The air in the small, magically constructed stone room was thick with the scent of mana and fresh terror. The sudden, chilling sound of the slave collars locking had just faded, replaced by the ragged breathing of the two highest-ranking noblemen in the region.
Darius Denares, the Marquess of War, could not process the reality of the cold iron and rough leather pressing into his neck. His mind, trained for battle and brute force, refused to accept defeat by a mere slave. He emitted a guttural roar, a sound of pure, unadulterated fury and humiliation. His massive fingers, powerful enough to crush bone, clawed desperately at the thick leather and iron around his throat. He pulled with every ounce of his considerable strength, the muscles on his arms bulging, his face turning a furious crimson. He was convinced that raw strength, his god-given noble power, could break this vile enchantment.
"Get this off me, you filthy elf!" Darius shrieked, spitting onto the stone floor near Eon's immaculate boot. "When I break this miserable thing, I swear by the Denares name, I will see you tortured for a year before your death!"
Eon, on the other hand was the picture of perfect, emitting quiet confidence. He looked less like a former slave and more like a cruel prince.
He did not rush. He did not need to dodge or fight. He had already won.
"You need a lesson in obedience, Marquess," Eon said, his voice a low, musical sound that held infinite contempt. "A lesson in the new hierarchy."
Eon slowly raised his left hand, the simple silver focusing ring on his index finger pulsing with a clear, steady blue light. He didn't use an aggressive spell or a flashy chant. He simply focused his will, directing a small, controlled pulse of command intent through the magical connection he had forged between the ring and the collar.
He just casually pressed the ring a little hardly and something happened which the Denares brothers attitude towards himshift 180 degree.
The effect on Darius was immediate and devastating.
Darius's roar cut off instantly, replaced by a high-pitched, wet gargle. His body went rigid, then collapsed into a violent, uncontrolled seizure. His hands, which had been pulling at the collar, flew to his chest, clenching his fine velvet coat as if trying to hold his own body together.
It was a pain that bypassed flesh and nerves. It was an internal catastrophe, a violation of the most sacred part of his being.
The mana, the energy that gave Darius his strength, his magic, and his life, had turned into his enemy. It was grabbed deep inside his chest and violently twisted, pulling and tearing at the core of his spiritual self. His own power, which had made him a feared by the entire kingdom, was now attacking his very soul.
Darius writhed on the cold, hard stone. Choking, wet sounds replaced his screams. He was physically and psychologically destroyed by the terror of his own power turning on him. His will, built on a lifetime of privilege and absolute command, fractured into a thousand pieces. When the brief pulse ended, he went utterly limp, gasping for air like a man who had spent hours underwater, a puddle of thick saliva forming under his cheek.
Alaric Denares, the cold strategist, stood frozen against the black stone wall. He was the one who read the history books; he was the one who understood ancient magic. He stared at the smooth, polished mana-stones embedded in the collar around Darius's neck, and then he looked down at the identical collar around his own.
The realization was a freezing wave that swept away all his aristocratic pride and left him trembling.
'This is not a slaver's collar,' Alaric thought, his mind racing desperately. 'This is not the cheap iron worn by elves. This... this is the Dwarf-made High-Grade Soul Breaker Collar.'
These collars were not just weapons; they were tools of political destruction. Legendary and banned, they were whispered about in the highest academic circles. They were used to capture and permanently enslave powerful mages and rival kings. He knew the true horror: the Mana Turmoil power of the collar was designed to bypass all physical pain and go straight for the mind. It didn't just hurt you; it broke you.
Alaric knew that just one or two more high-level shocks could turn him, the feared Marquess of Law, into a mindless, drooling puppet, a slave who could not feel anything but blind obedience to the one who held the key.
Darius finally stopped shaking and lay in a heap, looking up at Eon. All the rage was gone. There was only pure, infantile terror.
Eon looked at Alaric, his expression calm. "Do you still believe your brute strength can break my creation, Alaric? Or do you now understand your new position?"
Alaric's breath hitched in his chest. His knees felt weak. He swallowed the bitter taste of utter defeat and forced the unthinkable words out.
"No," Alaric whispered, his voice thin and hollow. "No demonstration is needed... Master. I understand."
It took a terrible fifteen minutes for Darius to be able to stand without wobbling. His eyes, once full of pride, now tracked Eon's movements with the frantic, fearful attention of a small animal. The Marquess of War had been broken.
Alaric, forcing himself to remain calm, spoke to Eon in a low, controlled voice. He needed to show Eon he was useful, to keep the Mana Turmoil away.
"I will not be reckless," Alaric stated, his eyes dark with hidden fear. "Let us confirm the tactical situation, Master. The key, the ring, is hidden. I am sure, You will keep it somewhere far from this house, or keep it on your person where we cannot reach it. This is the only safe way for you."
Eon nodded slowly, an indication that he had already planned this part long ago. "You are learning quickly."
"We know the risk," Alaric continued, reciting the terms of his own enslavement. "If my hidden Shadow Mages attack you, and you die, the ring is permanently lost. The collars are designed to slowly drain our mana, eventually killing us in days, or forcing us into a long, permanent, vegetative state. We would remain enslaved forever."
Alaric looked at Eon, and for the first time, a flicker of genuine plea entered his eyes. "And if we attempt to tell anyone outside, or signal for help, you will activate the Mana Turmoil again. You will increase the power until our minds are shattered, turning us into simple puppets, incapable of thought."
He bowed his head slightly. "We are bound, body and mind, Master. We cannot betray you, and we cannot escape this. Please, let us keep our minds intact. They are far more useful to you that way."
"That is the smart play," Eon confirmed, his smile cold and distant. "Your minds are the real prize, Alaric. So let us keep them focused on my goals."
Eon snapped his fingers, and the large stone door leading to the house's interior opened. Elsa, wearing her light elf armor, and Verra stepped in carrying bundles of clothing: high-collar noble jackets and heavy, fur-lined travel coats.
"Put them on," Eon ordered. "The world still needs to see two powerful Marquesses. These coats will hide your shame and the edges of the collars."
The humiliation was extreme. The two most powerful men in the region were forced to strip off their fine, bloody coats and put on the new attire under the watchful, vengeful eyes of the two elf slaves. Darius was shaking too badly to work the buttons. Alaric, swallowing his pride, had to step close to his younger brother and carefully button the thick, high collar of the new jacket, ensuring the iron band was perfectly hidden from view. Darius then did the same for the shaking Alaric.
They stood there, trapped in the heavy, hot coats, looking normal and arrogant on the outside, but feeling the cold, constant pressure of the iron and the terrible dread of the collar's power against their skin.
Before Eon allowed them to step out into the light, he delivered his final command, emphasizing the absolute checkmate he held.
"Listen closely," Eon said, stepping right between them, his youthful face just inches from theirs. "We are going outside to your army. They are waiting for orders. You will follow my commands exactly. Any extra word, any signal, any deviation, even a single change in the emotion of your voice... and I will not show mercy."
He gave a chilling explanation, ensuring the terror was complete.
"I will activate the Mana Turmoil right there, in front of your soldiers. But this time, I will turn the power up until the collar forces you onto your knees. You will writhe and scream and lose control of your own body. Your men will watch as their lords become nothing but crying, helpless animals. You will ruin your entire political reputation in seconds before your mind breaks completely. Is that clear, Marquess of Law?"
Alaric nodded frantically, his eyes wide with a terror he had never known. "Clear, Master. We understand the consequence."
Darius, still fighting to control his breath, managed a choked, "Y-yes."
"Good," Eon said, taking the two chains he had prepared. "I need your army to retreat with confusion, not panic, because panic might lead them to attack this house. And if they attack, you die, and I lose valuable assets. Now, let's go put on a show for the Denares Empire."
Eon used his power to dissolve the remaining magic illusion. The dark stone cell vanished, replaced instantly by the grand, light-filled reception hall. Eon stood behind the brothers and pushed open the massive front doors with a heavy thud.
The bright mid-morning light spilled in, momentarily blinding the brothers. Outside, the Denares army, fifty armored men and four powerful mages, stood in tense formation, waiting for their masters to emerge. They expected victory or a fierce battle.
Instead, they saw Alaric and Darius walk out, dressed in their heavy, unfamiliar coats, looking only furious and impatient. Eon stood deep in the shadows of the doorway, holding the invisible end of the chain.
The soldiers tensed, ready for the command to attack or loot.
This was the absolute peak of Alaric's torment. He was the master strategist, the public voice of the Denares family. Now, he had to lie to his own men, betraying their loyalty, all while the raw, searing memory of his brother's internal seizure played over and over in his mind. The fear of the Mana Turmoil was the ultimate override.
Alaric stepped forward to the edge of the stairs. He forced his back straight, using every drop of his noble training to keep his voice loud, steady, and commanding.
"THE SLAVE HAS COMPLIED!" Alaric bellowed to the gathered troops. His voice held a slight, strange tremor, which the soldiers mistook for high anger. "HE BEGGED FOR MERCY ON HIS KNEES AND HAS RETURNED LADY ELORA TO US. SHE IS SAFE INSIDE, UNHARMED!"
A confused murmur spread through the soldiers. It was too easy. Where was the fight?
Alaric continued the narrative, forcing himself to sell the lie completely.
"OUR OBJECTIVE HERE IS COMPLETE! WE WILL NOT WASTE ANOTHER MINUTE IN THIS FILTHY, DISGUSTING HOUSE. WE WILL NOT DIGNIFY THIS PLACE BY BURNING IT DOWN! THEY ARE NOT WORTH OUR EFFORT!"
He pointed sharply toward the gate. His hand was trembling slightly, but no one saw it under the shadow of the heavy coat.
"RETREAT! RETURN TO THE MARQUESS'S ESTATE IMMEDIATELY! MOVE OUT NOW!"
Darius stood beside him, silent and rigid. He glared down at the ground, a mask of extreme, controlled rage. The soldiers didn't know that he was silent because he was afraid if he spoke, the fear of the turmoil would make him break down completely.
The captains of the Denares army exchanged confused glances. 'Why the sudden retreat? Why leave the Count's estate standing? Why did the Marquesses look so strange in those thick coats on a clear day?'
But the order was absolute. The ingrained habit of obedience to the Denares command was too strong to question.
"You heard the Lord Marquess!" a captain shouted, his voice ringing with confusion. "Form up! Retreat to the city!"
Slowly, resentfully, and with great confusion, the huge Denares army began to turn around. The horses wheeled, the massive gilded carriage rumbled, and the hundreds of armed men started their long, confused march away from the Count's estate.
Eon watched from the shadows of the doorway, his handsome, youthful face illuminated by the morning sun. His faint smile was one of complete and utter satisfaction. The masters were now his slaves, and their first lesson in absolute, mind-breaking obedience was a perfect success. The Denares Empire had just begun its slow, internal collapse, led by its own proud, shackled lords.
Author Note: The psychological warfare begins in earnest. Eon knows that raw strength can be beaten, but absolute fear is the strongest chain. The use of the legendary Dwarf-made High-Grade Slave Collar is a game-changer. It's a brilliant tactical move because it bypasses physical strength and targets the one thing a high-level mage fears most: the betrayal of their own power and the obliteration of their mind.
Darius, the Marquess of War, is instantly broken. Alaric, the Marquess of Law, is instantly compliant. Eon now controls the two most strategically important men in the entire region.
The Puppet Show: The humiliation of the retreat, forcing them to lie to their own army while wearing the chains of slavery, is Eon's first brilliant step in using them. The Denares army is now confused, resentful, and moving away, leaving Eon with his high-value assets.
👑 Support the Story & Read Ahead! 👑
Unlock Exclusive Access:
🚀 20-Chapter Head-Start on the public release! [https://www.patreon.com/posts/instant-access-144077066?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link]
🎨 Access to Exclusive Character Art, lore, and much more.
Discord LInk: [https://www.patreon.com/posts/join-discord-144597844?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link]
or use this: [https://discord.gg/2D7YUsma5s]
To know about Further benefits, visit my Patreon page. [https://www.patreon.com/Visioner10]
Chapter releases every day at 07:00 UTC
Thank you for reading my Novel.