Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?-Chapter 230: Fall of Valtair [26]

Alaric remained standing for a moment longer, watching the closed doors. Then he moved back to the table and settled into his chair.

The leather creaked softly beneath his weight as he leaned back, fingers steepling beneath his chin.

Then his lips curved into a smirk.

"Sari."

The name fell into the empty hall.

The shadows in the corner shifted and a cloaked figure stood beside his chair, as if she’d always been there.

Sari pulled back her hood.

Alaric reached inside his coat and withdrew a folded paper. He held it out without looking at her, his gaze still fixed on the empty doorway where Valtair had departed.

She took it, unfolding the document.

Her eyes scanned the text. Once. Twice.

Then her lips curved into a smile, understanding finally dawning across her features.

"Ah. That’s what you’ve been doing."

Alaric’s smirk widened slightly.

He reached into his coat again and withdrew a heavy pouch, the down payments Valtair had provided.

"Make sure it reaches the right hands. Quietly."

Sari tucked both the paper and the pouch into the folds of her cloak with practiced efficiency.

"As you wish, young master."

And she was gone.

Alaric sat alone once more, his fingers beginning to drum against the polished wood of the table.

Knock! Knock!

The sound came from the back entrance.

"Enter."

The door opened to reveal Teryn, his sandy brown hair slightly disheveled. He carried a leather satchel that looked worn but well-maintained.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, then crossed to the table and set the satchel down.

"The documents are all ready, my lord." His voice was steady, professional. "Everything you requested."

Alaric reached for the satchel, opening it and pulling out the contents.

His smile widened.

"Excellent work, Teryn."

He gathered the documents, tucking them into his coat alongside everything else he’d accumulated today. Then he stood, adjusting his coat, and headed toward the back door.

"Lock up when you leave. Make sure nothing remains here."

"Of course, my lord."

Alaric stepped out into the alley behind the merchant hall.

The air had cooled with evening’s approach,

He started walking.

Dorian Margrave, a merchant, money lender who’d built his fortune on the desperation of minor nobility and wealthy merchants who couldn’t secure loans from proper banks. He charged bit high interest but asked few questions.

And more importantly, Count Valtair had borrowed from him before.

Alaric pushed through the door.

The interior was cramped, cluttered with ledgers and lockboxes. A single desk dominated the small space, covered in papers and ink-stained calculations.

Behind it sat a man in his late forties.

Dorian Margrave looked up, his expression shifting from annoyance at the interruption to calculated interest as he took in Alaric’s appearance.

"Good evening, my lord." His voice was smooth, practiced. "How may I be of service?"

Alaric closed the door behind him and approached the desk. He didn’t sit. Just stood there, projecting calm authority.

"I have a business proposal that might interest you."

Dorian’s eyebrows rose slightly. "I’m listening."

Alaric reached into his coat and withdrew a small glass vial. Inside, suspended in clear liquid, was a single flower.

Lunthera.

He set it on the desk with a soft clink.

Dorian’s eyes widened. His hand moved toward the vial instinctively.

"Is that—"

"Lunthera. Fully mature." Alaric’s tone remained conversational.

"Refined alchemical product from these sells for five to fifteen crowns per unit, depending on quality and buyer. This particular flower, properly processed, would fetch approximately eight crowns worth of final product."

Eight hundred gold.

Dorian’s breathing had quickened. "Where did you... how did you—"

"I have access to a reliable supply." Alaric leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the desk. "Monthly shipments. Consistent quality. I’m looking to establish a distribution network, and I need partners."

The merchant’s mind was clearly racing, calculating profits, considering risks, imagining the fortune that could be made from regular access to such rare material.

Just as he was distracted. Alaric’s hand moved and ethereal chains shot forward, gripping Dorian’s skull.

Dorian gasped, his body going rigid, eyes went wide, pupils dilating, breath catching in his throat.

Then the chains vanished, and Dorian’s breathing became normal.

Alaric leaned across the desk, his crimson eyes boring into Dorian’s shocked, frozen gaze.

"You will do exactly as I say." His voice came quiet, absolute.

"You will provide loans to Count Valtair at whatever amounts he requests, at reasonable terms. You will take his new mining contracts as collateral. You will keep detailed records. And when I tell you to call those loans in, you will do so immediately. No warnings. No negotiations."

Dorian’s mouth worked silently, trying to form words, trying to protest.

But the chains pulled.

And his will bent.

"I... I understand, my lord."

Alaric smiled and stepped back.

"Good." He gestured to the Lunthera vial. "Keep that as a gesture of goodwill. And expect Count Valtair to contact you within the next day."

Dorian nodded slowly.

"Yes, my lord. I’ll... I’ll be ready."

"Excellent."

He reached for the door, opened it and stepped outside.

One done. Few more to go.

**********

The moon hung high in the sky.

A tall, elegant women in ceremonial robes trimmed with gold stood in front of a large glass room, which had nothing inside but a white bed, a white table and a single chair.

Her golden-blonde hair was braided intricately, cascading over her shoulder. Her eyes, hidden beneath a white and gold blindfold, were locked onto the figure inside the room, curled up, leaning against the wall, staring at nothing.

The girl’s silver-white hair was a mess, spilling around her.

Her eyes were puffy and rimmed red. Bruises marked her arms.

She shivered from time to time, still sobbing. Wiping away the tears welling up in her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Mom?"

A low, gentle voice pulled the woman from her stare. She turned and saw a girl walking towards her, who had blonde hair like hers, golden eyes wide with concern.

"I told you many times. Don’t call me that."

Sera flinched. "Yes, Archpriestess." She gave a light bow. "I’m sorry."

Then she lifted her head and looked at her friend in the room, opening her mouth to speak, but the Archpriestess cut her off before she could began.

"Don’t you dare take her side."

Sara flinched again.

"You are the Saintess. Act like one."

The Archpirestess turned toward the figure inside and hissed. "You know what she did. After I... no, after we’re gentle with her all this, understanding her fear, confusion, helping her, but what does she do? That’s how she repays us?"

She whirled around and began walking down the hallway.

"Go and perform your duties."

Then she glanced back at Sera.

"And don’t forget. You’re her keeper... not friend."

With that, she left.

Sera stood there for a moment, looking at the girl inside.

Then she stepped closer and tried calling her.

"Lyria?"

...

But there was no response.

She tried again.

Nothing again.

Biting her lip, Sera eventually turned and headed out as well.