Chapter 35: The Three-Finger Bait and the Wolf's Fangs

Stained glass shards scattered upon the white bear fur carpet. Freezing air from the Oesterian snowstorm crashed in through the ruined window frame, forcibly killing the fireplace's heat inside the study.

The bone arrow embedded three inches deep into the teakwood chair backrest. Its fletching vibrated hard, located exactly half an inch from Varan's fat-folded neck vein.

Varan stood petrified. Thick red wine spilled from his dented silver glass, flowing and soaking his expensive silk trousers and dripping to the floor. His stocky face, which seconds ago was deep red with ego, now turned deathly pale, resembling a blood-drained corpse. His breath stopped in his throat. One inch. The distance between life and death had just been determined by a calcium projectile shooting from the darkness.

Across the mahogany desk, Luka stood straight. His black cloak fluttered roughly, slashed by the night wind. The dark hood and gauze mask hid all emotions, leaving a pair of killer eyes staring straight to pierce the noble's ego.

"You did not invite four people to your castle, Varan," Luka's voice cut through the freezing air. Low. Laden with pure threat. "You invited death. Now, tell your dogs to step back, and let us talk business."

Silence took over. Only the storm's roar ruined hearing.

At the end of the left wing, Eric tightened his grip on the greatsword. His gold-thread embroidered silk fluttered. Cold sweat ruined his cynical face. "Lord Varan," his voice trembled. "This is an ambush. Allow me to—"

"Silence!"

Varan's snap exploded. The veins on the stocky noble's temples bulged feral. His index fingernail gripped the chair arm, trying to support his trembling body. His eyes did not leave Luka's figure. His political instinct smelled the dense scent of death. This prince before him was not bluffing. This arrow was proof. Shadow forces had surrounded his castle.

Far outside, piercing the blinding snowstorm.

Merrik stood atop an ice pile on the stone cliff. The Dark Sapphire Moon's light illuminated his body, merging with the shadows. His left eye mutated, splitting into three eyeballs of different sizes. Eyes adapted for the dark twitched, locking onto the target behind the glass window he had just shattered.

Merrik's right hand was no longer human-shaped. Calcium tore his skin, growing elongated and forming a giant bone bow. The veins on his arm tensed hard, pulling a blood-smeared muscle string. He nocked a second bone arrow, locking it straight toward Albert's skull as he stood inside the room.

Merrik's breaths roared. Devoid of pain. Without memories burned to ash. The anomalous blue stone from Rhea boiled inside his stomach. Spiritual energy flooded his soul space without triggering the Law of Erosion. Pure power laughing at logic.

"A mad stone," Merrik muttered. His lips grinned challenging the storm. His fingers ready to release the lethal projectile that exact second if his master gave the follow-up signal.

Inside the study, tension pressed the ribs.

Varan took a deep breath. He forced his stocky chest down. His left index fingernail automatically scraped the ruby stone ring on his thumb. The gemstone friction sounded rhythmic, processing the profit-loss calculation of human lives.

This prince conquered The Hollow Syndicate. This prince brought those wild dogs to his doorstep undetected by patrols. Challenging this monster inside a cramped room was stupidity.

"Lower your weapons." Varan commanded. His voice hoarse enduring a torn ego.

Eric tensed. "But My Lord—"

"I said step back!" Varan struck the mahogany desk before him. Dust and remaining wine scattered. "Get out of my room. Now!"

The three elite knights froze. Albert, the observer, stopped tapping his thumb. His pale brown eyes stared at Luka once more, recording the predator's dominance, then he sheathed his sword. Adler, the giant wall of flesh, lowered his warhammer with a heavy exhale resembling a broken chimney.

The three of them turned around. Walking out passing the teakwood double doors. The spearman forces in the outer corridor also pulled back their iron formation.

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Luka did not turn his head. He stared at Rhea.

The maid in the charcoal-gray wool dress stood calm in the room's corner. The lily scent from her body banished the smell of wine and fear sweat. Rhea stared at Vance and Lysandra. A faint nod. Extremely slight.

Vance snorted. His feral stretching shark jaw slowly closed. The swelling giant flesh on his arms shrank by force, returning to normal size with a sickening bone-shifting sound. Lysandra lowered her body posture. Her twin daggers sheathed again lacking sound. The two Shadow Knights stepped backward, exiting the room.

The teakwood doors shut tight from the outside. Caging three people inside the glass-scattered room.

Freezing air kept crashing in. Varan shivered behind his layered silk. He pulled the bone arrow from his chair with a trembling hand, then threw it onto the desk.

"A highly impressive threat display, Prince." Varan leaned his back. He tried rebuilding his wall of arrogance. "You managed to get in. You pointed a weapon at my neck. Then what? You want to rob my wheat granaries like a street bandit?"

Luka stepped forward. His boots crushed the stained glass shards on the fur carpet. A sharp crunching sound cleaved the room. He stopped right in front of the mahogany desk.

"I will collapse the capital walls." Luka's voice was heavy. Bringing the aura of death. "I will chop Ulric's neck. And my executioner forces need to eat. I need your wheat. I need weapon factories and safe spaces for my wolves."

Varan clicked his tongue. "A grand ambition. That tyrant in the palace possesses thousands of steel-plated soldiers. And what do I get if I trade my logistics for the empty promise of a prince living in the shadows? If you fail, it is my neck Ulric will slash."

Luka leaned his body forward. Both his leather-gloved hands rested on the wooden desk edge. His masked face approached Varan's face.

"You will hold control over the kingdom's treasury." Luka whispered low. His words honed resembling daggers. "And I will give Lyssa to you."

Varan's heart stopped beating.

His index fingernail twirling the ruby ring stopped rigidly. That name tore his deepest ego layer. Lyssa. The elegant face of Ulric's wife flashed in his head. The woman who rejected his proposal with a demeaning stare. The woman who insulted his family caste and chose Ulric. The past wound rotting at the bottom of his heart bled again.

Varan's breaths came in heavy gasps. His stocky chest heaved, kicking his expensive silk, responding to a filthy lust that instantly blinded his rationality.

If Lyssa fell into his hands as a spoil of war, he would force that elegant woman to kneel beneath his feet. The profit from this alliance was far too massive. This was no longer merely a flow of gold coins, but a sweet vengeance for his humiliated past.

In the corner of the room, Rhea's pale gray eyes watched the change in Varan's pupils. Her plan succeeded. The meat bait had been bitten by the greedy rat.

Varan stared straight into Luka's pitch-black eye. He searched for hesitation. He searched for lies. Yet he found only dense darkness. This prince before him was no longer a pure noble boy. This man was a monster.

A filthy laugh exploded from Varan's throat.

"Hahaha!" The laughter echoed bouncing off the limestone walls, competing with the storm's roar. Varan struck his mahogany desk with his thick palm. "Magnificent. Truly a magnificent offer, Prince."

Varan stood up. His stocky gut protruded, burdening his movements. He walked circling the desk, ignoring the glass shards around him.

"Honestly, I did not believe you could conquer those mountain wolves." Varan stared at Luka with a new assessment. "But seeing how you pointed death at my neck without touching your weapon... you possess the darkness needed to tear this kingdom."

Varan stopped in front of the extinguished fireplace. He stared at the remaining black charcoal. His cunning brain spun fast. Supporting this coup carried the risk of total ruin, but the offered prize was too enticing. Especially the treasury manager position and Lyssa.

Yet, Varan was a merchant of lives. He never agreed to a contract without a down payment.

Varan twisted his body. He stared at Luka and Rhea. A demonic smile carved on his stocky face.

"I like your offer, Prince." Varan's voice turned sharp. Demanding. "My wheat granaries, weapon factories, and this castle... all open to your shadow forces. We share the same enemy. Ulric squeezes us all."

His jewel-ring-filled fingers rubbed against each other.

"But a deal this massive requires a blood seal," Varan continued. The stocky man's eyes narrowed sharp, reflecting filthy vengeance as his memory replayed the insult of the report book thrown in his face in the palace bureaucracy room this afternoon.

"Give me the down payment." Varan pointed toward Luka. "I want Edward's head. Tonight."

That name slipped into the freezing air. Edward. The rigid bureaucrat, Ulric's right hand. The tax authority holder who insulted him.

Behind his gauze mask, Luka stood silent. This request aligned with the plan drawn by his maid. Rhea had planted Edward's name as the first target to trigger a domino effect of ruin from inside the palace.

Luka twisted his body, turning his back to Varan. He walked toward the teakwood door.

"Prepare your best wine, Varan," Luka said flatly. He did not look back. His hand pushed the door leaf. "That dog's head will decorate your desk before the sun rises."