As I entered the chamber, the weight of their collective presence pressed down on me, a palpable energy radiating from each figure. Seven of them, seven QuiverLords, each seated with quiet authority, their gazes sharp and unwavering as they watched my every move. The room itself was circular, with a large table dominating the centre.
As I entered the room, I made a count of the ones inside, the count made up a total of 4 men and three women, each of them well-looking and powerful. The combination was two humans, two elves, a demon, a beast-man, and finally, a werewolf, which was another demon.
In this, the combination came with one human, one demon, one elf, and the beast-man being male, while the rest were female, which meant I had one female elf, one female human, and one female werewolf, all of them focusing on me as I kept walking to my seat.
My gaze met each of theirs as I, with a slow pace, walked to the centre seat, my aura easily mixing with theirs, creating a calming layer, showing how phenomenal my control over my powers was as I soon took a seat in the centre, my back leaning against the chair, taking in the gazes of the ones in front of me as I smiled.
“You look good, young leader.”
The first to speak was the female werewolf. She hissed softly as she leaned forward, her crimson hair streaked with silver cascading down her back like a waterfall of blood and moonlight. A crescent-shaped moon necklace hung from her neck, bouncing gently as she shifted, the same crescent moon birthmark etched on her cheek, giving her an air of playfulness.
She purred, her voice sultry and sharp, the words laced with a teasing undertone. Her eyes are golden and piercing.
Vexa, the Huntress. Her name fit her perfectly, for she was wild and untamed. Her combat style was ruthless and predatory, and she was known for hunting her enemies down without mercy. Among the QuiverLords, she commanded respect through her raw, primal strength and her ability to strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest warriors.
My gaze then shifted to the man seated to her left, a human who looked calm and composed. His eyes were a deep, dark green. His simple clothing looked natural on him. A single longbow lay against his chair, the wood polished and worn from countless battles.
“It’s good to see everyone like this,” he said, his voice smooth. His presence was a stark contrast to the intensity of the others but no less commanding.
Eldon, the Sage. His mastery of archery was rooted not just in skill but in philosophy. He is known for his unerring accuracy and his ability to maintain control in the most chaotic situations. He believed that the mind was as much a weapon as the bow, and his strategies reflected this.
To his right sat the female elf, her sharp features and emerald eyes gleaming with an ethereal light. Her hair, long grey and gold mixed flowed behind her back, and her fingers, delicate but strong, tapped rhythmically against the table’s surface. Her posture was regal, with a bow strapped to her back.
“It’s nice to see you doing well, young leader,” she remarked, her voice soft but cutting.
Sylvanna, the Starseeker. Known for her grace and precision, Sylvanna was a master of long-range combat, her arrows flying with speed and accuracy. Her style was as beautiful as it was deadly, and she was said to be able to hit a target even when it was beyond the horizon. Her connection to the stars granted her insights that others could not comprehend, and she often spoke in cryptic riddles, which at times are annoying.
Beside her sat a beast-man, his muscular frame hulking even as he remained seated. His skin was covered in a fine layer of fur, his eyes glowing a fierce amber. Despite his brutish appearance, there was an intelligence in his gaze. He wore a vest made of animal hides.
“The young leader seems to have grown some more muscles!” he grunted, his voice deep.
Ragar, the Fang. Ragar’s strength was greater among the QuiverLords, his sheer physical power unmatched. His archery style was brutal and direct, preferring short, explosive encounters where he could unleash his full might. While others relied on finesse, Ragar crushed his enemies with overwhelming force, his arrows capable of shattering armour and bone alike, the new QuiverLord that had been promoted by me after the betrayal of Draxton.
Next, my eyes landed on the demon, a figure wrapped in dark robes, his face partially obscured by a hood. Only his crimson eyes shone through the shadows.
“Young leader,” he murmured, his voice low.
Malek, the Shadowmark. Malek’s expertise lay in deception and manipulation; his arrows were infused with dark magic that could sap the strength and will of his enemies. He was a master of ambush and assassination, striking from the shadows with deadly precision. Among the QuiverLords, he was the most feared, for he thrived on the terror of his enemies.
The last two were the human woman and the male elf, both of whom exuded an air of quiet confidence. The human woman was dressed in a simple tunic, her dark hair tied back in a tight braid. Her eyes were sharp and calculating, and there was a sense of ruthless pragmatism about her.
“Welcome back, young Leader,” she said, her voice clipped and professional.
Lyra, the Ironheart. Lyra was a tactician, her mind sharp as a blade. Her archery was not about flair or style but about cold, calculated efficiency. Every arrow was fired with purpose; every shot was part of a larger plan.
Finally, the elf, his lean form and golden hair giving him an almost ethereal appearance, nodded silently at me. His bow, sleek and elegant, lay across his lap, his fingers idly tracing the string.
Faelan, the Windwalker. Faelan’s style was fluid, his movements swift and graceful, as though he were one with the wind itself. He was known for his speed, striking before his enemies even realised they were in danger. Among the QuiverLords, Faelan was the most elusive, his arrows as swift and silent as a breeze.
‘What makes him an issue is that he is in love with Eleanor.’
That situation made me shake my head inside, the dude had left behind his very well-rounded future to follow Eleanor, being from a very powerful family and all, even being a high elf. In fact, the two elves are high elves, one from a very high position within the elven community, yet Faelan followed my master, smitten with her and still trying to win her over.
‘Probably thinks he has a better chance when he reaches the realm of Imperials.’
But that won’t be happening at all.
‘Sorry, dude, took away your long-time love. Was easy, too.’
Hiding that thought, I just focused around as Lyra suddenly spoke.
“What is this about, young leader?”
Her question made me smile as I responded.
“It’s about Draxton.”
The moment the word was spoken, the atmosphere shifted, the gazes of the 6 being very hungry yet hurt, except for Ragar, who was playing it cool, with him still not having integrated all that well into the position. I can tell the other six aren’t very happy with this sudden move, but they have to listen to me even if they don’t like it.
“Is he?”
Vexa asked, her voice controlled, to which I nodded my head. The moment I did, the elevator opened up, and two guards brought in a battered and broken man. No longer did Draxton look like the proud member of a hawk tribe, his feathers broken, his mighty eyes now lost, no sense of power being felt from him.
His mighty coating over him lost away, his legs seemingly broken as they scratched the ground as the two guards dragged Draxton, once the legendary archer, now dragged like pure waste through the ground. And once again, I could see that some of them didn’t like this display. Sure, he betrayed them and all.
But during one time, they were all comrades who had fought with each other, ones that had shed blood and covered each other’s backs. As much as the betrayal hurt, seeing the man who had once fought to bring this whole tower to the top of the world being treated as worse than trash seemingly hurt some of the members even more.
“This is not right, at least you should have given him some of the dignity he had worked all his life for…”
Eldon muttered, with Sylvanna chiming in.
“That’s right, he should be left with at least his last dignity.”
Her words were sharp as she looked at me, while Lyra was looking at me with an uncomfortable look. I took it all in as the guards threw Draxton to the ground, the man lying on the ground like a beggar. The scene made them uncomfortable again as Draxton, with his lost eyes, gazed at me, dried-up emotions in those eyes as he spoke one word.
“Monster…”
“Just what kind of torture did you put him through?”
Sylvanna asked with a raised voice. I didn’t respond to it, just watching the reactions of the ones in front of me.
