“The Emberframed will not kneel. Not to fire, not to kings, not to death. But before his presence, we humbly bend the knee!” — Duke Alec Lyon.
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Rustle~ Rustle~
Asher’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing his piercing gaze. The morning sun cast a warm glow on his face, illuminating the sharp contours of his features.
The pristine white clouds floated lazily across the sky, their reflections dancing in the calm waters of his eyes.
However, his attention was quickly diverted by the sound of horses’ hooves pounding the earth, a rhythmic beat that echoed through the air.
He tilted his head to his right, sweeping his gaze through the tent.
The open roof allowed a gentle breeze to caress his skin, but his worry was his foggy mind.
It had been a long time since he woke up feeling like this, his thoughts muddled and his senses dulled.
Only yesterday did he drink wine to his heart’s content, savoring the rich flavors that complemented the dragon meat’s bold taste.
Just then, at this realization, Asher’s eyes widened.
‘I forget about the feast!’ The moment he sat up, the earth beneath his foot trembled, like a herd of ovoks stampeding towards his tent!
Alarmed, he reached out for Ithamar lying on his table, far away from his bed. His fingers closed around the hilt, a familiar weight that brought him a sense of comfort.
As he rushed out of the tent, he saw Kelvin and a couple of riders, men of the city watch, staring at the field with trembling eyes.
“My goodness, My Lord, what on earth have you done?!” Kelvin stuttered. His pupils trembled at the astonishing sight before them.
Stunned, Asher turned. His eyes narrowed, taking in the breathtaking scene.
Spread across the massive field were giants of men, numbering in tens of thousands. Their eyes glowed like molten steel, fresh from the forge and yet to be tempered.
Their skins, as tough as the hide of a scaleless dragon, had darkened into a light red hue, a subtle yet unmistakable change.
Before his eyes were 49,000 knights, towering over 7-8 feet tall, built like living siege engines, their breaths visible in the morning air like the steam of a forge.
[Transformation completed. Behold, Lord Asher, the might of the Emberframed. Fighters forged in blood and fire.
Abilities:
Heightened Form: Each warrior stands between 7 to 8 feet tall, their bodies swollen with power, muscle carved like obsidian.
Crimson Skin: Their skin darkens to a smoldering red hue, veins faintly glowing, as if lava flows within.
Burning Eyes: Their gaze flickers with internal flame, and they see clearly through smoke and ash.
Dragon Vitality: They heal rapidly from burns and wounds; their bones are denser, nearly unbreakable.
Inferno Armoured One: Once clad in armour, the armour becomes hot to the touch in combat, searing enemies who strike them.]
[Congratulations, these men have successfully exceeded the knight physique and have been bestowed the Emberframed physique, their might can not be matched by any other race, including giants who are known for their strength. For this achievement, you have been rewarded with an battle force art: Path Of Iron!]
[Congratulations! Your troops have received an overall upgrade.]
Congratulations echoed in Asher’s mind as he gazed upon his transformed knights. The mortal scroll’s voice resonated in his eyes, its words painting a vivid picture of the transformation that had taken place.
His knights, now imbued with the Emberframed physique, stood as giants among men, their muscular bodies a testament to their newfound strength.
The men, towering over 7-8 feet tall, flexed their massive arms, their skin a deep, burnished red.
Their eyes gleamed with an inner fire, a fierce intensity that seemed to burn within them. The women, members of the Stormbringers, stood alongside their male counterparts, their bodies honed to perfection.
Though not as buff as the men, they exuded a fierce, athletic power, their slightly red skin contrasting with their ink-black hair.
Asher’s gaze lingered on the women, their figures undeniably accentuated by the transformation.
He couldn’t deny the admiration in his knights’ eyes as they gazed upon these women, their faces a mix of awe and appreciation.
The mortal scroll, it seemed, had a penchant for beauty, its transformations never failing to impress.
Asher’s eyes flickered, his mind racing with the implications of this new development. The Path of Iron, a battle force art, had been bestowed upon him, and his troops had received an overall upgrade.
The possibilities swirled in his mind, his thoughts consumed by the potential of this newfound power.
Adam and Alec emerged from the crowd, their imposing 8-foot-tall physiques commanding attention. The city watch couldn’t help but recoil, intimidated by the sheer presence of these two giants.
Their ragged skirts, remnants of their torn clothes, fluttered around their thighs as they approached Asher, their eyes filled with reverence.
Without a word, they dropped to one knee, their deep voices resonating as they asked, “Your Lordship, what are your orders?”
Asher sensed the pent-up energy within them, the untamed urge to unleash their newfound strength. However, he also detected a hint of desperation, a lack of control that concerned him.
Adam and Alec, normally paragons of discipline, were now consumed by the explosive power coursing through their veins. It was as if their rationality was slowly being eroded, leaving them vulnerable to their baser instincts.
Asher knew he had to act swiftly to restore their balance.
With a flick of his wrist, a yellow parchment materialized from flames, bearing the battle force art: Path of Iron.
This ancient technique focused on tempering the mind, forging it into an unyielding fortress that would, in turn, strengthen the entire being. Asher’s eyes widened as he realized the true value of this art – it was saint-ranked, a treasured relic that would accelerate their growth and refinement.
As he gazed at the parchment, Asher understood that this art would be crucial in refining his top generals, including Alec, Adam, Eritrea, Lambert, and Paul, who had all ascended to the imperial rank.
Though they could no longer ascend the normal way, the Path of Iron would help them reach new heights in their respective professions.
“You will all stay here and master this battle force art. Have no worries about your armour being unable to fit you, the blacksmiths are working on dwarven armour and they will be informed of the average size of the Emberframed.”
As Adam and Alec retreated, a red blur closed in on Asher, her hair dancing in the wind. However, Asher’s mere gaze made her freeze, her eyes locking onto his.
It wasn’t just his gaze that held her in place; she could feel something cold pressed against her neck. The transparent, glass-like object was extremely thin yet unreasonably durable, its presence unnerving.
