Chapter 750

The Ancient One had thought this through from every angle. Her decision to abdicate might have seemed sudden, but it was the result of careful planning rather than a whim.

First, she’d chosen the timing deliberately.

On the surface, the transfer of power was an internal matter. In reality, it involved the succession of the rights established by the treaty she’d signed with Odin, granting Earth its autonomy. Whatever its practical freedoms, Earth remained nominally a subordinate kingdom of Asgard. Anyone familiar with the proper formalities would know that a change of rulers in a vassal state required at least some acknowledgment from its sovereign.

Odin had been relatively flexible when the treaty was negotiated. In fact, the two of them hadn’t even bothered to settle the formalities surrounding a future succession. Would Earth’s ruler need to visit Asgard personally? Would an envoy suffice? They’d left such details undecided.

But one thing was unavoidable. Odin had to be informed, and Claire’s name would have to be added to the agreement. In other words, the treaty needed to be amended.

That was where things could get complicated.

The Ancient One knew perfectly well that Odin had signed the original treaty only after she’d backed him into a corner. He’d agreed through gritted teeth, and although the arrangement had caused no trouble over the years, there was little doubt that he remained deeply dissatisfied with its terms.

Now that the subject had resurfaced, Odin might seize the opportunity to renegotiate.

He wouldn’t even need to invent an excuse. The usual tradition of succession was straightforward enough: a son inherited from his father, a younger brother succeeded his elder brother, and a daughter could inherit from her mother. Voluntary abdication, however, had never been customary in Asgard or its subordinate kingdoms.

Odin could therefore object that Claire’s succession violated Asgardian law, etiquette, and tradition.

He probably wouldn’t try to overturn the entire arrangement outright. Instead, he’d use the procedural objections to pressure the Ancient One into making a few concessions. He’d been forced into an unfavorable agreement once before, and now that he had an opening, he’d surely want to recover at least a little of his lost pride.

The Ancient One, however, had no intention of surrendering anything important.

The treaty concerned Earth’s dignity and interests. She couldn’t afford to yield on those matters simply to make negotiations easier.

Still, she understood that politics was an art of compromise. If she refused to give an inch on anything whatsoever, negotiations would collapse.

She’d therefore prepared a fallback plan. On matters that didn’t affect Earth’s actual independence or practical interests, she could afford to make concessions. If necessary, she might even offer Odin a symbolic gesture of partial submission. The old king was getting on in years, after all. She could consider it a courtesy to her elders.

Fortunately, fate had handed her an even better option.

Thor had arrived.

The Ancient One had watched his behavior and listened to his words. Her assessment was that, unlike his father, Thor wasn’t a calculating political operator. Put charitably, he was an honest man with straightforward principles.

Put less charitably, he was a bit of an idiot.

Given the Ancient One’s refinement, she would never say the latter aloud.

The distinction hardly mattered. If she asked Thor to witness the transfer, he would almost certainly handle the matter directly and officially, without getting bogged down in political maneuvering.

Would Odin object after Thor had formally acknowledged the succession?

Well, a crown prince couldn’t simply treat his word like a social media post and delete it when circumstances changed.

If Odin suddenly tried to reverse the decision, he’d be publicly undermining his own son.

That would be a severe blow to Thor’s authority. And with Odin approaching the end of his reign, was the old king really going to risk destabilizing the succession over a dispute with Earth?

The Ancient One had counted on all of this when she decided to conduct the abdication ceremony in such an informal setting and insist that Thor serve as a witness.

Thor had made her job even easier by agreeing without hesitation.

She wanted to abdicate? Then she could abdicate.

He’d never heard of such a custom, but Earth was responsible for its own affairs. If all she needed from him was to witness the proceedings, he’d do so.

After all, his own negligence had allowed the Dark Elves to invade Earth. These people had subsequently helped defeat Malekith, doing him an enormous favor. Serving as a witness was a small way to repay that debt.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly.

Until the final moment, when Claire began to hesitate.

She’d had a great deal to process over the past few days. First, she’d discovered the Ancient One’s deliberately concealed identity and nearly suffered a crisis of faith over one particular detail: the legendary king she revered was bald. That simply wasn’t supposed to happen.

Now she’d learned that the Ancient One was not only that legendary king, but also the ruler of Earth appointed under a treaty signed by Odin himself.

And now the Ancient One wanted to hand the throne to her.

How was she supposed to process all that?

She was just a minor sorcerer working at the New York Sanctum of Kamar-Taj. How could someone like her suddenly become Earth’s ruler?

The decision had already been made by those in authority, and apparently all that remained was for her to take the position.

What was she supposed to do? Stand there and recite a poem?

The Ancient One had anticipated this reaction as well. It was the second major reason she’d chosen Claire.

For all the girl’s eccentricities, she had practically no ambition.

That made her trustworthy.

Imagine if the Ancient One had chosen someone with a hunger for power. The new ruler might have taken the treaty straight to Odin and complained that, despite possessing the title of Earth’s sovereign, they lacked the authority to command anyone.

They might even have offered to sign away Earth’s remaining freedoms in exchange for Asgardian military support, all to strengthen their own position.

Some people really would sell out their entire planet for a throne.

The Ancient One had lived long enough to encounter more than a few such individuals. She knew better than to assume nobody would ever be that shameless.

Watching Claire’s bewildered reaction, the Ancient One felt considerably more confident that she’d made the right choice. Truthfully, she couldn’t think of anyone better suited to the responsibility.

There was another reason for her decision, too.

The position of Sorcerer Supreme would eventually cease to be the responsibility of a single person. The Ancient One had been unable to find anyone who could shoulder the entire burden alone.

Some candidates lacked the strength to fulfill the role. Others, like Claire, possessed sufficient power but had personalities that would damage the institution’s reputation.

Claire’s theatrical eccentricities and reclusive habits were hardly ideal for someone expected to represent the magical world.

The solution was to divide the responsibilities.

One person with a respectable public image and sound judgment could serve as the outward face of the position, while Claire provided the substance and strength behind the scenes.

Of course, even the most polished public representative would be little more than a paper shield if they lacked real power.

That was precisely why the treaty had to remain in the hands of someone capable of defending it.

And the Ancient One had one more concern.

The magical world was no longer what it had been. She could no longer dictate terms to everyone around her and expect unquestioning obedience.

She only had to glance at Evenson and the two demon women standing nearby to understand the problem.

Suppose she appointed someone else as her successor. Without those three supporting the new Sorcerer Supreme, how much authority would that person really possess?

The Ancient One herself had the strength and experience to negotiate with them. Someone less capable might not survive long enough to unlock the Time Stone before they found a way to eliminate the new incumbent.

Claire might be eccentric, but she was strong enough to hold her own. More importantly, the Ancient One trusted her.

At present, however, Claire was still standing there, staring at the treaty the Ancient One had handed her. She seemed utterly incapable of deciding whether to accept it or push it away.

Evenson watched from the side, growing impatient.

He could understand Claire’s hesitation. She wasn’t particularly interested in becoming Earth’s ruler in the first place, and even someone eager for the position wouldn’t normally accept it immediately after the previous ruler announced her retirement.

There were formalities to observe.

A proper abdication should begin with the successor expressing alarm and insisting that they had no intention of usurping the throne. Then the former ruler would plead with them to accept, while officials and dignitaries protested the transfer.

After several rounds of increasingly theatrical refusals, the successor would finally take the throne with the expression of someone being led to the gallows, insisting that the entire affair was everyone else’s fault.

That was how these things were supposed to work.

But as Evenson watched the exchange, an uneasy thought crept into his mind.

The Ancient One had already passed on her powers, armor, and weapons. Now she was surrendering her title as Earth’s ruler as well.

Why did it feel as though she was arranging her affairs before the end?

The thought bothered him, but he had no reason to interfere.

Besides, Claire wasn’t the only person present with unfinished business.

While she continued to hesitate, Evenson decided to stop waiting around and approached Zahaid, the Riftwalker.

"Riftwalker, what are you planning to do next?"

Zahaid turned toward him.

"Our kind exists to oppose the corruption of the Void. Now that the Void’s threat to this realm has been eliminated, I doubt any Void Lord will be foolish enough to target it again."

His voice was calm and matter-of-fact.

"So I’ll be leaving. There are other universes still threatened by the Void, and they need our help."

Having survived the devastation of the Void firsthand, Zahaid possessed a remarkable ability to put things into perspective. Nyarlathotep’s revelations hadn’t shaken him particularly deeply. Whatever the truth of existence might be, his priorities remained the same.

He would continue fighting those responsible for destroying his home. He would continue resisting the Void wherever it threatened innocent worlds.

Evenson tried to persuade him to stay.

"You’ve been on Earth for quite a while. Are you really going to leave just like that? Not even a little attachment to the place?"

Zahaid gave a bitter chuckle.

"We’re refugees from worlds that no longer exist. Our homelands have been destroyed. Once you’ve lost your home, it’s difficult to feel deeply attached to anywhere else."

He paused, and his tone grew strangely wistful.

"Besides, a colleague of mine recently took on an elf as his apprentice. Apparently, she’s exceptionally talented and quite beautiful. I’m eager to see her for myself."

Evenson nearly pulled a muscle reacting to the abrupt change in subject.

What a piece of work.

He suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for anyone who had to learn from this man.

He couldn’t help wondering how the Ancient One had ever put up with him.

Still, if Zahaid was determined to leave, Evenson had no grounds to stop him.

"There won’t be any objections from us if you want to go," he said. "But I’ve heard that Ethereals are particularly good at business."

He let the implication hang in the air.

Zahaid’s bandages immediately began glowing with excitement.

"Absolutely! The Ethereals are renowned traders. We deal in quality goods, maintain excellent reputations, and stand behind what we sell!"

"Excellent. There are a few things I’d like to purchase from you."

"Purchase? Buy?"

Zahaid shook his head vigorously.

"I’m afraid ordinary buying and selling is no longer our preferred approach. We’ve adopted a new marketing model."

"A new model?" Evenson asked cautiously. "What model?"

Before Zahaid could answer, a catchy electronic jingle suddenly filled the air.

The Riftwalker spread his arms and adopted the bright, polished tone of a professional game-show host.

"The Ethereal Royal Casino is now open! Riftwalker Zahaid is dealing live! Want to gamble for armor, outfits, accessories, necklaces, jewelry, or relics? We’ve got everything you could possibly want! And with a little luck, you might even pull a Legendary!"

Evenson’s face immediately darkened.

"Gambling..."

He narrowed his eyes.

"I don’t gamble."

For all his faults, Evenson considered himself a remarkably virtuous Warlock. He stayed away from the classic vices of sex, gambling, and drugs.

Gambling was particularly unappealing.

He’d never trusted his own luck.

No, that wasn’t quite right. He’d never trusted the idea that these games of chance could be a reliable way to make money.

He was unlucky enough without deliberately paying people to exploit it.

"Come on, seriously?"

Zahaid looked at him as though he’d just announced that he’d never heard of money.

For some reason, Ethereals seemed to possess an almost instinctive love of commerce. Perhaps their transformation by the Void had severed their connection to so many ordinary pleasures that they needed a business to fill the emptiness.

Whatever the explanation, Zahaid was not about to give up on his preferred sales method.

"I’ve been living on Earth long enough to keep up with the times! You can’t cling to outdated ideas forever. This new approach is exciting. You never know what you’re going to get!"

Exciting and unpredictable?

Evenson snorted.

With his luck, the only thing he’d get was the excitement of losing everything.

"I’m still not gambling."

"But this is how we sell equipment now!" Zahaid protested. "I can’t simply change the rules whenever a customer asks. It would damage my reputation and hurt my business."

He seemed genuinely distressed at the prospect of making an exception.

Evenson, however, suddenly brightened.

"Who said I wanted equipment?"

Zahaid froze.

Then he began circling Evenson, inspecting him from every angle as though he’d encountered a rare species.

"You don’t want equipment?"

"That’s right."

Evenson took his time explaining what he actually needed.

"I know the Ethereals possess some very advanced technology. Advanced by my standards, at least. I don’t know how impressive it is by yours."

He paused before stating his request.

"I’m looking for biosphere dome technology. Do you think you could acquire it and sell it to me?"

Zahaid fell silent.

For the first time since the conversation began, he looked genuinely uncertain.

"That technology does exist," he admitted. "But I don’t have it on hand. I’ll need to contact some associates, and the transaction may have to pass through several intermediaries."

"As long as the technology is genuine, works as advertised, and comes with a warranty, I don’t mind how many hands it passes through."

Evenson was perfectly comfortable with the arrangement.

Zahaid, however, raised a finger.

"There is one complication. Every intermediary adds their own margin. The technology is already expensive, and if the deal passes through several hands, the final price could be considerably higher."

"Fine. How much do you want, and what sort of payment are you willing to accept?"

Evenson sounded unconcerned.

Zahaid shrugged.

"Definitely not US dollars. Why don’t you tell me what you have available? And just so we’re clear, we’re not demons. I’m not interested in soul fragments."

Evenson smiled.

"I happen to own a planet."

Zahaid immediately became attentive.

"It once supported life, though most of that life has gone extinct. Fortunately, its ecosystem is still intact. And a planet that developed a biosphere should have plenty of mineral resources."

Evenson spread his hands.

"I haven’t conducted a proper survey, so I can’t tell you exactly what’s down there. But I’ll let you choose any site you want."

Zahaid’s attention sharpened further.

"There’s one condition," Evenson added. "You choose the location, and whatever valuable resources you find belong entirely to you. If you strike a rich deposit, I won’t demand a share. But if you dig around and find absolutely nothing, don’t expect a refund or compensation from me."

Zahaid chuckled.

"That’s essentially blind prospecting. You’re asking me to gamble on what lies underground, aren’t you?"

He glanced at Evenson with amusement.

"Didn’t you just say you don’t gamble?"

Evenson answered without missing a beat.

"I’m not gambling. You are."

Zahaid fell silent, considering the offer.

Then he made his demand.

"All right. I want a claim covering an area of one hundred and fifty thousand square kilometers."

"Fine."

Evenson agreed immediately, then raised a finger.

"But you can’t excavate deeper than twelve hundred meters, and you have no more than one year to complete the operation."

The conditions were absurdly demanding.

Mining an area of one hundred and fifty thousand square kilometers within a single year was practically impossible, especially with a strict depth limit.

Yet Zahaid didn’t hesitate.

"Deal."

And just like that, Evenson had found himself a business partner.

...