The next morning, sunlight filtered through the palace's high windows, casting pale blue patterns across the marble floor of the grand hall.
Dobroslav stood at the center, hands clasped behind his back. His father sat nearby on a stone bench, calm and watchful. Pajoslav leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. The commander entered last, helmet tucked under his arm.
"I have gathered you here to discuss our next steps," Dobroslav began, voice steady and clear.
The commander dropped to one knee instantly. "Your words are my orders, Prince!"
Dobroslav stepped forward and gently placed a hand on the man's shoulder, lifting him up.
"There is no need for that, Commander. Please stand."
"But, Prince—" the commander protested, eyes wide with devotion.
"No buts," Dobroslav cut in, tone firm yet kind. "Stand."
"Yes, my Prince!" The commander rose quickly, back straight.
Dobroslav offered a small, approving nod.
"I haven't yet asked your name."
"This servant is called Patryslav," the commander answered, fist to chest.
Dobroslav inclined his head. "Good. I am Dobroslav. This is my father, Androslav." He gestured to the older man, who acknowledged with a quiet nod. "And this is Pajoslav, my closest advisor."
Patryslav bowed slightly to each in turn. "An honor, lords."
Pajoslav gave a lazy wave, hiding a smirk.
Dobroslav's expression remained regal, welcoming.
"Now—let us plan the future of our people."
Dobroslav turned back to the small group, his expression resolute yet measured.
"Our first task is to gather every awakened elf in Ostrowiec and the surrounding villages. Send patrols—small, fast teams. Escort our brethren here safely. No one left behind."
Patryslav nodded, already memorizing.
"Once they arrive, we expand. Build houses beyond the wall—simple at first, wood and stone. Fortify the perimeter: ditches, stakes, watchtowers. Clear the area of any goblin filth. Burn the bodies far from here."
Androslav inclined his head in approval. Pajoslav listened silently, arms still crossed.
Dobroslav's gaze hardened slightly.
"And if possible… construct a fighting pit. A walled circle where our soldiers can train against captured goblins. Live practice. It will sharpen them faster than drills ever could."
He fixed his eyes on Patryslav—steady, unyielding.
"Can you do it?"
It was not a question.
Patryslav straightened, fist striking chest with a solid bamm.
"Yes, my Prince. It will be done."
Dobroslav allowed a small, approving nod.
"Good. Begin at once."
The commander bowed and strode out to relay orders.
Androslav rose, placing a hand on Dobroslav's shoulder. "Wise choices, son."
Dobroslav returned a filial smile—warm for his father, perfectly princely.
"Father, last night I wrote a cultivation manual for you and Marek. It's called Frost Blade Scripture. I have received it as part of my awakened memories" lied Dobroslav. In truth, everything he knows he learned from Bhalzar.
'He is not ready for my path' commented Bhalzar.
Father nodded.
"Above all else, stay safe and when you reach a bottleneck, I will tell you what to do next" explained Dobroslav.
He then turned to Pajoslav.
"You too, study military from Patryslav and practice cultivation".
His father then realised "You sound as if you're leaving us".
"Yes, father, I have some things to do outside and I will be back when its done." explained Dobroslav.
"Stay safe my son" commented father and left the room.
"Father, last night I wrote a cultivation manual for you and Marek. It's called Frost Blade Scripture. I received it as part of my awakened memories."
The lie came effortlessly, smooth as fresh snow. In truth, every technique, every insight, had been drilled into him by Bhalzar's dry, ancient voice.
'He is not ready for my path,' Bhalzar commented, a hint of disdain curling through Dobroslav's mind.
Father nodded gravely, accepting the gift without question.
"Above all else, stay safe," Dobroslav continued. "When you reach a bottleneck, I will guide you further."
He turned to Pajoslav, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement.
"You too. Study military matters under Patryslav. And practice cultivation—quietly, at night."
Pajoslav gave a small, knowing nod.
Androslav's brow furrowed. He studied his son's face for a long moment.
"You sound as if you're leaving us."
"Yes, Father," Dobroslav replied evenly. "There are things I must do outside these walls. I will return when they are finished."
Androslav stepped closer, placing both hands on Dobroslav's shoulders. His grip was firm, eyes searching.
"Stay safe, my son. This sanctuary… our people… we need you."
Dobroslav inclined his head, the picture of dutiful obedience.
"I will, Father."
Androslav held the gaze a second longer, then released him and left the room without another word, footsteps echoing down the marble corridor.
The door closed softly.
Pajoslav waited until the sound faded completely.
"So," Pajoslav said, voice low, "where are we really going, Prince?"
Dobroslav turned from the window, the princely mask sliding away for the first time since dawn. His expression hardened, eyes glinting with cold purpose.
"For now, I go alone. I hope you'll have unlocked all nine conduits by the time I return."
Pajoslav's smirk vanished. "How come I have to stay here?"
"Pajojo," Dobroslav said, stepping closer, "I need someone I trust watching this place. My father is wise, but he's pure elf—too honorable. Patryslav is loyal, but new. You're the only one who knows everything."
He paused, voice dropping.
"Watch the soldiers. See if any show real talent—ruthless, quick to learn. If you find one or two worth it, teach them Infernal Battle Law. Carefully. At night. No traces."
Pajoslav crossed his arms, still scowling. "Fine. But I need some fun too, you know."
Dobroslav's lips curved into a dark, knowing grin.
"Fun? There are still human women out there—scared, desperate, hiding in ruined houses." He chuckled low. "Waiting for a strong elf to 'save' them."
Pajoslav's scowl cracked. A sinister smile spread across his face, matching Dobroslav's perfectly.
He backed toward the door, laughing out loud—deep, wicked, unrestrained.
"I guess I might stay here a while after all."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Dobroslav stood alone in the quiet room.
The mask slipped back on—regal, righteous, untouchable.
Tomorrow, he would leave before dawn.
Radom waited. The rift waited.