The light emanating from the trench was not the flickering orange of torchfire. It was a deep, rhythmic pulsing—a soft, cerulean glow that bled through the cracks of the dark earth like liquid starlight flowing through vein work.
Antares stood at the precipice of the excavation pit.
Below him, the trench plunged thirty feet into the frozen bedrock of Silver Peak Mountain. What he had assumed would be standard deposits of mana-infused clay was, in reality, something infinitely more valuable.
Stretching horizontally across the entire width of the trench was a subterranean vein of hyper-condensed, crystalline mana-clay.
It looked like polished dark marble, laced with glowing veins of deep blue crystal that hummed with a low, resonant frequency. The air rising from the pit carried a heavy, metallic scent mixed with the sharp bite of ozone, the signature of mana.
"This is not mere clay, Kael," Antares said, his voice dropping into a low, quiet murmur of genuine astonishment. He crouched at the edge of the pit, extending his hand toward the air rising from below. Even from thirty feet away, his core reacted to the sheer density of the raw energy locked within the earth.
"No, Your Majesty," Kael replied, stepping up beside his King, his bare, mud-streaked chest heaving as he looked down at the discovery with the fiery pride of a master craftsman. "The surface deposits we were digging up top were just the runoff—the mere overflow that bled through the topsoil over thousands of years. But three days ago, when my miners broke through the granite shelf, we struck the core vein. This is infact mana laced clay with the highest purity. The Tharvok Clan's oldest tomes speak of such material, but I never believed I would live to lay my hands on a single pound of it, let alone an entire mountain's worth."
Yanrid stepped up to the opposite side of the pit, his armor clinking softly as he leaned over the edge. The General's eyes widened, his ice-blue irises reflecting the shimmering light below.
"What are its physical properties, Lord Kael?" Yanrid asked, his strategic mind instantly calculating how such a material could be deployed on a battlefield. "Can it be baked into bricks? Can it withstand blows, slashes and mage attacks?"
Kael let out a deep, chest-rumbling laugh that echoed off the high trench walls. "Withstand? Yanrid, once this clay is properly refined, kneaded with mountain water, and baked in a high-temperature furnace, it won't just harden, it will become unbreakable.
A single wall built from bricks made of this clay will be practically indestructible to mundane siege weapons.
Moreover, because it naturally holds a high concentration of mana, it inherently dampens incoming magic. Fireballs will dissipate against it. Lightning spells will be grounded harmlessly into the earth. It is, quite simply, the ultimate architectural fortification.
Antares slowly stood up, turning his head to look at Kael. "And what about processing it? How difficult is it to extract and mold?"
Kael's jovial expression sobered slightly, his brow furrowing as he addressed the technical reality.
"That, Your Majesty, is where the real challenge lies. Standard tools like wooden shovels, stone picks, iron hoes—can barely scrape the surface of here, I even had to use my Warhammer to crack the earth here. It takes three of my strongest Tharvok miners an entire afternoon just to carve out a single transport block. Furthermore, once extracted, the clay must be worked immediately before the ambient mana inside it settles and hardens into solid rock. We lack specialized mining equipment, high-tier furnaces, and enough hands to clear the surrounding granite shelf."
"The hands will come," Antares stated, his red aura pulsing with absolute certainty. "Lord Yajin and Lady Sira are currently escorting seven hundred Ashfang warriors and hundreds of Sand Steeds North. When that procession arrives, you will have all the physical labor you could ever require. But the equipment..."
Antares reached up with his right hand, his thumb stroking the grey runic storage ring resting on his index finger. The blue gem embedded in the metal flashed with a faint, ethereal light as he accessed his mental inventory.
"Prince Tayron's fleet delivered a large number of iron tools, heavy sledgehammers, and steel-reinforced pickaxes during our final trade at the coast," Antares continued, looking at Kael. "They are currently loaded onto the supply wagons marching North. But beyond simple metal, we will need specialized furnaces but I'll take care of that myself."
"If we can construct a specialized blast furnace here at Silver Peak," Kael said, his eyes burning with blacksmith's fire, "we won't just be shipping dirt back to the camp or down to Antisport, Your Majesty. We can cast pre-molded, rune-ready structural slabs right here at the mountain foot and transport them across the land like finished iron shields and they can directly be assembled when they reach their destination."
"Then that is precisely what we will do," Antares declared.
Before Kael could express his gratitude, the peaceful hum of the mining pit was abruptly shattered. The ground shook.
ROAR!
A guttural, blood-chilling shriek erupted from the thick canopy bordering the northern edge of the mining clearing. The sheer volume of the roar vibrated through the frozen air, causing the mountain pine needles to shower down like green snow.
Instantly, the casual, rhythmic clinking of shovel picks across the mining camp ceased. The Tharvok miners, trained in survival, immediately dropped their tools, pulling heavy iron daggers from their belts and forming tight defensive circles around the clay transport baskets.
General Yanrid's hand snapped to the hilt of his blade, his ice mana flaring instantly, surrounding his form in a frost-white aura that froze his surroundings.
"Intrusion!" Yanrid barked, his voice carrying the sharp, absolute authority of the Ice General. "Miners, fall back to the camp! Guard the miners!"
From the dark, shadowed treeline beneath Silver Peak, four massive shadows burst into the clearing, kicking up clouds of dirt and shattered ice.
They were Silver-Scale Frost Drakes—high-tier reptilian apex predators native to the high ridges of the northern mountains. Each beast measured over thirty feet in length, their long, muscular bodies covered in thick, overlapping scales that gleamed like polished chrome under the sun.
Their eyes burned with a mindless, predatory hunger, and their long, razor-sharp claws tore deep furrows into the frozen earth as they lunged directly toward the smell of raw mana rising from the open trench.
"They were drawn here by our sent." Kael grunted, stepping in front of Antares and reaching for a massive iron hammer leaning against a timber support beam. "And the sound we made here must've helped to help them locate us better, let them come I've been itching to draw blood!"
"Hold on Kael, let my sons do their job." a flat, emotionless voice commanded from behind them.
Directly Adam stepped forward. The firstborn Red Son moved with terrifying speed, his crimson visor locked onto the approaching drakes. He did not draw his longsword. Instead, he simply raised his right hand, making a single, swift downward gesture toward the other Red Sons whi stationed as perimeter security near the edge of the clearing.
"High Father commands total extermination of the enemy," Adam said, his deep voice carrying through the collective Hive link. "Neutralize the threat cleanly. Do not damage more than necessary, their scales and hides will be used for crafting."
SWOOSH.
In a fraction of a second, the Red Sons vanished from their guard posts, leaving behind sonic cracks in the air where they had been standing.
What followed was not a battle; it was an absolute demonstration of efficiency.
The lead Frost Drake, a massive brute with a scarred snout, opened its jagged jaws to unleash a torrent of freezing frost-breath toward the center of the camp. Before the icy mist could leave its throat, the first Red Son materialized directly above the beast's head. With a single, devastating overhead axe-kick, the Red Son slammed the Drake's skull into the earth.
KABOOM!
The ground buckled. The Drake's jaw snapped shut, its own frost-breath exploding harmlessly inside its lungs as its massive body bounced off the dirt.
The second Drake lashed out with its heavy, razor-tipped tail, trying to sweep away two of the Red Sons advancing from the left. The second Red Son didn't even bother to dodge. He stepped directly into the path of the thirty-foot tail, reaching out with a bare, armored hand and catching the crushing strike in mid-air. The kinetic force drove the Red Son's boots two inches into the dirt, but his arm did not buckle an inch.
With a low, cold grunt, the Red Son twisted his body, leveraging his dense physical structure, and literally lifted the multi-ton Drake into the air by its tail, slamming the creature violently onto its side into a cluster of granite rocks.
The third and largest Drake, sensing the sudden, unnatural lethality of the humanoid intruders, attempted to flare its leathery wings and take to the skies to escape. This was surprising because drakes lacked wings, meaning it was a rare mutated beast.
But It never got more than five feet off the ground.
Adam himself blurred from Antares's side. He appeared directly above the airborne Drake, drawing his longsword in a single, fluid arc. A sharp line of compressed red sword-light flashed through the air, completely silent.
SLASH.
Both of the Drake's massive, scale-armored wings were severed simultaneously, falling to the earth like giant leather sheets. The beast crashed back into the mud with a agonizing roar, only for Adam to touch down lightly upon its snout, driving the tip of his black blade cleanly through the creature's skull, terminating its life force instantly.
The entire encounter—from the moment the drakes burst from the treeline to the final strike—had taken the life of the fourth which was much smaller and tried to hide but was killed regardless took less than fifty seconds.
Silence returned to the Silver Peak mining site.
The four apex predators of the northern mountains lay lifeless in the clearing, their massive chrome-scaled bodies bleeding dark crimson into the dirt.
The miners let out a collective sheer. Even Kael, a seasoned warrior who had fought alongside the Ashfang in countless bloody battles, slowly lowered his heavy iron hammer, looking at Adam and the Red Sons with a profound mixture of respect and mild disbelief.
"Terrifying..." Kael muttered, shaking his head as he wiped a fresh speck of dirt from his face. "Absolutely terrifying. Hahahahahahahaha." Then he laughed, it wasn't the first time he saw the King's blades at work.
"They are the peak of the Hive's current power." Antares said calmly, stepping forward to stand beside the corpse of the largest Frost Drake. He nudged the heavy, chrome-like scale on the beast's neck with the toe of his boot.
"General Yanrid," Antares called out, turning to his loyal general.
"Your Majesty!" Yanrid snapped to attention, stepping forward and lowering his head in a crisp, military bow.
"Have Kael's miners assist the Red Sons in butchering these drakes immediately," Antares ordered smoothly. "These scales are invaluably hard and possess natural mana conductivity. Together with the hides that will be directly sent to the Tharvok's smithy back in the settlement. I want them processed into light, scale-mail for our Sand Steed riders. The bones and claws will be converted into arrowheads and spear tips for the future cavalry."
"It shall be done, Your Majesty," Yanrid replied, turning to organize the miners into harvest details.
Antares then turned his eyes back to Lord Kael. The Tharvok leader stood tall, his bare chest still covered in mud, but his posture radiating an unshakeable resolve.
"Listen to me carefully, Kael," Antares said, his voice lowering so that only the blacksmith lord could hear. "What you have uncovered beneath this mountain is not just clay. It will be the foundation upon which our future empire will stand. With this, we will forge the capital and Antisport into a fortresses that no one on the continent can ever breach. We will build surface cities across the central plains that will shield our people from the cold and the beasts."
Kael dropped to one knee in the snow, his heavy, mud-caked fist pressing firmly against his chest directly over his heart.
"My life and the sweat of the Tharvok Clan belong to you, Your Majesty," Kael vowed, his booming voice filled with absolute conviction. "Command us, and we will carve this entire mountain down to its core to build your vision."
"Rise, my friend," Antares said softly, catching Kael's forearm and pulling him back to his feet.
"For now, double the watch rotation around Silver Peak. I want the twenty Red Sons to remain stationed here for now to oversee security while you and I prepare the foundations for the new blast furnace for the bricks . Within the coming weeks, Lord Yajin's caravan will arrive with seven hundred Ashfang labor plus a few hundred Antmen who worked in the south,the heavy iron tools from Tayron's fleet. When they touch down, I want extraction process to be doubled."
"We will be ready, Sire," Kael promised though his voice was filled with burning excitement, the thought of operating on such a massive scale made him sigh inwardly, maybe it was time to bring his sons into the family business.
Antares took one last look at the glowing, cerulean trench, feeling the rhythmic pulse of the mountain resonating with his own core.
Satisfied with the operational security and progress at Silver Peak, he turned back toward the southern edge of the clearing, his crimson aura igniting once more to ward off the mountain chill.
"Yanrid, Adam, we return to the Northern Camp, we will return later with some other men to support the operation till Yajin and Sira reach us." Antares commanded.
"As you command, High Father," Adam bowed, retreating to take his position on the King's left flank.
"By your command, Your Majesty," Yanrid affirmed, his ice-forged armor humming as he took his position on the right.
With a powerful, synchronized detonation of air, the three figures launched straight up into the grey sky, leaving the Silver Peak mining site behind as a roaring vortex of displaced snow and dirt.
As they soared high above the green canopy, flying south toward the main surface settlement, Antares looked out toward the distant, hazy horizon.
To the far North stood the impassable, titanic wall of the Godwall Mountains guarding their territory from the brutal goblin on the other side of the mountains.
To the South lay the vast, empty plains that would soon be crossed by Yajin's massive supply procession, carrying the food, seeds, livestock, and Sand Steeds that would transform their economy.
The pieces on the grand board of Cretis were moving at an unprecedented speed. The Ant Tribe was no longer a hidden tribe hiding in the dark, scraping by on underground mushrooms and praying to survive the winter.
They were acquiring land, securing maritime trade, building heavy cavalry, harvesting magical minerals, and building cities.
When Yajin's caravan would arrive, the real work would begin, the foundations of Antisport would be laid in the South, and the military vanguard would be mobilized for the inevitable conflicts that lay ahead.
Antares cut through the freezing air, his eyes fixed firmly on the path ahead, his red aura blazing like a rising sun over the white, frozen tundra. The Hive's time had finally come.