Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 222: Fuck you, Jorghan Sol’vur!!

”You know what? Forget it. You’re right. We had physical compatibility and nothing more.

So I’ll do you a favor and make this simple. Fuck you, Jorghan Sol’vur. Fuck your dynasty plans. Fuck your careful calculations about bloodline optimization. And fuck whatever justifications you’re telling yourself about strategic necessity.”

She turned away, her shoulders tight with suppressed emotion.

”Get out. You’ve delivered whatever message you came to deliver. Now leave before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Katisana’s expression showed sympathy for Sarhita mixed with disappointment in Jorghan. ”She’s right that you should leave. But I’ll say one thing before you go. You’re building something; I understand that. But buildings without warmth are just structures. Clans without genuine connection are just populations sharing space. Remember that when you’re planning your strategic partnerships with women who see you as genetic material rather than a person.”

She moved to stand beside Sarhita, a gesture of solidarity that was clear even without words. ”We’ll participate in clan activities. We’ll contribute to the settlement at Colloniel. We’ll support the Sol’vur because we agreed to that when our clan was absorbed. However, we’re no longer available for your convenience. Find your strategic partners. Have your dynasty. Just don’t expect us to celebrate it.”

Jorghan stood there for a moment, searching for something to say that would make this confrontation less damaging. But he found nothing. They were angry, hurt, and probably justified in their feelings, even if he didn’t fully understand them.

”I know why you are really angry. You are just using this as an excuse for what happened before I went to Terrasper. For the death of Scarlett. I know you were helpless. I was just angry at that time.”

”I’m sorry,” he said finally.

”For yelling at you.

It wasn’t my intention.”

”Intentions don’t matter,” Sarhita replied without turning around.

”Actions matter. Consequences matter.”

”Just leave me alone for a while.”

Jorghan left, closing the door behind him, feeling the weight of the confrontation settling into his shoulders. He’d handled that poorly. Had been defensive when he should have been understanding, clinical when he should have been compassionate.

But he also wasn’t sure how he could have handled it differently. The decisions he’d made were strategic necessities. Taking multiple partners, planning dynasty succession, and prioritizing bloodline strengthening—all of it was what clan heads did.

Why did doing what was necessary feel like he’d failed some test he didn’t know he was taking?

*

Jorghan needed to clear his head after that disaster of a conversation, so he made his way toward the Nor’vack section, where Swana and Sik’ra had their quarters.

He found them in Swana’s dwelling, sitting at a low table with a bottle of something that smelled like fermented grain and questionable life choices.

”Jorghan!” Swana called out, her earlier grief from the Scar situation apparently processed enough that she could smile again.

”Perfect timing. We just opened the good stuff—salvaged from the old supply stores before they went completely bad.”

”Define ’good,’” Jorghan said skeptically, entering and settling onto a cushion across from them.

”It’s aged,” Sik’ra replied, pouring a cup and sliding it toward Jorghan.

”Aged in the sense that it’s been sitting in a barrel for three years and hasn’t killed anyone yet. That’s basically premium by desert settlement standards.”

Jorghan took a cautious sip and immediately regretted it. The liquid burned going down, tasted like someone had distilled regret and disappointment, and left an aftertaste that suggested tomorrow’s headache was already forming.

”This is terrible,” he observed.

”Absolutely awful,” Swana agreed cheerfully.

”Which is why we’re drinking it. Good alcohol makes you think you’re having a good time. Bad alcohol is honest about the fact that you’re just trying to tolerate existence slightly more easily.”

She poured herself another cup and downed it with the resignation of someone who’d made peace with poor decisions.

”So. How’d it go with Sarhita? I heard you went to meet with her. Did she give you another slap on the wrist, disagreeing with you?”

”That’s an understatement,” Jorghan muttered, taking another drink because if he was already suffering, he might as well commit.

”She’s furious that I announced partnership plans without consulting her first. Accused me of treating people like assets. Called me arrogant. It was basically a comprehensive destruction of any goodwill that existed between us.”

Sik’ra winced.

”Yeah, that’s rough. Sarhita’s not someone who handles feeling dismissed well. And honestly, your announcement probably did feel like dismissal from her perspective. You went from casual encounters with her to public proclamations about strategic partnerships without any transition or explanation.”

”I didn’t think I needed to explain,” Jorghan said defensively.

”We were never exclusive. Never promised each other anything beyond physical pleasures. How was I supposed to know she’d interpret the partnership’s announcement as a personal rejection?”

”Because she’s an eight-foot-tall warrior woman with emotions despite her intimidating exterior?” Swana suggested.

”Just because arrangements were casual doesn’t mean feelings don’t develop. You’re powerful, you’re building something ambitious, and you’re interesting. Of course she developed attachment beyond just physical.”

She poured more of the terrible alcohol for all of them.

”Here’s the thing, Jorghan. You’re really good at strategy, combat, and political maneuvering. You’re absolutely terrible at recognizing when people care about you as more than just a clan head or a powerful ally. Sarhita cared. Katisana probably did too, though she’s better at hiding it. And you just... didn’t notice.

Or didn’t care.

I’m not sure which is worse.”

”I noticed,” Jorghan protested.

”I just thought—”

”That your grand plans took priority over individual feelings?” Sik’ra finished.

”Because they do. But that doesn’t mean you get to be surprised when people whose feelings you deprioritized get angry about it.”

He drank deeply from his cup, grimacing.

”For what it’s worth, you’re not wrong about strategic necessity. The Sol’vur do need population growth, political alliances, all of it. You’re just going about it in a way that makes people feel like breeding stock rather than partners. There’s probably a middle ground between pure transaction and pretending deep affection, but you haven’t found it yet.”