Bond Master

The Tactical Shift and Crimson Catalyst

"Grim thinks that fluid will be immensely useful to his growth matrix if he can consume it," Ren Barrett said, his eyes remaining locked on the pulsing, thick crimson liquid inside the glass cylinder. He took a slow, centering breath, trying to soothe the frantic, ravenous clawing of the shadow-hound echoing inside the iron chambers of his mind. "What exactly is that substance, Sergeant? The energy radiating off it feels incredibly dense."

"It is concentrated, mana-infused monster blood," Sergeant Corvina explained, a brief flare of genuine amusement sparkling within her silver-crimson eyes as she rotated the vial between her gloved fingers. "Specifically, it is harvested from low-tier Awakened-Grade predatory beasts and refined through runic filtration.

It stands as the absolute foundation of common-grade resources for physical cultivation types among the elite. For a baseline human to drink this material raw without an incredibly advanced guidance manual or a pre-established external runic array to partition the energy would be an act of absolute suicide; the volatile Mana would instantly rupture your primary bloodlines and tear your cardiovascular system apart from the inside. But for a wild creature or a bound magical beast? It is nothing less than the purest form of biological nourishment."

Corvina set the vibrating vial down on the timber table of the gazebo, her expression instantly snapping back into its familiar, severe military mask. She gestured toward the open stone floor of the deck. "Release the hound from your internal vault so that I can closely observe the structural assimilation process. If his system responds favorably to the catalyst, I will personally file an expedited requisition form with the logistics board to secure a steady supply of specialized fresh resources for him until he successfully matures into a viable combat unit.

I won't sugarcoat the situation for you, Barrett—according to the strategic briefing I received from the high command this morning, the senior professors believe that attempting to forge you into a traditional standalone frontline vanguard fighter with only a single inherited [Bone-Plate Rend] strike is a complete waste of academy resources."

Ren felt a cold, sudden weight drop into his stomach, his hands tightening slightly into fists. "I've only been on campus for a single day, Sergeant, and the tactical board has already sidelined me from the vanguard lines?"

Sergeant Corvina let out a rare, honest laugh at his immediate disappointment, though her tone remained deeply pragmatic. "Do not let your ego blind you, initiate. Every single newly awakened Mage in your intake block is currently being cultivated under the exact same defensive philosophy. It is a calculated institutional measure designed to drastically minimize human casualties on the frontlines.

The high command understands that the more elite combatants we can position safely behind automated golems, protective barriers, spiritual summons, and, in your specific case, highly lethal bound beasts, the more effectively our nation can endure the crushing attrition of the outer Magical Land incursions. Furthermore, it ensures we maintain a massive tactical advantage against the conventional standing armies of our neighboring rival nations."

She leaned forward, her gaze piercing through the humid air of the greenhouse deck. "The current diplomatic peace we enjoy along the borders is nothing more than a temporary illusion, a fragile political ceasefire that won't survive the coming years. If you truly desire to avoid becoming nothing more than disposable cannon fodder when the reserve mobilization calls eventually arrive, you must abandon any romantic notions of solo heroism and act with absolute urgency to expand your strength. Fortify your hound.

Force his evolution.

The very moment you feel your Confinement Vault expanded enough to accommodate a secondary tethered entity, inform me immediately, and the Academy will grant you access to the sub-zero containment pens to select a suitable companion."

The sudden alteration in his training trajectory was a staggering departure from the grueling physical conditioning of the previous afternoon, which had focused entirely on forcing his human physique to its absolute limits. But as Ren analyzed the situation through the lens of his childhood in the Soot Stone Foundries, he realized the logic was entirely sound.

Back in the smelting sector, the foundry overseers always positioned the cheapest, most easily replaceable laborers directly onto the high-risk blast furnace platforms, while keeping the specialized engineers positioned safely behind thick, reinforced glass bulkheads. In this grand theater of magical warfare, Grim was his vanguard armor, and he was the engine commander. If the military proctors possessed absolutely no historical records or manuals detailing the hidden potentials of a Bond Master, the only viable path forward was to feed the beast and watch the chain react.

Ren closed his eyes, focusing his awareness down onto the shadow-draped iron pillars of his mind, and cleanly unlatched the spiritual floodgates of his Confinement Vault. Come forth, Grim, he commanded silently. The meal is served.

A sudden, sharp ripple of spatial distortion warped the air above the gazebo’s stone floor, accompanied by the metallic rattle of phantom iron links snapping through the ether. Out from the expanding shadow emerged the sleek, midnight-charcoal frame of the Volden Shackle-Hound pup.

Grim’s intense grey eyes locked instantly onto the crystalline vial, a low, ecstatic whine vibrating within his powerful chest. He didn't hesitate for a single microsecond; the moment Sergeant Corvina uncorked the glass container, the young predator lunged forward, his jaws open as he eagerly began to lap up the thick, liquid fire of the mana-infused monster's blood.

An immediate, radiant wave of raw spiritual pressure exploded outward from the hound’s physical form, the sheer density of the aura causing the surrounding potted ferns and hanging vines to rustle violently against the wooden lattice. Ren watched in absolute fascination as the visual dimensions of his companion began to shift right before his eyes. The residual clumsiness of the infant hatchling vanished in a matter of seconds.

As Grim swallowed the final drops of the crimson catalyst, his sleek black coat took on a deep, obsidian-like gloss that seemed to actively draw in the ambient daylight. The jagged bone-plated armor ridges running down the full length of his spine expanded exponentially, hardening into thick, overlapping metallic-grey plates that fused seamlessly into his vertebrae, exuding a faint, smoky vapor of pure kinetic heat.

While Grim’s physical rank remained firmly anchored within the Common Grade, his overall muscle mass and bone density had mutated to match the proportions of a robust, yearling hunting hound—rapidly closing the gap toward true Awakened-level power.

Then, an entirely unprecedented phenomenon rippled through the soul-bond.

The interlocking iron chain mark branded across Ren’s right forearm suddenly flared with a brilliant, blinding crimson light beneath his academic sleeve. Before he could even brace himself against the recoil, a massive, rushing torrent of purified physical energy surged backward along the spectral tethers, bursting out from the Confinement Vault and flooding directly into Ren’s own human nervous system.