A heavy silence draped over the small house on the outskirts of the village. For a few fleeting hours, the warmth of family life acted as a shield against the decaying walls, as if trying to protect them from the storms of the outside world. Everyone had surrendered to sleep, drowning in simple dreams that momentarily blurred the harsh reality of mounting debts and the agonizing grind of poverty.
Suddenly, the stillness was shattered by a blood-curdling scream that ripped through the darkness. The mother bolted upright, clawing her way out of a demonic nightmare. She was gasping for air, screaming hysterically, "I don't want to die! No... cough... gasp... I don't want to die!" Her voice trembled with a primal terror, and her frail body convulsed on the mattress like a dying bird. The father jolted awake in a panic. With an instinctive, desperate movement, he pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly as he whispered in a choked voice, "Hush now... don't worry, I'm right here beside you. You won't die... I swear to you, you won't die."
Awakened by the agonizing cries, Elias and his elder sister, Sophia, scrambled down from the upper floor. When they burst through the door, the blood froze in their veins. They found their mother trembling and weeping hysterically in their father's arms. Elias stood paralyzed, his eyes wide and unblinking. It was the first time he had ever seen his father—that stoic, immovable mountain of a man—sobbing openly. In that horrific moment, Elias realized with terrifying certainty that his mother's death was no longer a distant possibility; it was merely a matter of time.
"Elias! Wake up! Get me the Magic Orb from upstairs! Now!" Sophia shouted. Elias sprinted up the stairs, stumbling in his haste, but he reached the chest and grabbed the orb, his hands shaking violently. He leaped back down and handed it to her. Sophia began to channel her power; it manifested as a stunning, azure-blue aura that radiated immediate tranquility. The light enveloped their mother's body, making her feel as if she were floating in a vast, clear blue sky, a profound warmth seeping into her cold veins. Her terror finally subsided, and she drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber.
Elias stood in the shadows, a dark fire igniting in his chest. It wasn't envy toward Sophia, but a burning rage born from his own internal weakness. He felt utterly pathetic—a mere spectator to his family's tragedy because he lacked the power to help. The three of them retreated to the kitchen, where the father sat broken and Sophia leaned against the wall. After a brief, heavy conversation about freedom and trade, Elias pretended to head to his room, but he sat on the cold wooden steps instead, eavesdropping behind the ajar door.
From behind the door, Sophia's voice came through, sharp with anxiety: "Father, you are suffering from severe back pains... your body is breaking. You must stop this grueling labor."
The father replied in an exhausted voice, "How will I feed you? How will I pay off the debts? Elias leaves tomorrow and won't return for three years; we must endure."
Sophia whispered, "Father... I heard rumors. They say the Academy will train them and then take them straight to the Army."
The father's response was like a thunderclap: "I heard the same... and if anyone refuses, they and their family will be imprisoned for High Treason. Damn this Empire! They are turning the vulnerable into mere fuel for their wars."
Elias went up to his room, leaning back on his bed. He stared at the ceiling with his hands behind his head, thinking bitterly about how this Empire was ruthlessly exploiting them. Back in the kitchen, the father smiled despite his broken spirit and said, "But my daughter, trust me. Elias is a persistent person; he will succeed and return. He will never abandon his family."
Sophia replied, "I hope so, but I don't want him to push himself too much." They continued to exchange conversation, eventually laughing despite all the physical and emotional pain dwelling within them.
In the morning, the farewell was heavy. Elias bid his family goodbye with tears streaming down his face. Sophia held his hand firmly, saying, "Don't give up; you can do this!" His father patted his shoulder, saying, "Don't think too much; just do what you have to do."
The father and Sophia left the room to give Elias a moment to speak with his mother in private. His mother said through a strained cough, "I am sorry about yesterday, Elias... I wasn't myself, I didn't know what I was saying..."
Elias interrupted with a forced smile, "Stop it, Mother. There's no need to apologize. I'm going to get the license and come back. Don't worry."
The mother replied with hope, "When you return, I will be cured of my illness, and I will cook all the food you want."
"Yes, Mother, that's right," Elias replied.
She tried to ease the pressure on him, saying, "Don't worry about us; we can rely on ourselves. Just focus on yourself."
"I will, Mother," Elias promised.
Elias stepped out the door, his family waving goodbye to him. He smiled bitterly as he walked toward the horse-drawn carriage. Rick and Michael were already waiting for him. Elias climbed into the carriage, and as it set off toward the Academy, he left his childhood behind to begin his journey as the "Death Merchant."
Behind the sealed doors of the "High Defense Commission" in the Capital, the air was thick with the scent of tobacco and lethal decisions. General Larkos, head of the Commission, sat at the head of the table, his cold eyes scanning the anxious faces of the Academy Directors.
Larkos slammed his hand on the table, shattering the silence. "The matter is settled. The regular army is stranded in the Black Continent along with General Damious, and their return is delayed indefinitely. The northern borders are exposed, and the enemy is mobilizing."
Director Boros, head of the Royal Academy in the Capital, stood up while adjusting his expensive collar. "We understand the danger, General, but our southern recruits are the elite of society. Their minds are groomed for leadership and administration. We cannot send our youth—aged between 17 and 25—to be mere cannon fodder on the front lines."
At this, the Director of the Northern Academies exploded in rage, slamming his fist down. "And what about the youth of the North? Is the blood of the peasants and the poor cheaper? You want to open the academies in our regions for free—not for education, but for soul-hunting! You want to turn these young men into human 'stalling tools'!"
Larkos responded with chilling finality. "Exactly. Stalling is all we need right now. We will thrust the northern youth into the front-line trenches of the disputed territories. They must hold that ground at any cost until Damious returns from the Black Continent. Their deaths will buy us the time we need."
"This is a mass execution!" the Northern Director shouted. "They are young men in their prime, not seasoned soldiers!"
Director Boros intervened again with an aristocratic tone. "Calm yourself, colleague. The strategy dictates that the youth of the Capital and the South handle 'logistics and command' from the rear, while the youth of the North handle 'direct engagement.' They are accustomed to the cold and hardship anyway. This is the optimal balance for the Empire's interest."
Larkos ended the debate, standing up coldly. "The discussion is over. Tomorrow, the northern academies will open to everyone without exception. Start gathering the 'human consumables'... War does not wait for the weak."