This was blatant coercion, but Kas had to respond.
He raised his right hand, his expression solemn and his voice grave.
"I swear by my father, Malik Axe-Breaker, that I only provided Baize Shaman with a few novel ideas while he was making Radel. Radel appearing in the Sorrow Mountains had nothing to do with me."
One of the greatest challenges in studying logic was learning to recognize fallacies and sophistry. A true logician could easily use vague language to muddy the truth.
Kas admitted that he had indeed offered "a tiny bit" of help in making Radel—mainly Four Causes Alchemy and Pythagorean Sacred Numerology—but that was only theoretical support.
Without the sealed heater and the large quantity of ore Baize Shaman had selflessly provided, the experiment would never have succeeded.
Of theory, methods, and objective conditions, he felt that objective conditions had mattered more in this experiment.
Swearing by one's father was no less serious than swearing by the gods in Reshman culture. In the ancient clans, where honor mattered greatly, ancestors and gods held nearly equal status.
Kas's solemn expression moved Kaike. Overcome with guilt, he lowered his head and walked over to his "son."
"I'm sorry, but I had to make sure... This has been the Larona Clan's long-cherished wish.
"You swore by Malik Axe-Breaker. My will will never change, either. After I die, you'll inherit my wealth, slaves, and honor."
With Kas settled for the moment, Kaike could no longer suppress his ambition. He stared at the shaman with feverish intensity.
"Baize, how many Radel can you make before we raid the south?"
"Our ore reserves are depleted, and the equipment is broken."
"There's still plenty stored in the Blood-Ash Furnace's warehouse! We can make new equipment right away!"
A faintly mocking look crossed Baize's face. He wasn't intimidated by the pressure Kaike was exerting.
"Kaike, I've repeatedly suggested trading with the southerners for rare minerals, but all you care about is filling the Ash Furnace with more slaves.
"Almost all the materials in the warehouse are black steel that requires sacrifices to forge. Every alchemy association in the south has imposed a trade embargo on the Black Ember Tribe. How am I supposed to make Radel?"
"By the gods, you really ought to—" Blood-Ash's fist stopped just short of the shaman's nose. He wanted to teach the scheming shaman a lesson.
Other War Chiefs might fear shamans, who symbolized theocracy, but the Black Ember Tribe was different. Their survival depended on the Blood-Ash Furnace, and witch-smiths were far more valuable than shamans.
But until he could pry the secret of making Radel from Baize, the War Chief still had to respect the shaman's wishes.
His gloomy face instantly brightened, as though everything that had just happened had been a joke. He patted the shaman's shoulder and said, "Of course. Make a list of the raw materials you need, and I'll personally take everything we need from the southerners' lands." His cruel smile seemed to herald a disaster on its way to the warm south.
He tightened his grip on the Radel that symbolized power and the future. Without asking Baize's opinion, he prepared to put it in a wooden box lined with red velvet, which he intended to hand to one of his trusted men.
"Wait. I promised Kas I'd use the smaller piece of Radel to make him a weapon, so he could defend himself on the way back to Ferode Canyon."
Baize grabbed Kaike's arm. They stood so close their faces nearly touched. Raising his voice, he emphasized, "He's the son of your blood-sworn brother, Malik Axe-Breaker."
Kaike's expression turned fierce, and the muscles in his fur-wrapped arms bulged.
In the Sorrow Mountains, a person's reputation was sometimes more important than strength or wealth.
He had just made a will leaving everything to Kas after his death. There were plenty of ways to get around it, but a more pressing concern loomed—winter was coming.
The Black Ember Tribe was large, but compared with the vast southern plains, they were still short on manpower.
War Chiefs who wanted to make a real impact during a surprise raid to the south often invited nearby tribes to join them, forming a massive warband to invade the south.
Blood-Fire might be Broken Axe's blood-sworn brother, but his reputation paled beside the famed duelists of the Zagwell Clan. If the tribe's shaman promised a weapon to the last scion of the Zagwell Clan, yet the War Chief reneged, it would draw criticism and could even earn him a reputation for stinginess.
He tried several times to shake Baize's hand off. This small piece of Radel might be enough to keep the Blood-Ash Furnace running for a long time.
But then Kaike thought it over. If he gave Broken Axe's son a precious weapon, he'd earn a reputation for defending his blood-sworn brother's honor—and get to test the performance of the counterfeit "Radel."
Why not?
"Hmm... Of course. The Great Shaman has given Kas a sacred duty, so we must ensure he returns safely to Ferode Canyon.
"Kulan, round up all the slaves and light the furnace. Have the hammer master personally make Kas the finest black steel weapon!"
"No." Baize shook his head and took the finger-thick Radel from the red velvet lining of the wooden box.
"I'll make a weapon for Kas myself. Don't forget, before I became shaman, I was the tribe's finest blacksmith."
Ignoring the War Chief's shifting expression, the shaman went over to Kas and gave him a barely perceptible smile. Then his face turned serious.
"Kas, what kind of weapon do you want? An axe? A sword? Or a spear that can pierce a mammoth's heart?"
Kas knew this was a struggle between the War Chief and the shaman.
From the Black Ember Tribe's perspective, neither of them was wrong.
The War Chief wanted the Black Ember Tribe to regain the strength it had before the Comet Rebellion. No amount of bloodshed or sacrifice was too great a price.
The shaman, meanwhile, held fast to the moral boundaries of his role as spiritual leader. He knew how cruel the Blood-Ash Furnace was and believed that raising its heat any further would send the tribe into an abyss.
That was the divide between militarism and theocracy: abandoning morality and ethics to gain overwhelming military strength, or upholding the moral boundaries set by the gods to preserve society's ethical foundations.
Kas was more inclined to agree with Baize Shaman. Sacrificing an unborn son to the Blood-Ash Furnace was going too far.
Although shamans were often little more than charlatans, using religious mystery to monopolize knowledge, they also curbed the spread of superstition, provided people with a basic education, and reinforced society's fragile ethical foundations.
"An axe. It'll feel more natural in my hands... But I don't want it made of Blood-Forged Black Steel. Ferode Canyon doesn't suit Ironpeak Mountain's grim atmosphere. If I bring Blood-Forged Black Steel back to the tribe, the Great Shaman will kick me out."
The Her Tribe... was relatively gentle and had always opposed rituals that sacrificed human lives, provided no one offended the Old Shaman's beloved oak trees.
That was a reasonable enough excuse, but it made Kaike even more displeased. He shook his head several times.
He thought that both Malik and Kas were too weak, unable to accept the sacrifices required to gain power.
Baize smiled with satisfaction. He traced a path around Kas's shoulder and arm with his fingers, sketching out a suitable design in his mind.
He would make a weapon worthy of the man who had brought hope to the Black Ember Tribe.
"Give me a few days... Kas the Great Wise One, son of Malik Axe-Breaker."
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