My Taming System Makes Me Overpowered

The air inside the council chamber was thick enough to choke on.

Valerius rested his chin on a gloved hand, a mocking, razor-thin smile gracing his lips as he looked across the petrified wood table at Duke Owen.

”Let’s be honest with ourselves, Owen,” Valerius purred, leaning forward. ”You failed. You let a magicless brat mock your authority, slaughter two of your Dread Commanders, and slip through your fingers into another territory. A man without a drop of mana is nothing more than a broken tool. Treating him like a world-ending threat only highlights your own incompetence.”

Owen’s jaw tightened, his massive hands clenching into iron fists upon the table. He didn’t erupt in fury as Valerius clearly hoped. Instead, his voice dropped to a low, gravelly timbre that echoed off the high stone arches.

”You speak from ignorance, Valerius,” Owen said coldly. ”You forget history. You forget Yates Harlan—a magicless human who led our race into a golden age when magic first bloomed in this world. Power is not born solely from mana.”

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Duke Kenneth stopped picking at his dagger, and Duchess Rosalind’s icy gaze flickered with subtle interest.

Valerius, however, merely scoffed, tossing his head back with a sharp laugh. ”A fairy tale from centuries ago! In today’s world, only the magically gifted have the right to rule. If this boy is as dangerous as you claim, then bring him in—or admit you have grown soft.”

”He will be brought in,” Owen growled, his eyes burning with absolute conviction. ”Alive or dead. For the safety of every human faction sitting at this table.”

Across the table, Duchess Rosalind watched the exchange in quiet fascination.

Vince...

She thought, taking a slow sip of her chilled wine.

To provoke such anger and caution in a man like Owen... what kind of monster are you?

Before Valerius could utter another retort, the air in the chamber buckled.

A sudden, terrifying weight crashed down upon the five dukes. The stained-glass windows rattled in their lead frames, and the heavy mana aura Owen had been exuding was instantly crushed out of existence like a flickering candle in a hurricane.

The massive double doors at the head of the chamber ground open.

Stepping into the hall was a tall figure shrouded in obsidian and gold robes, his eyes glowing with an ancient, golden radiance that illuminated the dim hall.

The Emperor had arrived. His very presence felt like a physical storm, forcing even the proudest rulers in the realm to bow their heads.

The Emperor walked with measured, silent strides toward the central throne, his sharp gaze sweeping across the table before locking directly onto Owen and Valerius, who were still trapped in a rigid staring contest.

”Sit,” the Emperor commanded. The single word resonated in the marrow of their bones.

The five dukes straightened instantly.

”We begin with the state of the factions,” the Emperor said, taking his seat at the head of the table. ”Report.”

One by one, the dukes presented their accounts:

Duchess Rosalind reported first, her voice calm and precise as she detailed the fortified ice barriers along the northern tundra and the steady yield of mana crystals from the Glacial Mines.

Duke Kenneth followed, slamming a rolled ledger onto the table. He reported on the expansion of the Iron March’s heavy armories, boasting that his vanguard had successfully suppressed three border skirmishes with wild beast-tribes.

Duke Valerius delivered his report with sleek confidence, highlighting the flourishing trade routes along the Sunken Coast and the naval fleets currently patrolling the southern sea passages.

Finally, it was Owen’s turn.

Owen stood, inclining his head respectfully. He outlined his territory’s agricultural yields, the stability of his garrisons, and the ongoing border patrols. Then, his tone shifted, growing heavy.

”Lastly, Your Imperial Majesty... regarding the matter of Vince.” Owen paused, choosing his words carefully. ”Despite possessing no innate mana, the boy has managed to evade my elite forces, defeat Commanders Rin and Balthazar, and cross into the eastern wilderness. I take full responsibility for the oversight, but I assure you—my commanders are actively hunting him. He will be dealt with.”

The Emperor leaned back in his throne, steepling his long fingers beneath his chin. His golden eyes narrowed slightly.

A magicless youth overcoming elite commanders and evading a Duke’s grid...

The Emperor mused silently.

Could it truly be mere coincidence? Or is the blood of the first king stirring once more?

”You will bring him to me, Owen,” the Emperor spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a drawn blade. ”Alive. Unbroken. Do not let your pride destroy a specimen of such peculiar interest. If he is captured, he is to be brought straight to this tower.”

”As you command, Your Majesty,” Owen conceded, bowing low.

The Emperor rose slowly from his throne, turning his back to the table as he gazed out the massive arched window behind him, looking out over the vast expanse of the human territories.

”You foolishly squabble over trivial matters,” the Emperor said softly, a rare note of philosophical intrigue lacing his tone. ”Yet you forget how our ancestors shaped this world. During the Great Race Wars—after the throne was usurped and Yates Harlan, the first monarch of humanity, was struck down—our predecessors made a choice.”

He turned back to face them, his golden eyes blazing with an unholy light.

”With our newly awakened magic, humans declared war on every living race across the continent. For over a decade, blood soaked every mountain and valley. We fought elves, dragons, and beast-kin to a standstill. The only reason a truce was struck... was because both sides faced extinction.”

The Emperor stepped back toward the table, resting his palms on the dark petrified wood.

”The other races couldn’t win not because we were entirely stronger, but because their arrogance prevented them from unifying against us. They were divided by pride. But that war was flawed. Our ancestors lacked the vision to finish what they started.”

A dark, intoxicating aura radiated from the Emperor, filling the chamber with a suffocating promise of war.

”I will not repeat their mistakes,” the Emperor declared, his voice echoing like thunder across the high ceiling. ”The truces of the past are mere pauses in our destiny. My vision is absolute: the complete unification of all races under human supremacy. An empire rebuilt from the ashes of the old world.”

The Five Dukes sat frozen, the weight of his declaration settling over the chamber like a death sentence.

Out beyond the tower, the sky turned a deep, blood-red as the sun set over the continent. The era of peace Drew ever closer to it’s end.