Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?-Chapter 226: Fall of Valtair [22]

Kael looked at him for a moment. Then he nodded, turning on his heel.

"Follow me."

Alaric fell into step behind him, maintaining a respectful distance as they crossed the square.

Kael pushed the inn’s door.

Creak!

Inside, the atmosphere was warm.

Kael chose a table near the window, good light, view of the street, far enough from others that conversation wouldn’t carry. He dropped into a chair.

Alaric sat across from him, settling in with deliberate ease.

Kael leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes fixed on Alaric with renewed intensity.

"Now." His tone was all business. "Tell me what important business you have with Lord Rothgar."

Alaric smirked. His hand slipped inside his coat, fingers finding the inner pocket and pulled out a small knife.

Nothing ornate. Just a blade about four inches long, straight-edged, with a plain wooden handle wrapped in worn leather. The kind of utility knife any traveler might carry.

Except for the blade itself.

It caught the firelight and threw it back in a way that steel shouldn’t. The metal had an unusual quality, almost luminescent, with faint veins of darker color running through it like frozen lightning.

Alaric set it on the table between them.

"This is... what I wanted to discuss with Lord Rothgar."

Kael’s eyes dropped to the knife. He huffed, reaching out and picking it up dismissively.

"You wanted to meet my lord for just this piece of—"

He stopped.

His fingers tightened on the handle, turning the blade to catch more light. His eyes went wide, pupils dilating as recognition hit.

"I-Is this—"

"Yeah." Alaric’s voice stayed casual, almost bored. "Made of Vernacite."

"Vernacite?"

Kael’s hand trembled slightly as he held the knife. His thumb brushed across the flat of the blade, feeling the unusual texture.

"How did you..." Kael’s voice trailed off, "Where did you get this?"

Alaric leaned back, letting the question hang unanswered for a moment. The serving girl returned with two foaming mugs and a platter.

She set everything down and retreated without a word.

Alaric picked up his ale, took a slow sip, then set it down with deliberate care.

"I have a deal for your lord."

His hand moved across the table.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Three gold coins slid from his palm onto the wood between them. Then two more.

Alaric’s crimson eyes fixed on Kael.

"For facilitating our introduction." His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "And for keeping your mouth shut about what you’ve seen here."

Kael stared at the coins. Then at the knife still in his hand. Then back at Alaric.

His jaw worked silently, conflict playing across his features.

The silence stretched.

Crackle!

The fire popped in the hearth.

Finally, Kael’s hand moved.

He set the knife down carefully on the table.

Then his fingers closed around the gold coins, sweeping them off the table and into his pocket in one smooth motion.

"Lord Rothgar..." Kael swallowed, his voice coming steadier now. "He’s at his estate. Afternoon meetings usually end around sunset. I can..." He paused, considering. "I can get you an audience. If you’re willing to wait."

"I’m willing."

"But understand this" Kael leaned forward, his eyes hard despite the bribe burning a hole in his pocket. "If you’re wasting his time, if this ’deal’ is anything less than what you’re implying... it reflects on me. And I won’t forget that."

Alaric’s smile widened.

"Trust me. Lord Rothgar will want to hear what I have to say."

He picked up the Vernacite knife, turning it once in his fingers before sliding it back into his coat.

Kael’s eyes tracked the movement, hunger and greed flickering across his face before he locked it down.

"Finish your drink," Kael muttered, reaching for his own ale. "Then we’ll go."

Alaric raised his mug in a small salute.

"To profitable partnerships."

Kael hesitated, then clinked his mug against Alaric’s with a dull thunk.

"To profitable partnerships."

They drank.

------

Evening had settled over Thornhaven by the time Alaric stood before the iron gates of Rothgar’s estate.

The property was impressive. Guards flanked the entrance, hands resting casually on sword hilts.

Kael had gone ahead to announce him. Now he returned, nodding curtly.

"Lord Rothgar will see you. Follow me."

They passed through the gates. Kael led him up a grand staircase, down a hall, and stopped before a door of dark wood.

He knocked twice.

"Enter."

The voice from within was deep, authoritative.

Kael pushed the door open and gestured for Alaric to proceed. Then he stepped back, remaining in the hallway as the door closed.

The study was exactly what Alaric expected.

Bookshelves lined two walls, filled with leather-bound volumes. A massive desk dominated the center, carved with intricate detail. Behind it sat Lord Rothgar.

He was in his mid-fifties. Shoulders still broad despite his age, suggesting a man who hadn’t gone soft behind his desk. He gestured to the chair across from his desk without preamble.

"Sit."

Alaric did, settling into the leather chair with ease.

Rothgar’s gaze swept over him, assessing, categorizing, pricing. Then his attention shifted to the desk between them.

"My retainer tells me you have something interesting to show me."

"I do."

Alaric’s hand moved, a small box materialized in his grip.

He set it on the desk and opened it.

Inside, nestled in black velvet, lay five pieces.

Three daggers of different lengths, different styles. A short sword with a slightly curved blade. And what looked like an arrowhead, though larger.

All of them shared the same impossible quality.

The blades caught the lamplight. Veins of darker color ran through the metal.

Raw Vernacite looked like gems. Violet-blue crystals that glowed faintly in darkness.

Rothgar reached out slowly, lifted one of the daggers from the velvet. Turned it in the light. Tested the weight. His thumb brushed the flat of the blade, feeling the texture.

"Fully prepared from pure material," Alaric said quietly. "No alloys. No compromises."

Rothgar set the dagger down and picked up the short sword. Gave it a practice swing. The blade cut through air with a whisper that sounded almost musical.

His eyes gleamed.

He set the sword back in the box, then looked up at Alaric.

"I’ll go straight to the point, what’s the price?"

Alaric’s smirk came slowly, deliberately.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling beneath his chin.

"The price isn’t gold, Lord Rothgar."

Rothgar’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across his features.

"Then what?"

"Information. Access. And a debt."

"Count Valtair owes you fifty thousand gold, if I’m not mistaken. Three months overdue. You’ve sent collectors. He’s scrambling."

Rothgar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "How do you—"

"I make it my business to know." Alaric’s tone remained pleasant, conversational. "Just as I know you’re not the only creditor circling him. But you’re the largest. The one with the most leverage."

He gestured to the box of weapons.

"I want to buy that debt. The full fifty thousand. You transfer the contract to me, and these..." He tapped the edge of the box. "Are yours. Plus ten thousand gold. Delivered within three days."

Rothgar stared at him.

"You want to buy Valtair’s debt..."

Rothgar’s fingers drummed once against his desk. "Why? Why do you want Valtair’s debt? What’s your interest in him?"

"Let’s just say..." Alaric tilted his head slightly. "The Count and I have history. And I prefer to hold my enemies’ leashes personally."

Rothgar’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close.

"You’re planning something."

"I’m always planning something." Alaric leaned forward slightly. "But here’s what matters to you... You get weapons worth more, plus ten thousand gold, in exchange for a debt that Valtair can barely service. You walk away with profit and no risk."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"And when whatever I’m planning comes to fruition... you’ll be positioned perfectly to benefit. Because I don’t forget those who help me. Just as I don’t forget those who obstruct me."

Rothgar’s jaw tightened. His eyes moved from Alaric to the weapons and back again.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you continue chasing a debt from a man who’s bleeding money from a dozen wounds. You might get your fifty thousand back. Eventually. In pieces. After years of legal battles." Alaric’s tone never changed. "Or you take my offer. Get paid immediately. And watch what happens next from a comfortable distance."

More silence.

Finally, Rothgar exhaled slowly.

"The debt contract. The full fifty thousand." His voice was careful, measured. "Plus ten thousand gold. In exchange for these weapons."

"Exactly."

"And you want this transaction kept quiet."

"For now, yes."

Rothgar’s fingers drummed again. Then he reached into a drawer, pulled out parchment and quill, and began writing.

"I’ll have the contract drawn up tonight. You’ll have it by morning. Along with documentation transferring the debt to... who, exactly?"

"A proxy name. I’ll provide it with the gold."

"Of course." Rothgar signed the parchment with a flourish, then looked up. "You’re either brilliant or insane. I haven’t decided which."

Alaric stood, closing the box of weapons and sliding it across the desk.

"Why not both?"

Rothgar laughed shortly.

"Get out of my study before I change my mind."

"As you wish, Lord Rothgar."

Alaric turned toward the door, then paused and glanced back.

"One more thing. When Count Valtair’s... situation becomes public knowledge, I’d appreciate it if you expressed suitable concern. Publicly." His smile turned sharp. "Let people know that creditors like yourself have been wronged. That the Count’s financial recklessness has consequences."

Understanding flickered across Rothgar’s face.

"You want me to turn public opinion against him."

"I want you to tell the truth. Loudly and repeatedly."

Rothgar nodded slowly. "Alright."

"Excellent. Then I believe we have an accord."

Alaric opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Behind him, Rothgar sat staring at the box of Vernacite weapons.

And Alaric walked down the corridor, past Kael who waited nervously by the stairs, out into the night where his carriage waited.

The night air was cool against his skin as he climbed into the carriage.

"It’s time to go home," he whispered.