Eli rubbed his left palm slowly along his right forearm. There was no pain. No stiffness. Nothing he could clearly identify. Yet the limb felt faintly numb, like the dull heaviness after overworking a muscle.
He leaned back in the chair and stared at the broken table in front of him.
The orb.His father.The Viscountcy.The power.
Everything had come at once, as if arranged by someone else.
If his father were alive, he could have asked him.If he were not the Viscount, he would be searching the stars for answers instead of holding a failing frontier together.If he did not carry this burden, he could focus entirely on the orb.
But there was no alternative.
A Zenith accepted what had to be done.
Retreat meant failure. Failure meant extinction.
A sharp knock broke the silence.
"Who is it?" Eli asked, straightening.
"Doctor Selene, my lord."
"Enter."
The iron door opened with a low mechanical groan. Doctor Selene stepped inside, medical kit already in hand.
"Lieutenant Carrow informed me of your injur—"
She stopped.
Her gaze fixed on the table, split cleanly into two heavy slabs.
Not bent.
Crushed.
Eli remained standing. "I was testing my strength."
Selene looked from the ruined furniture to him, her expression tightening slightly.
"My lord… forgive the question, but are you using Feralite?"
Eli's eyes hardened.
Feralite was a mutation-forcing drug favored by pirates and unstable factions. It burned weaker genes away and amplified dominant ones, leaving users dependent on constant doses to survive.
"I am not," he said evenly. "You may leave."
"You were impaled through the torso by an apex organism. Internal damage may not be immediately visible. Let me help you my lord."
She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
A faint green shimmer appeared at the edge of his vision.
[External Biological Analysis Detected]
➤ Conceal Anomalous Physiology ➤ Allow Full Scan
"Fine". Eli finally complied.
Conceal.
A subtle sensation spread across his spine.
"Please remove your shirt, my lord," Selene said.
Eli complied.
She carefully removed the first aid dressing. The wound had sealed externally, leaving a deep indentation where the Tyrant's limb had pierced him. Dark bruising spread across his ribs, but there was no active bleeding.
Her brow furrowed.
"This should still be inflamed… yet the tissue is stable."
She placed her palm flat against his abdomen.
Warmth spread through him at once. Deep, controlled heat that seemed to reach muscle and bone. His breathing eased as her mutation stimulated circulation, accelerated repair, and suppressed swelling.
"Tell me if this hurts," she said.
"It does not."
Her fingers pressed slightly, examining the area.
"The muscle fibers are unusually dense," she murmured. "Almost as if they contracted during healing."
Eli remained silent.
The warmth intensified briefly, then faded as she shifted to another section.
"You were fortunate," she said. "A few centimeters deeper would have been fatal."
Before he could reply, the door opened.
Carrow stepped inside, then halted immediately.
Selene stood close to Eli, one hand on his bare abdomen. The shattered table loomed behind them.
Carrow's expression flickered. Surprise, then controlled neutrality.
"My apologies," he said at once, stepping back. "I will return later."
"Lieutenant, remain," Eli said.
Carrow stopped.
"This is medical treatment."
"Understood, my lord." He turned back, posture formal, though slightly rigid.
Selene withdrew her hand, Slightly embarrased. "His injuries are stable. He should avoid excessive strain for several days."
"That may not be possible," Carrow said.
Eli picked up his shirt but did not put it on yet. "You came with a report."
"Yes." Carrow shifted into official tone. "Regarding the beast harvest."
Eli focused on him.
"Local traders are offering immediate purchase for organs and secondary materials," Carrow continued. "Prices are below Core standards, but payment is guaranteed."
"And transport to the Core?"
"Higher profit. Greater risk. Longer delay."
Eli nodded once. "Sell a portion locally. Stockpile the rest."
"Yes, my lord."
Carrow hesitated.
"There is also significant interest in the Tyrant shard."
Eli's expression did not change.
"One buyer is offering an exceptional sum," Carrow said. "Enough to fund operations for several weeks."
"It is not for sale," Eli replied.
No hesitation.
No explanation.
Carrow studied him briefly, then inclined his head. "Understood."
Selene glanced between them, noting the tension but remaining silent.
Eli pulled his shirt on, movements controlled.
"Prepare the materials for processing," he said. "Increase security. News will spread."
"Yes, my lord."
Carrow turned to leave, then paused at the doorway.
"You should rest," he said quietly. "Dead rulers are difficult to protect."
He departed without waiting for a response.
Silence returned.
Selene packed her instruments slowly, thoughtful.
"My lord," she said at last, "your recovery rate is unusually high. Avoid heavy exertion for at least forty-eight hours."
"I will keep that in mind."
She bowed and left.
The door sealed shut with a heavy clang.
Eli exhaled slowly.
Then froze.
A faint warmth spread across his chest.
Not internal.
External.
He looked down.
Through fabric, a dim glow began to bleed outward, outlining a sigil beneath the cloth.
The Royal Mark.
The one the Emperor had placed on him during his appointment.
The light intensified.
Lines of gold burned through the fabric without heat, forming a complex geometric insignia over his sternum.
Eli did not move.
A translucent projection unfolded in the air before him, different from the green system interface. This one was precise, structured, unmistakably imperial.
Cold. Authoritative. Absolute.
[Imperial Command Relay — Active] Recipient: Warden Eli Zenith of Deoxy Region Priority: Strategic
Not Viscount.
Not Lord.
Warden.
A voice followed. Not spoken. Not heard. Imprinted directly into his mind.
Neutral. Inhuman. Administrative.
"Warden. A frontier destabilization event has been confirmed in the Goliath Region."
New data streamed across the projection.
Maps. Routes. Red threat markers.
Goliath Region.
Another outer frontier.
Approximately one month of travel from Deoxy.
"Imperial directive: Deploy infantry support to reinforce regional defenses."
Eli's expression hardened slightly.
"Minimum force projection required: One infantry detachment but will be honoured if more reinforcement are sent."
No greeting.
No explanation.
No option to refuse.
This was not a request.
It was an order delivered through authority older than his title.
"Confirmation required."