"It’s... good you asked," Luke said, his slit-like eyes narrowing with a lazy amusement. "Otherwise, you might’ve ended up one yourself..."

Cassian’s mind was sharp. He didn’t need a slave to dominate; he wanted one to extract information. With them under control, he could pry secrets without fear of resistance. Even if suspicion flickered in their eyes, they wouldn’t have the power to do anything. He kept his expression neutral, letting Luke assume control of the conversation.

Luke led him to a row of empty crates, voice low and almost teasing. "I’ve never made one myself... but for the little grunts? Easy. Bend them, break them, let them vent your anger. They’re not people... not really. Just... insects to shuffle around."

He leaned casually against a crate, eyes flicking over Cassian like a predator assessing prey. "Stronger ones... Circle Warriors, like us? That takes finesse... or blunt force. Dangerous work. One slip, one miscalculation... and you could wind up just another chain dragging behind someone else."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "But I guess that’s half the fun, isn’t it?"

Cassian mirrored the smirk, a trace of cold amusement in his eyes. "Yeah... no fun if it just comes to you. Can’t savor it properly otherwise..."

He thought briefly of Brigid—yesterday she had tried, but even if she became his slave, she wouldn’t be much use. Analisa had been tight-lipped about battlefield matters, leaving him empty-handed. He needed someone better placed, someone closer to the cult’s operations who could provide actual insight.

Luke’s eyes glinted again, sharp and calculating. "Now, for stronger ones, the key is creativity. Find their weaknesses, secrets they think are safe. Or... beat them in a fight. Make it a wager, a bet. Pride, skill, fear... whatever works."

Cassian noted how casually Luke framed control over others, how he treated them as tools rather than people. It sent a shiver through him, but he kept it contained, analyzing instead of reacting.

His gaze flicked toward the arena. The match was ending in a draw—two speed-type fighters evenly matched, leaving the crowd muttering. Luke’s grin widened, sharp and cruel. He shouted across the field, dripping sarcasm, "Hey! You two lovers? Ending on a draw—pathetic!"

Cassian observed closely. Luke’s words weren’t just mockery; they were a demonstration of dominance, a test of how he could manipulate others’ reactions. Cassian didn’t need the mechanics explained—he already understood them. What he needed was the process, the subtle control Luke wielded with every word.

’Beat them, or use subtle pressure,’ he thought. He watched two Hallow Fangs step into the ring, little interest from the crowd.

Scanning the camp, he sought his first real target. Preferably a woman, but a man would suffice. He wanted someone with knowledge and authority, someone who could feed him information rather than just obey.

Cassian’s eyes tracked the clusters of soldiers. Leaders radiated dense mana, most Third Circle, some accompanied by mages who subtly enforced authority. The patterns were clear: if he wanted intelligence, he had to pick someone influential yet manageable.

He leaned slightly toward Luke, curiosity sharpening his tone. "And the mages... if I somehow made one of them fight me and lost—what then?"

"That... would be difficult," Luke said, narrowing his eyes with a flicker of frustration. "The cult allows slaves only for people they don’t care about. Mages? Not easy. Mage slaves exist, but never for us Circle Warriors. Try it, and you’ll make a powerful enemy—or a high-profile problem. These mages... specially trained, specially protected."

Luke’s voice dropped, sharp and deliberate. "The cult hates us Circle Warriors for some reason. They tolerate us only for our strength and utility. Don’t forget that."

Cassian let out a faint sigh, smirking. "Unfortunate... wouldn’t mind giving these bookish giants a proper spanking—some parental discipline they apparently missed out on."

His gaze shifted toward the largest cluster in the camp—a mix of mages and Circle Warriors, with Third Circle leaders at the center. At the heart, a man in mage robes directed the group, aura controlled and precise. "And... what are these people all squished together for?"

Luke’s slit-like eyes flicked over the largest cluster of fighters. "These groups," he said, voice low and deliberate, "aren’t for skirmishes, guards, or grunt work like lookouts or assassinations. They’re the elite squads—the ones who go straight into the thick of battle."

He leaned casually against a crate, watching the crowd. "I’m part of one myself, though my squadmates usually don’t come to these... recruitment games. Everyone here today? They’re trying to snag new members. Just like you—lots of fresh faces joining the cult every day. The old squads pick and choose who they want."

Luke’s eyes narrowed, following the two Circle Warriors trading blows in the ring. "See those two?" he drawled, lifting a finger toward the fighters. "Already tied themselves to different packs. That one—" he gestured lazily toward the leaner warrior, "—signed with the Iron Vipers. Malrik himself showed up to scoop recruits. Guess they’ve been bleeding members lately."

Cassian feigned mild curiosity. "Losses?"

Luke’s grin stretched wider, cruel amusement sparking. "You didn’t hear? The Vipers made a career of butchering supply lines and reinforcements meant for the Karmen Earldom. Effective—until the Magisteria stepped in. Sent in troops armed with advanced magic weapons. Half the Vipers were annihilated outright."

"Word is, the Magisteria stepped in—sent reinforcements armed with advanced magic weapons. Half the Vipers were butchered outright. The ones that crawled back weren’t even worth calling soldiers anymore." Luke leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper, eyes flicking around as though the shadows might be listening. "And the worst of it? Flesh Mender was leading that squad—the Artistic Butcher’s favorite pupil. Dead. News broke just yesterday. Someone from the Morngster family brought word: a Seventh Circle warrior tore through all of them in mere seconds."

Luke’s usual amusement flickered, giving way to something rare on his face—unease. "She was lucky to escape such a disaster... damn lucky," he muttered, almost to himself.

Cassian kept his expression carefully schooled, though the urge to smirk tugged at his lips. He had played a hand in that bloody affair—though the real storm had been Commander Naset Lawk, the one who killed most of them, well almost all the Vipers. Still, Cassian had claimed his share of kills, and hearing Luke repeat the story with awe made the memory taste all the sweeter.

Yet as his thoughts unraveled, the smug satisfaction soured. That first time the Vipers’ march had been broken—the ambush with the stone-skinned brutes—that had been also Cassian and others. The time when Cassian killed the stone skinned first circle monster and was almost killed by the third circle metal skin one.

Cassian’s jaw tightened. ’ Fuck...’ If that metal-skinned bastard caught wind of him here, things would get troublesome quite fast.