Gathering Wives with a System Chapter 414: Horrors Of The Past

Before Isaac could instruct them to depart, Simraj Solkara advanced.

His robe appeared a touch rumpled from the prior disorder, yet his face had swiftly resumed its familiar serene composure.

"Now that we've clarified all points, might we proceed with the talks on negotiations?" Simraj stated evenly.

Isaac gazed at him like he'd caught the words wrong.

"You're still interested in negotiating?" he muttered.

"Indeed, we are," Simraj answered promptly. "Provisions are always valuable, and that's a key factor in our desire to form an alliance with you. Furthermore..."

He offered a subtle, businesslike grin.

"Lady Catherine made special efforts to set up this encounter. I suspect she too hopes for an alliance between us."

Isaac’s eyes drifted to Averon’s limp form.

"What of him? He'll erupt in another fit as soon as he regains consciousness," Isaac cautioned.

At the term "fit," Simraj’s grin soured, though he refrained from disputing it.

"Frankly," Simraj remarked deliberately, "he's among the motives pushing me toward this alliance with you."

Isaac arched a brow.

"Lord Averon possesses virtues. He's compassionate, valiant, courageous, and dutiful. The residents of Solkara City hold him in high regard. However..."

He halted, selecting his phrasing with precision.

"His arrogance stems from our shortcomings. From a young age, his strength surpassed everyone nearby. This allowed him unchecked freedom. We neglected to guide him firmly. Thus, he reacts impulsively. Influence from his power altered him gradually. Else, he wouldn't have lashed out at you in rage."

His stare met Isaac’s squarely.

"Through this alliance, I aim for him to be ’schooled’ in reining in his impulses and fury."

The term "schooled" lingered heavily.

Isaac grasped its implication perfectly.

Thrash him. Often.

Shape him up through tough measures.

Isaac’s features twisted oddly. Why would this fellow entrust such a task to him?

No, the reason was clear already.

Simraj’s faith stemmed from Catherine’s selection of him.

That sparked yet another query.

Precisely what feats had Catherine achieved during her prior encounters with these folks, earning them such trust in Isaac merely because he bore her lord’s title?

Isaac parted his lips to decline.

He wanted no burden over another’s pampered champion.

Yet logic prevailed ultimately.

Partnering with Solkara City offered advantages, and rejecting now would merely breed complications.

He exhaled deeply.

"Let’s discuss within."

He lifted his gadget and declared steadily, "Ruby, instruct the nearing awakeners to withdraw. I’ve resolved the situation here. Also, assign personnel to repair the damaged structures."

"Affirmative, Lord Isaac," came Ruby’s reply via the device.

Matters addressed, Isaac pivoted and reentered the office.

Simraj trailed after, while the guards gently transported the insensate Averon in their wake.

Within the office, the mood was subdued yet equally grave.

Isaac summoned Old Man Jeremy. The elder positioned himself beside Isaac.

The bargaining stretched over hours.

Routes for food distribution were debated. Trades of mana crystals. Joint strategies for defending against beasts.

Old Man Jeremy chipped in now and then with pragmatic worries.

"Transport security must be assured. With routine supply movements, rogue awakeners can’t disrupt us," Jeremy noted during one exchange.

"We can manage that. Solkara City shall deploy guard units. No losses will occur while under our safeguard," Simraj assured.

Isaac mostly observed rather than contributed. He assessed Simraj’s inflection, his hesitations, how he skirted some topics yet emphasized others. The individual was astute. Courteous, yet astute.

Averon, for his part, remained unresponsive throughout.

As the talks approached conclusion, Simraj cleared his voice.

"Regarding Lord Averon..."

Isaac reclined a bit.

"What of him?"

Simraj clasped his hands atop the desk.

"As you're aware, he harbors a strong affection for Lady Catherine."

Isaac’s gaze sharpened subtly.

"I possess a strategy that could aid him in letting go. Though it demands your assistance," Simraj proposed with caution.

"Strategy?" Isaac lifted a brow.

"Correct. It's straightforward. Particularly given your public declaration of Lady Catherine as your spouse."

Simraj paused briefly, ensuring clarity.

"Should you engage in... closeness with Lady Catherine where Lord Averon might witness or learn of it, he'd be compelled to release his attachment."

With a minor gesture of his fingers, he clarified the nature of ’closeness’.

’Has this fool lost his mind?’

The notion nearly slipped from Isaac’s tongue.

True, it might compel Averon to advance. Yet it would inflict lasting emotional wounds. Such degradation didn’t fade readily.

Isaac despised kids. That held.

But he wasn’t deranged.

Though devil blood coursed in him, boundaries existed even for him.

From the side, he caught Old Man Jeremy eyeing him peculiarly, as if gauging Isaac’s inclination toward the idea.

Isaac dismissed the glance and responded bluntly.

"I refuse to partake in such actions."

Simraj’s brow furrowed mildly.

"Yet without it, Lord Averon won’t—"

"I’ve got an alternative method to resolve matters with him. Allow me to attempt it," Isaac cut in.

Rising, he approached Averon’s inert figure.

Simraj tensed.

Isaac rested his palm on Averon’s forehead.

"What’s your intent?" Simraj inquired warily.

"I’ll infiltrate his dreams and converse there. He can’t strike at me. Nor can he flee. He’ll need to heed me," Isaac explained steadily.

Simraj’s visage hardened.

Invading dreams proved a sensitive endeavor. It formed a psychic arena. It might swiftly become a tool for mind control. Or worse, enduring harm.

Isaac eyed Simraj.

"Relax. I won’t end him."

Simraj wavered. His attention fixed on Averon for an extended beat. If Isaac sought destruction, opportunity had already arisen. Rather, he suggested a restrained tactic.

At length, Simraj inclined his head.

"Very well. Employ your power."

Isaac shut his eyes.

Mana swirled about him.

He accessed the power duplicated from Catherine, enabling dream intrusion.

The link established without issue.

Rather than imposing a vision, Isaac permitted the dream to progress naturally.

...

Sustenance.

That stood as the ultimate treasure.

Not armaments. Not labyrinths. Not scarce flora or costly elixirs.

Nourishment held true supremacy.

A fact ingrained in every Solkara’s core. Regardless of age, status, or origin—be they youth or elder, elite or laborer—they recognized that endurance started with satisfied hunger.

Luckily, the Solkara lineage escaped the food woes plaguing other species.

They possessed ample supplies.

From their own kind.

Owing to the unique build of the Solkara folk, they processed specific mineral types.

Such minerals proliferated in their domain.

Consuming them induced agonizing cramps and harsh digestive woes, but vital needs got fulfilled.

Across eras, their rulers perfected a regimen.

Cultivate "ration Solkara" in regulated enclosures. Supply them minerals. Allow maturation. Then reap their flesh to nourish the ’true populace’ of Solkara kin.

It proved effective.

It sustained indefinitely.

It felt routine.

Or so their culture had decreed ages past.

For Solkara society, devouring kin wasn’t wicked. It embodied utility.

Yet through the lens of a youth spawned in those plants, reared as feed—

It equaled torment.

The vision altered, and Isaac viewed it via Averon’s perspective.

Icy steel barriers. The tang of mineral grit. Perpetual belly throbs post compulsory intake. Young ones clustered in shadows, murmuring secrets by dark for that was their sole comfort.

Averon lacked knowledge of his sire.

Nor of his dam, though her end seemed obvious.

Breeders who birthed excessively weakened. Such breeders faced "conversion."

Averon loathed it all.

He despised the torment from mineral meals.

He despised rousing to find another vanished.

He despised his existence.

But terror barred him from self-destruction.

Thus, he endured the horror. Tallying days. Until the hour arrived for his own conversion.

Averon queued, frail and slender, anticipating removal this day or next.

Astonishingly, he awakened.

Years of anguish and pressure at last shattered his limits, sparking the awakening.

An SSS-rank Gift emerged.

A legendary feat. A battle-oriented Gift brimming with dread promise.

Regrettably, the Gift served no purpose.

Advancement required slaying others, or skill deployment.

Abilities unlocked at Level 5, leaving slaughter as his sole path.

But whom to slay?

The facility overseers?

How might a puny youth fell those vastly superior adept rank awakeners? They’d dispatch him effortlessly.

Just one viable choice remained.

The youths nearby.

Fellow ’ration Solkaras.’

Feeble as he. Dispatching them seemed simple.

Yet Averon rejected such acts.