller in his presence, how they quickly made way for him, their nods deep with reverence. It was more than just gratitude for leading them to victory; there was something more at play.

He turned to Frost, curiosity getting the better of him. “Aren’t they overdoing it a little? It feels like they treat me with more respect than even you,” he said, keeping his voice low as they walked toward the heart of the sanctum.

Frost looked at him with an odd expression. “…And you think that is strange?”

Zeke tilted his head. “Shouldn’t I?”

“You are a weird person,” Frost stated. “Did you think it would be the same after what you’ve done today?”

Zeke frowned. “It was only a single victory, and we still have a long way to go.”

Frost shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. Your aura… it’s overwhelming. Even now, I’m struggling against the urge to run—and I am a Pureblood son of Winter. Can you imagine what the others must be feeling?”

Zeke stopped in his tracks, his hands already searching his pockets for the amulet that would suppress his Draconic Aura. However, before he could put it on, Frost stopped him.

“Don't,” he said, his tone serious. “This is a good thing.”

Zeke frowned. “A good thing? I don't want people to be afraid of me.”

Frost studied him for a moment, his brow furrowed. “For someone so clever, you can be pretty naive sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

Frost turned to face him fully, his eyes flashing. “What do you think my father’s aura feels like when he’s at his prime?” he asked.

Zeke recalled the sensation of meeting Winter for the first time. It was like an icy chill that pierced straight through him. Even with his Draconic Heart and the fact that he wasn't a Chimeroi, the feeling had been intense. He shuddered at the thought of how overwhelming it must have been for the tribesmen.

“It must be pretty strong,” Zeke replied belatedly.

Frost scoffed. “Pretty strong? It is absolutely terrifying. Even I can barely tolerate it for more than a few minutes at a time.”

“What are you trying to say? That I should make my allies fear me?”

“Exactly,” Frost said bluntly. “The sharper the weapon, the more dangerous it is. But you wouldn't go into battle with a dull sword just because you're afraid the sharp blade might cut you, would you?”

“I am not a weapon,” Zeke refuted, though the analogy made sense.

“And you don’t have to be,” Frost affirmed. “But do you have any idea how much confidence it instills in the men to know that such a person stands behind them? It is almost as if my father had returned…”

Zeke fell silent, letting Frost’s words sink in. The young commander had raised an interesting point, one Zeke hadn’t considered before. He had always tried to be a friend to his people, someone approachable, someone they could rely on. But maybe that wasn’t the only approach—or even the right one. Now that he wielded far more power, perhaps it was time to rethink his strategy.

What was more effective: a leader people feared, or one they liked?

The question still troubled him as they continued their way deeper into the sanctum, and Zeke barely paid any attention to the crystalline landscape and marvelous architecture. But there was no time to dwell on it.

“This is it,” Frost said as they stopped before a large building.

Zeke looked up at the structure, jolted from his thoughts. The complex didn’t stand out from the surrounding buildings, aside from its size. It appeared to have been a warehouse in the past, but Zeke’s Sphere of Awareness quickly revealed why they had come to this place.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Frost said curtly as he returned the way they came.

With a nod, Zeke entered through the door, his thoughts turning to more urgent matters. His eyes quickly found the sight that his senses had already detected from outside. The entire warehouse had been converted to an impromptu infirmary, with wounded tribesmen arrayed in lines.

Zeke slowly walked along the rows of men and women, inspecting them in passing. They all shared one striking feature: their pale skin and protruding veins, which were a sickly blue. He recognized this as a symptom of Frostscale poison, but he had rarely seen it progress to such an extreme. These people were not even able to move, resembling frozen statues more than living beings.

However, he didn’t slow his steps as he headed further down the line. Toward the end of the line, he stopped, his gaze turning heavy. Vulcanos lay there, his breathing labored and weak, and his usually blazing eyes dulled by exhaustion.

“Master…” the Chimeroi muttered, forcing a smile. “I had hoped you wouldn’t get to see me like this.”

“How did I end up with such a fool?” Zeke chided lightheartedly. Kneeling beside the injured warrior, he placed a comforting hand on Vulcanos’ shoulder as he focused on assessing his condition. Vulcanos was in terrible shape. The poison had run its course through his system, but worse, he appeared to have severely overdrawn his power, weakening his body even further.

Zeke’s brow furrowed in concentration. He cured Vulcanos of the Frostscale poison easily enough, cleansing the remaining traces with his own magic, but there was something deeper wrong. Despite his best efforts, Zeke could not replace Vulcanos’ missing vitality. This was not his domain, and only a Life Mage might be able to help.

Vulcanos’ gaze met Zeke’s, and there was a moment of understanding between them. “You’ve done all you can, Master,” Vulcanos rasped, his voice quieter than usual, but steady. “The rest... will take time.”

Zeke sighed, frustrated by his own limits. “I’ll keep an eye on your condition. If I find anything that might help, I’ll try it. For now, rest.”

The Chimeroi grunted in acknowledgment, though Zeke could see the frustration in his eyes as well. Vulcanos had always been a force of nature, and the thought of being incapacitated clearly grated on him. But there was little more Zeke could do at the moment.

His gaze swept over the hall once more, and he could see many healers eyeing him in wonder. His act of removing the poison in such a short time was still a novelty to many tribesmen, and these were the people who best understood what this ability could mean for their patients.

“Bring me a barrel,” he ordered as he moved toward one of the worst cases. Many of the injured had little time left, and Zeke was pressed for time, too. He needed to be prepared for whatever tomorrow would bring. But for now, he just wanted to save as many tribesmen as he could.