Chapter 23: [Contract successful. New Bloodkin created.]

Chapter 23: [Contract successful. New Bloodkin created.] Ragnar was experiencing a novel sensation: a productive conversation. For weeks, his most intelligent subordinate had been a silent, graceful statue who only spoke in a language that sounded like a beautiful, elven weather report. Now, thanks to the bizarre and slightly horrifying power of his [Absorb] ability, the communication barrier had been shattered. "So you’re telling me," Ragnar said, pacing in front of his throne while trying to keep the hysterical edge out of his voice, "that for the last month, you could have told me anything I wanted to know, but you assumed I preferred to communicate through a complicated series of grunts and pointing, like a caveman trying to order a pizza?" Val’sharah, his Dark Elf subordinate, stood with perfect posture, her amethyst eyes betraying no emotion. "My Lord, my purpose is to follow your commands. You did not command me to speak the common tongue. I assumed your methods were a test of my perceptive abilities." Ragnar stopped pacing and stared at her. "A test?" "Yes, my Lord. A test to see if I could anticipate your needs without the crutch of language. I have been compiling extensive notes on your gestures. The double facepalm, for instance, seems to indicate a critical failure in a long-term strategy." Ragnar’s jaw hung open. He ran a hand through his hair, the Elven knowledge he’d absorbed from her blood still swirling in his mind. He now knew a dozen ways to fletch an arrow and the proper Elven sonnet for a moonlit night, but he had never felt more like an idiot. He had been so caught up in the stress of survival that he hadn’t even considered the simplest solution. "Right. Fine. New rule," he declared, collapsing onto his throne. The cold obsidian felt even more uncomfortable now that he had someone to complain to about it. "From now on, we use English. No more tests. My blood pressure can’t handle it." "As you command, my Lord," Val’sharah said with a slight bow. The relief of finally having an advisor he could speak to was immense. They spent the next hour discussing strategy. He learned that her knowledge of tactics was as sharp and refined as her features. She pointed out flaws in his patrol routes and suggested better formations for his Orcs. It was glorious. But as they talked, a larger problem became clear. His strategies were all defensive. They were confined to the stone walls of his dungeon. The threat of Isabelle Thorne and the Liberators was growing. They were out there, in the world, getting stronger. He was trapped in here, reacting. To win, he needed to go on the offensive. He needed a commander who could lead his forces outside the Domain. "The rules said I can’t leave until Level 10," Ragnar mused aloud. "And my minions can only leave if they are led by a special ’Bloodkin’ monster." "That is correct, my Lord," Val’sharah confirmed. "A Bloodkin is a subordinate elevated through a powerful ritual, bound directly to the Demon King’s soul. They are extensions of your will, capable of acting with autonomy far beyond that of a normal creation." Ragnar nodded, pulling out his phone and navigating to his list of Vampire abilities. He had skimmed over it after his painful evolution, but now he read it with focused intent. His eyes landed on the one he was looking for. [Ability: Blood Chalice] [Description: A ritual to create a powerful, sentient bloodkin who can lead your armies and even leave the Domain. The bloodkin retains their intelligence and personality but is bound to you by an unbreakable pact of loyalty.] [Cost: 300 Max CP (Permanent Reduction)] He read the cost again. And a third time. The words didn’t change. A permanent, crippling debuff to his creation capabilities. His current max CP, thanks to his Level 3 status, was a mere 200. He couldn’t even afford it. It was a goal so distant it felt like a cruel joke. "This is impossible," he groaned, showing the screen to Val’sharah. "I’d have to level up at least two or three more times just to have enough max CP to sacrifice. By then, Isabelle Thorne will have knocked on my front door with a holy battering ram." Val’sharah studied the screen, her expression thoughtful. "My Lord, a high cost implies a high value. A true second-in-command, one who can carry your banner into the outside world, is a prize beyond measure. Perhaps there is another way." She paused, then pointed to another of his abilities. [Contract]. Ragnar read its description. [Forms a master-servant pact with a willing subject, binding them to you. Can be used to elevate a subordinate to the status of Bloodkin if the conditions of the Blood Chalice ritual are met.] He looked at Val’sharah, and she looked back at him, her meaning clear. It still required the chalice, but the pact was a separate, essential step. It wasn’t about forcing the transformation; it was about acceptance. A new idea, a terrible and brilliant gamble, began to form in his mind. The system was based on rules. Maybe, just maybe, there was a loophole. What if the cost wasn’t a hard lock, but a prerequisite he could... finance? What if he initiated the ritual, promising the CP he didn’t have, putting his own core into energy debt? It could cripple him. It could destroy him. Or it could be the move that saved him. "I’m going to try something," he said, his voice low and determined. "It’s a long shot. And it’s going to require your complete cooperation." "My life is yours to command, my Lord," she replied without hesitation. He stood and walked to the center of the Throne Room. "System," he commanded, focusing his will. "I wish to perform the Blood Chalice ritual." A new screen popped up. [Insufficient Max CP. Required: 300. Current: 200. Do you wish to proceed by placing your True Core into a State of Deficit? WARNING: This will halt all natural CP regeneration until the debt of 100 CP is repaid through combat experience or absorption. Failure to repay the debt within 30 days will result in Core collapse.] Thirty days. He had a deadline. It was the universe offering him a high-interest loan with his own soul as collateral. "I accept the terms," Ragnar said, his heart hammering in his chest. The air in the Throne Room grew heavy. A chalice, carved from what looked like frozen shadow and solidified blood, materialized in his hands. It was cold to the touch, and it seemed to drink the light from the room. He walked over to the throne and, using a small dagger, sliced his palm, letting his own pale, vampiric blood drip into the cup. He then held it out to Val’sharah. "This will bind you to me. Not as a creation, but as a part of me. You will be my first commander. My first true general. But it must be your choice." Val’sharah looked from the chalice to his eyes, and for the first time, he saw a flicker of something beyond loyalty. It was honor. She knelt, taking the chalice in her slender hands. "It is the greatest honor I could imagine, my Lord." She drank. As the last drop left the chalice, she gasped. A wave of black and red energy erupted from her, a visible shockwave of power that made the very stones of the floor tremble. The wind in the chamber shrieked as her form was enveloped in a column of swirling darkness. It was a painful, forceful transformation, fundamentally rewriting her existence to be linked with his. When the light faded, she was still kneeling, but she felt different. Stronger. He could feel her presence in his mind, a steady, loyal connection that was separate from his other minions. His phone chimed. [Contract successful. New Bloodkin created.] A new tab had appeared in his Demon King System: [Bloodkin Management]. He opened it. There was a single portrait there. [Name: Val’sharah] [Race: Dark Elf] [Class: Shadow Archer] [Leadership Points (LP): 50] [Subordinate Slots: 0/50] There it was. The key. She could lead fifty points worth of his monsters—ten goblins, or five orcs,out into the world. He had a commander. He had a way to fight back. "I grant you a new name," Ragnar said, his voice filled with a new, genuine authority. "You are no longer just Val’sharah. You are Chloe. Chloe Vhagar. My first Bloodkin. My Sword of the Night." She looked up, and the smile that touched her lips was sharp and full of purpose. "I will not fail you, my Lord Ragnar." Suddenly, Gary the kobold, who had been watching the entire solemn ceremony with rapt attention, trotted forward and tried to lick the now-empty chalice, promptly getting his head stuck. Ragnar sighed. He had his commander. He had a mountain of debt. And he still had an army of idiots. But for the first time, the path to world domination seemed a little less impossible. 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