The underground warehouse in the northern sector of the academy smelled like rat carcasses and centuries of dust. Yet tonight, that damp room was illuminated by the light most coveted by all humans in Aethelgard: the gleam of pure gold.
"We are rich! By the Gods of the Streets, we are kings!"
Ragnar's booming laughter bounced off the stone walls. The giant man sat cross-legged on the dirty floor, literally surrounded by piles of Nightbane-stamped gold bars and thousands of silver coins. He threw two gold pieces into the air and caught them with a wide grin.
"Goodbye cheap beer that tastes like dishwater! Tomorrow I will buy every tavern in the lower district, order the most expensive roast meat, and forge new armor out of pure steel!" exclaimed Ragnar, his eyes sparkling with justifiable greed.
In another corner, Virelith was bandaging her blistered right hand with clean bandages. Although her face was pale from exhaustion, her eyes occasionally glanced toward the pile of illegal gems scattered near Ragnar's boots.
"With this much money... I can rent a private alchemy laboratory," muttered Virelith softly, calculating the pragmatism of wealth in her head. "I will no longer need to beg for leftover materials from Middle Class nobles."
I sat on a rickety wooden chair that creaked every time I breathed. The glass cup in my chest still stung, but I did not glance at the pile of gold at all. My focus was entirely locked on a pitch-black leather-bound book open on the table before me.
Silas's Ledger.
"Stop your silly celebration," my voice cut through the air, heavy and as cold as ice.
Ragnar's laughter stopped in the air. The gold pieces he threw fell to the floor with an awkward clinking sound. Virelith turned to me, adjusting her glasses.
"What is wrong, Young Master? We just breached an impenetrable defense and stole the operational funds of the largest faction in the academy. We deserve to celebrate," protested Ragnar, though he slowly lowered his voice.
"This book," I tapped the black leather cover with my index finger, "is poison. Do you think we can ensnare Orvelis Nightbane by handing this evidence to the Instructor Council?"
Virelith frowned. "Recorded inside are the names of instructors who accepted bribes. Isn't that absolute proof of military treason?"
"The law in Aethelgard is written using Duke Nightbane's golden ink, Engineer," I hissed sharply. "If we hand this book to the Head Instructor tonight, tomorrow morning Silas will be found hanging in his cell. The instructors whose names are recorded will 'disappear' during an expedition, and Orvelis will walk out of the courtroom with a holy smile without being touched in the slightest."
I stared at the pile of gold on the floor. "And you will not be able to spend a single piece of that gold. Nightbane coins have microscopic tracking magic. The moment Ragnar buys beer with that, the faction's Executioner Squad will behead him in the tavern."
Ragnar swallowed hard, reflexively moving his hands away from the pile of gold. Their illusion of luxury shattered instantly, replaced by horrifying political reality.
Suddenly, the temperature inside the underground warehouse dropped drastically. My breath formed thin steam in the air.
The musty smell of dust and sewer mud clinging to our clothes was suddenly replaced by something foreign. The elegant aroma of jasmine tea, blending with the scent of spring and frost dew.
Click. The iron warehouse door, which was locked using three rotted wooden bars, simply opened, as if an invisible magical key had just hacked it.
Ragnar growled savagely. In an instant, the giant man jumped to his feet, drawing his greatsword creating a deafening clink of steel. Virelith reflexively retreated to the corner, chanting earth magic at the tip of her staff.
I did not move. I slowly closed the Ledger and stared toward the door.
Two female figures stepped in through the shadows. Lysandra Morcant, the Duke's Daughter with silver hair and an arrogant posture radiating absolute authority.
And one step behind her, Selena Lune, smiling with a deadly gentleness that always made my veteran instincts scream in warning.
"You have a habit of choosing very inelegant meeting places, Draven," said Lysandra coldly. Her sharp eagle-like eyes swept the room, staring at the pile of stolen gold on the floor, then stopping right on the Ledger under my hand.
"And you have a habit of barging in without knocking, Madam President," I replied casually, resting my chin on one hand. "Lower your weapon, Ragnar. They are not executioners."
Ragnar snorted roughly, lowering his sword but not sheathing it.
Lysandra stepped forward, her high heels clicking on the stone floor. She ignored Ragnar and Virelith as if they were merely dirty furniture, and focused her entire attention on me.
"You are truly full of surprises," said Lysandra, her tone of voice a mixture of reluctant acknowledgment and political calculation. "A week ago you killed a Black Tower Assassin. Tonight, you made Silas the Snake cry blood losing his treasure. You have sharp fangs for a stray dog, Kael Draven."
"Save your small talk, Morcant. What do you want?"
Lysandra stood tall across my desk. Upper Class noble aura radiated strongly from her.
"I offer you safety and wealth," declared Lysandra. Her eyes looked straight at me. "Leave your poverty and your slum dormitory. Swear loyalty under the banner of the Morcant Faction tonight. Hand that book over to me. In exchange, I will 'launder' all that dirty gold you stole so you guys can use it. My faction will protect you from Orvelis's wrath, and you will get Upper Class facilities."
Virelith held her breath. In her eyes, that was an offer from heaven. Absolute protection from a Duke's daughter and legalization of instant wealth.
However, to my ears, that offer sounded like the sound of dragging iron chains.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at Lysandra with a gaze colder than winter ice. My voice came out heavy and full of restrained threat.
"A very generous offer," I said softly, letting every word hang in the air. "But let me make one thing clear to you, Duke's Daughter. I did not spend my blood and risk my squad's lives to release a dog chain from Nightbane... only to put a diamond collar from Morcant around my neck."
The silence instantly froze. Lysandra's eyes widened slightly, clearly not used to being rejected, let alone by an outcast cadet.
Behind her, Selena Lune chuckled softly. The sound of her laugh was like the melodious yet out-of-place chime of a glass bell. The black-haired girl thoroughly enjoyed my insolent rejection of her best friend's authority.
"You are very arrogant, Draven," hissed Lysandra, her beautiful face hardening holding back offense. "Without my protection, Nightbane will destroy you. And you will not be able to spend a single piece of that stolen gold."
"That is true," I agreed easily, which actually confused Lysandra even more.
I leaned forward, placing both my hands on the table. "But you also need me, Lysandra. You cannot attack Orvelis frontally without triggering a civil war between Dukes that will harm your family."
I flipped that political chessboard in one breath. "I will not be your subordinate. I refuse to kneel to any faction banner. Instead, I offer a Middle Path."
"Middle path?" Lysandra narrowed her eyes.
I opened Silas's Ledger. I searched for a specific page I had marked in my brain. Without hesitation, I pinched the ancient parchment paper, and tore it roughly.
Riiip! Riiip! Riiip!
The first five pages of the Ledger were torn from their binding. Ragnar and Virelith widened their eyes in shock. Lysandra gasped.
I pushed those five torn pieces of paper to the end of the table, toward Lysandra.
"Those five pages contain the complete schedule and distribution routes of illegal potion smuggling controlled by Nightbane's mercenary instructors this month," I explained flatly. "You have legal power in the Student Senate to block their distribution routes bureaucratically. While I have the sword to burn their secret warehouses from the shadows."
Lysandra's eyes were glued to those papers. Her politician's brain spun fast.
"I will be your knife in the dark, Morcant," I continued, my voice filled with deadly certainty. "You provide legality, launder our money, and become our white shield on the surface. As payment, the Deck Hound Squad will do all the dirty work, sabotage, and slaughter Nightbane's pawns that you cannot legally touch."
I looked right into Lysandra's eyes. "Parasitic symbiosis. We destroy Nightbane together, as transactional partners. Without hierarchical bonds and without oaths of loyalty."
Lysandra was silent for a long time. Her chest rose and fell with a slow rhythm.
As an aristocrat, this offer violated her norms of honor. But as a politician, this was the best deal that had ever fallen into her lap. A shadow squad she could direct without having to take responsibility if they were caught.
"What if I take this paper, launder your money, then send Senate knights to arrest you on theft charges?" baited Lysandra, testing my mentality.
I chuckled softly. A laugh that entirely lacked warmth. I patted the rest of the thick Ledger under my hand.
"You only got five pages, Madam President. I have the remaining hundreds of pages," I whispered radiating the aura of a paranoid veteran. "This is my insurance. If you betray me, or if my squad is touched by your Senate knights... I will leak the rest of this book to the Central Imperial Faction. The resulting destruction will drag Nightbane, and you all will also drown in that vortex of chaos."
Mutually assured destruction if one betrayed.
Lysandra sighed deeply. Her arrogant face slowly relaxed, replaced by the thin smile of a master conspirator. She realized that the young man before her was not a cadet, but a political monster on par with her.
Lysandra extended her hand wrapped in a white silk glove, then picked up the five torn pages from the table.
"Transactional Alliance accepted, Shadow Contractor," said Lysandra officiating our dark pact. "Selena will be our intermediary. Make sure you do not get killed before finishing your part, Draven."
Lysandra turned her body gracefully, her grand robe rustling sweeping the floor dust, then stepped out of the warehouse.
However, Selena Lune did not immediately follow her. The girl lingered one step behind. She walked slowly approaching my table. Our distance was so close I could smell the scent of spring and a hint of... invisible fresh blood from her body.
Selena leaned forward, resting both hands on the edge of the table. She gave her psychopathic smile that was incredibly stunning yet terrifying at the same time, then whispered right in front of my face.
"A guard dog that refuses to be chained by anyone..." whispered Selena, her eyes sparkling full of insane curiosity. "I am getting more curious, Kael. How much blood can you spill from those nobles' bodies... before your neck is truly snapped by this academy curriculum."
The girl straightened her body, winked one eye, then casually walked following Lysandra, leaving the warehouse door firmly closed again.
The underground room fell silent again, leaving the smell of dust and our sweat.
Ragnar let out a tremendously long sigh of relief, then threw himself onto the pile of gold. "Damn it... her aura almost made me pee standing up. So, this money is legally ours?"
"Legal and clean," I answered, my gaze never leaving the rest of the Ledger before me.
Orvelis Nightbane's financial pillar was severely cracked. With this dark pact with the Morcant faction, I had just acquired the political shield I desired without having to sell my soul.
I smirked thinly amidst the darkness of the warehouse.
Now it was time to target the second objective. Destroying illegal potion smuggling inside Aethelgard.