Chapter 1078 - 1077: A Merchant’s Last Gift

"May I ask where you got that ring?"

Simon froze for a moment.

Then he glanced at the Miser’s Ring and looked back at Zarven.

A second later, his expression became calm.

"So you recognize it."

"I do. It looks like the one my nephew..." Zarven paused, then shook his head. "No. It definitely belonged to my brother’s son. I’ve only ever seen one ring like that. It’s unique."

Simon’s brows rose slightly.

’Zaglur was a member of the Varn family?’

"A Daegrin named Zaglur gave it to me."

Zarven closed his eyes.

"Just as I feared. I was right."

Simon watched his fingers curl against the desk.

"Don’t misunderstand, Lord Varn. I didn’t kill him."

The First Merchant opened his eyes.

"Then what happened?"

"Do you remember when I told you a powerful demon destroyed my tribe?"

Zarven’s expression darkened before Simon finished.

"It was Zaglur."

For a while, only the faint sounds from the harbor reached them.

"Tell me what happened," Zarven said.

"He came to our tribe to trade. During a disturbance, someone stole a treasure from his table. I noticed and took it from the thief."

"You stole from the thief?"

Simon nodded.

"Zaglur was watching him, not me."

The memory returned easily. The crowd, the stolen treasure hidden beneath his clothes, the effort it took to walk home without looking back.

Back then, getting away from that table had felt like an enormous achievement.

"What treasure?" Zarven asked.

"I’m afraid I can’t tell you that."

Their eyes met.

Eventually, Zarven nodded for him to continue.

"He caught the first thief. But questioning him didn’t get the treasure back, because I already had it."

Simon described what followed. The tribal chief’s death. The reward Zaglur announced. The fighting that spread through the Duskfang Tribe as neighbors broke into one another’s homes.

"He didn’t need to destroy every building himself," Simon said. "He offered enough money, and the tribe tore itself apart looking for me."

Zarven tapped his fingers against the table but a frustrated expression could be seen on his face.

"And your mother..."

"She brought me to him. Twenty low-grade Infernal Crystals."

Simon’s voice remained even.

"I woke up in chains. He paid her, took me away, and put a slave collar around my neck."

Zarven looked at the ring again.

Perhaps he was finding it difficult to connect that account with the gift Simon now wore.

"He had promised the treasure to the Shadowgrave Clan," Simon continued. "After we left the tribe, we found his caravan. His guards and the beasts pulling it had been killed."

"The Shadowgrave Clan?"

"Yes. TheVelaris were waiting."

Simon recounted the ambush. Four attackers, Zaglur’s fury when he realized his own buyers had betrayed him, and the battle that followed.

He kept the treasure’s nature out of it.

They had wanted it. That was enough for Zarven to know.

"He fought back with his artifacts and killed two of them. But one managed to stab him through the heart."

Zarven’s hand stopped beside his cup.

"He had an artifact that could heal his injuries, couldn’t he heal himself with it?"

"Not from that weapon. Whatever he tried, the damage kept getting worse."

Simon remembered the golden light spreading through Zaglur’s body.

He didn’t elaborate.

"Before he died, he brought out a lantern that suppressed their shadows. Then he used a silver bead to open a spatial crack beside me."

"To escape?"

"For me to escape."

Zarven looked up.

"After everything he had done to you?"

"He didn’t want the people who betrayed him to get what they wanted."

A faint, bitter smile crossed the First Merchant’s face.

"Yes. That sounds like him."

"He took this ring off his left hand, severed his connection to it, and threw it to me. He told me how to bind it."

Simon turned his hand slightly.

"He wanted me to have a better chance of surviving."

"And did you escape?"

"No. A Grave Lord appeared in front of the spatial crack."

The helplessness of that moment returned with unpleasant clarity.

His broken arm. The masked demon blocking the only way out.

"I hadn’t even awakened my demon heart and Chaos Flame. There was nowhere I could go."

Zarven listened without interrupting.

"The Grave Lord finished him off. Then the Shadowgrave Clan took me."

Zarven lowered his gaze.

The suspicion in his eyes had eased, but there was no satisfaction in its place. He leaned back, rubbing his brow.

"We knew he had died but we never heard this much about his final moments."

Simon let him collect himself.

"He never liked remaining in Vhal-Sar," Zarven said eventually. "His father would offer him a shop, a trading hall, anything that might keep him here. Zaglur always had somewhere else to go."

His mouth curved briefly.

"Some ruin nobody had properly searched. A tribe with something unusual to sell. A rumor he refused to let another merchant investigate first."

Simon glanced outside and spoke.

"I guess he was a wandering merchant."

"A true one."

Zarven looked toward the map behind his desk.

"He caused his father and me more trouble than I care to remember. But every time he returned, he brought something worth showing us."

The faint smile disappeared.

"His father kept expecting another message from him. Another request for money to fund some ridiculous expedition."

Simon said nothing.

It was strange hearing Zaglur described like this.

He remembered a powerful merchant who had watched a tribe destroy itself. Zarven remembered a troublesome nephew who no longer came home.

Both were the same demon.

"What he did to your tribe was cruel," Zarven said. "I won’t ask you to pretend otherwise because he was family."

"He also tried to save me at the end," Simon replied. "I haven’t forgotten that."

Zarven nodded slowly.

His eyes returned to the ring.

"It was his to give. Keep it."

Simon inclined his head.

’Not like I planned on returning it even if you asked.’

Though he had this thought, he definitely wont say it to avoid a fight or discontentment.

There was something else he wanted to ask.

"Why didn’t the Daegrins avenge him?"

Zarven’s expression changed.

"Your people don’t usually let something like that pass," Simon continued. "I’ve heard enough to know that."

"We didn’t want to let it pass."

"Then why?"

"The Dominion."

The faint red markings along Zarven’s temples brightened.

"My brother wanted to leave the moment we learned Zaglur was dead. He wanted answers, and he wanted the killers found."

"But you stopped him."

"I asked him how many people we could afford to send. How many artifacts we could spare. What we would do if our enemies attacked while those people were elsewhere."

Simon frowned.

"We have lost more than Zaglur," Zarven continued. "Every grieving family deserves an answer. But pursuing all those killers now would weaken the people we have left."

His voice grew cold.

"When this is over, if Vhal-Sar survives, we will find them. Every force and every demon that murdered our people will answer for it. The Dominion has delayed that but it hasn’t changed it."

Simon studied him.

There was nothing impulsive about the anger in his voice.

"How long has this been going on? Between you and The Dominion."

"More than two years."

"Two years?"

"Not all of it like this." Zarven gestured toward the window. "At first, it was indirect pressure. Some of our trades disrupted. Merchants were threatened. Demands passed through other people."

He paused.

"We knew enough to be careful. We began holding back resources and keeping more of our strongest people close to the city."

"And the attack that nearly broke The Wall?"

"Last year. That was when the pressure became an open assault. Then came the beast tides."

Simon looked out toward the harbor.

More than two years.

He had arrived expecting a recent crisis. Instead, the Daegrins had been enduring this while maintaining their city, their trade, and the appearance of ordinary life.

The four protectors and The Wall had kept them alive. Their treasures had helped.

But lasting this long against an organization of Daemons was impressive nevertheless.

"I didn’t realize it had been that long."

"Most visitors don’t."

Zarven reached into a drawer and took out a small communication token.

"You’re ready to meet the protectors?"

Simon nodded.

"More than ever."

The token glowed as Zarven sent his message. Then he called for an escort.

A guard appeared at the door shortly afterward.

"Take our guest to the Harbor Watch Hall."

The guard bowed.

Simon rose.

At the doorway, Zarven spoke once more.

"Blackmoon."

He turned.

"Thank you for telling me."

Simon glanced at the ring.

"He wanted me to live. Whatever his reasons were, I’m here."

Zarven’s shoulders eased slightly.

"Yes. You are."

Simon left the office and joined the waiting guard.

As they crossed the glass bridge toward the southern terrace, he looked past the ships to The Wall.

It was time to meet the two protectors.