The maid, dressed in an elegant, finely tailored uniform, set the tray on the table. Three porcelain cups sat in neat rows. Steam curled in soft ribbons as she poured the tea from a ceramic kettle, carrying the aroma of herbs through the room. Then, she placed the cups, first for her master, then for the two guests.

  “Please,” she said with a warm smile as she looked up, and her aquamarine eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, met Viktor’s for a fleeting moment.

  How the hell did all this happen?

  The plan had been simple. Claire and the others made enough noise to draw attention while his little spy slipped into the caravan station’s top floor. That was it. But somehow, before he could fully process what the hell was going on, he and Claire had found themselves not only inside Rennald’s personal coach, which had taken them to his estate, but now in the Overseer’s private study, being served tea by his servant.

  “Thank you, Agnes,” said the master of the house, sitting comfortably across the table.

  The maid inclined her head, then quietly excused herself, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

  “Be at home,” Rennald said as he lifted his cup and took a sip.

  Claire wrapped her fingers around her own cup, staring at the polished surface of the table. Viktor, on the other hand, did not touch his drink yet. Instead, he let his gaze roam the room, cataloging every single detail.

  One wall was lined with tall shelves, crammed with books of every shape, size, and color. The hearth burned quietly on the opposite side, filling the study with a gentle warmth that contrasted sharply with the winter air’s lingering chill that still clung to their clothes. A wide window looked out onto the estate’s inner garden, though at this hour it reflected only the dim glow of the room and the deepening blue of the evening sky. Near the window, a broad desk of dark oak stood solemnly, while a low table and several cushioned chairs claimed the space near the cackling hearth, the very place they were occupying right now.

  Above them, framed and carefully mounted on the ceiling, hung a large map. Interestingly, what it showed was something that no longer existed. It was a snapshot of a past long vanished, depicting the Central Plains as they had been three hundred years ago, when the wood hadn’t completely swallowed them yet. Even though the content was old, the map itself was not. It must have been commissioned recently, copied from some older reference.

  Rennald set his cup down, breaking the silence. “So,” he said, his gaze fixed on Claire, “why did Isadora send you?”

  “As I said, she wanted to invite you—”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking why you, specifically. Why did she think you could bring me to the Guild?”

  That’s what I want to know, too.

  This whole mission had been ridiculous from the very beginning. And yet, here they were, invited into the man’s house. That meant Isadora had chosen the right person for the job. Was it a fluke, or did she know something Viktor didn’t?

  “I... don’t know,” Claire said, her fingers brushing the warm porcelain of her cup. “She just told me that I had to do it, and I can’t really disobey.”

  Rennald leaned back on his chair. “Fine, then. Since you’re already here, speak your piece.”

  “Alright.” Claire took a breath, steadying herself. “Guildmaster Isadora has received news that Guildmaster Clovis of Iskora is planning to rebuild the southern part of the old capital city. His new settlement will be closer to the dungeon than our own, and with better infrastructure. It’ll steal all of the successful adventurers and thriving businesses from us. So she wants to talk with you. She hopes we can work together to protect the town’s interests.”

  Rennald didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Not a single muscle in his body moved.

  Only then did the realization strike Claire.

  “You... already knew?”

  “Yes.”

  Figures. Of course there was no way Rennald could have missed it.

  “Then...” Claire’s voice tightened. “What are you going to do about it? Clovis’s new town will hurt your business, too. You should fight him with us. Why... why did you keep refusing to meet the Guildmaster?”

  “Fight back, huh?” Rennald let out a humorless chuckle. “Do you know the Valiant Bank?”

  Well yes, I do, Viktor thought.

  Out of the six so-called Heroes who had conspired to kill him, five had become kings and queens of five great powers: Lyndor, Arstenia, Brefjord, Sargan, Tzharan. The sixth, meanwhile, had decided to create a bank.

  Rennald’s eyes were unflinching as he spoke. “It’s the largest bank in the world, with branches in every major city. It commands an amount of gold greater than the combined wealth of many kingdoms. It has the power to topple a country if it chooses to. That’s what backs Clovis. You want to fight that? Not a chance unless you’re a king. And even then, your odds are still not very great.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Then... what are you going to do?”

  Rennald shrugged. “Well, if you can’t fight them, you’re better joining them.”

  “What?”

  “My brother Hamond is already negotiating a deal with Clovis. And the response has been... positive. In exchange for our cooperation, the interests of my family will be protected. I will maintain control over the trade routes that pass through here, and any new ones established later. The role of the caravan station will remain unchanged, even with his new settlement in place.”

  Claire gaped, utterly speechless. She probably couldn’t accept such a cruel reality, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  Well, then. My turn.

  Viktor looked across the table at Rennald. “So, what do you want from us?”

  The Overseer let out a soft chuckle. “Why do you think I want anything from you? What could you possibly offer me?”

  Viktor’s lips curved into a smile. “Because otherwise, why do we even need this conversation? If you’ve already made up your mind, then none of this is necessary. You could just have had your guards take us away and be done with it. There’s no point in taking us to your home, inviting us to your privy study. Not unless there’s a chance for us to make you reconsider.”

  “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” Rennald said. “Sharper than your age suggests. I still remember you. How you managed to slip into Gideon’s meeting.”

  “You... remember me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? There weren’t many people present to begin with, and someone who was clearly not supposed to be there stood out the most.”

  Yet, the Overseer hadn’t betrayed any hint at the time. During the meeting, he exuded an air of indifference, acting as though everyone was beneath his notice. But it turned out he had been watching all along, weighing every detail, committing everything to his memory. What an old fox. Well, this was the King of Daelin in all but name. He wouldn’t have been able to keep the town firmly under his thumb with anything less.

  Rennald’s gaze fell to the cup on the table. “You’re right,” he said. “I am not entirely comfortable with the way things are going. The interests of my family will be secured, yes, but the town... There’s no way Daelin could compete with Clovis’s new settlement. Either it will crumble, or be absorbed into the New Voskryn.”

  “The town matters to you more than your own family’s wealth?” Viktor asked. “I didn’t think you were the philanthropic type.”

  “I am not,” Rennald replied. “But hear this, boy, Daelin was founded by my great-grandfather. For a century, for generations, we’ve nurtured this town. Built it, expanded it, protected it. And now some outsider tells me to just hand it over? You think I could ever swallow that?”

  “I see. A king is not going to sell his crown. It’s not a matter of price. Some things are just not for sale.”

  “King, huh?” Rennald lifted his gaze, looking at the Central Plains of three hundred years ago. “I know that’s one of the nicknames the townspeople have given me. But I’m no king. Controlling a small town doesn’t make anyone king.”

  Viktor chuckled. “Don’t tell me you want to become the King of the entire Central Plains?”

  “Is it wrong to have that ambition?”

  “No.”

  Rennald’s lips curved. “Many years ago, I asked a man the very same question, and he gave me the very same answer. Funny, isn’t it?”

  Is that so?

  The Overseer continued. “Restoring the Central Plains to its former glory has been my house’s dream for generations. But it has always been beyond our reach. We simply lacked the power. And now, Clovis and the Valiant Bank are here. My brother asked why we don’t just join them. First, Voskryn will be rebuilt. Then, perhaps, the entire Plains will follow. We would no longer be the pioneers, the architects of the restoration, but at least we would be a part of it. True, the development may not follow our vision, but if the Central Plains could be revived—”

  “They don’t care about the Plains, only the dungeon,” Viktor said flatly. “You should have realized by now that Clovis has an abnormal obsession with it. Once he gets what he wants, what then? There’s no predicting what would happen to Daelin afterward.”

  “Yes,” Claire said, nodding earnestly. “If you think you can’t do it alone, that’s all the more reason to work with the Guild. Well, to be honest, I’m not confident we could actually do much, but... at least give Isadora a chance. Talk to her, see what she has to offer.”

  Rennald fell silent for a long moment. Then he said, “There’s one more thing.”

  “Which is?” Claire asked.

  “Gideon’s murder.”

  Oh?

  “I know,” Rennald said, his gaze meeting theirs directly, “that many people in the Guild think that I killed him. Even you might not believe me. But let me tell you this: I didn’t do it.”

  Don’t worry. Viktor chuckled to himself. On this matter, I believe you completely.

  “If you’re concerned that people in the Guild might object to working with you,” Claire said. “I don’t think it’s a big problem. I’m sure Guildmaster Isadora could convince them.”

  “That’s not it,” Rennald said. “I believe someone in the Adventurer’s Guild has murdered Gideon.”

  Claire froze, a flush rising in her cheeks as she struggled to contain the disbelief and anger swelling inside her.

  “What?” she said sharply. “If you’re going to accuse one of my colleagues, you better have damned good evidence.”

  Rennald shrugged. “I have none. But, just think about it, who benefits the most from his death? Not me. The dungeon was unsold, exactly as the Guild wanted.”

  “You...”

  “The killer may be closer to you than you think.”

  Man, you have no idea how right you are.

  “Anyway,” Rennald continued. “It doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not. The point is, I don’t want to work with a murderer. So as long as the culprit hasn’t been found, I’ll refrain from collaborating with the Adventurer’s Guild in any capacity.”

  Once again, Claire was lost for words.

  Damn it, Viktor thought. Is this... how it ends?

  No.

  After all, if that were truly Rennald’s final answer, then this conversation shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

  It looked like... for some weird reason, the Overseer believed that he and Claire could solve the problems. Utterly ridiculous, of course. It defied all kinds of logic. Then again, if logic were to follow, then they wouldn’t have been sitting here.

  In that case...

  “I’m going to find the killer for you,” Viktor said.

  Both Claire and Rennald stared at him.

  “I can’t find them overnight though,” he added. “It’ll take time. A lot of time. But Clovis is coming. So, please... work with the Guild for now. Before it’s too late. I promise, eventually, I’ll find the one who killed Guildmaster Gideon for you.”

  “Are you sure you’re going to do this?” Claire asked.

  “I am,” Viktor said with absolute confidence. Confidence that, given enough time, he would be able to produce a convincing scapegoat.

  “That will put you in danger,” Rennald said.

  Don’t worry. There is no danger whatsoever in this.

  “I can take care of myself,” Viktor said, before turning to Claire. “Are you going to stop me?”

  She sighed. “No. But I’ll do it with you. We’ll find the killer. Together.”

  Viktor turned back Rennald. “So, what’s your decision?”

  The man closed his eyes, tapping a finger against his cup. “Let me think for a few days,” he said. “I’ll send my answer to the Guild at the beginning of next week.”

  Viktor smiled. “Thank you, Overseer.”