The throne room doors opened with a resonant groan.
The dwarf was brought in, his wrists bound with iron cuffs, beard unkempt, eyes burning. The knights flanking him stepped aside in practiced silence, letting him stand alone once more before the dais—though this time, without his bark.
The throne room was as empty as before, save for the knights standing sentinel along the walls, their armor gleaming faintly in the crystal light, and Ophelia, her expression impatient, at my left.
I relaxed on the throne, head tilted, fingers drumming idly on the armrest.
"How do you feel now?" I asked, voice calm, tone deliberate. "Do you feel safe? Do you feel like you can't be touched?"
The dwarf didn't answer. His eyes met mine with a hard glare, his chin lifted in defiance, but his shoulders were tight. His mouth, though firm, twitched slightly at the corner—I couldn't tell if it was disgust or restraint.
I stood up from the throne, my boots echoing on the stone as I descended the dais.
"Walk with me" I said as I passed him.
He didn't move. His head remained fixed forward, his broad shoulders rigid, as if the very act of turning toward me was beneath him. For someone of his height it was funny, but I paused, turning to face him, my gaze steady. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath his beard, and after a long moment, he grudgingly shuffled forward, his chains rattling as he fell into step beside me.
We left the throne room, the air growing cooler as we stepped into a wide corridor lined with ancient but beautiful carvings that tell stories and victories that I have not care to know. I glanced at the dwarf, his short legs working to match my stride, his eyes darting suspiciously to the shadows.
"To be honest," I said, my tone conversational but edged with intent, "the main reason you were still locked up for these 5 days was not because I wanted to send a message to you. No, I could have easily cut off your hands for that." I let the words hang, watching his reaction. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he kept his gaze forward, his fingers flexing again.
"I left you locked up because your friends demanded or pleaded I let you go," I continued, my voice steady. "I needed them to know that no one tells me what to do, especially in the south"
We emerged onto a stone balcony overlooking the capital city below, the wind sharp and biting. I stopped and turned, looking down at the four-foot-tall dwarf, his full beard whipping slightly in the early morning breeze. "Your time with me is served," I said. "I leave you with two options. You can leave a freeman, of course, without taking my property. Or we can go into an agreement."
"What?" His voice was cracked from disuse, thick and dry, but still full of contempt.
"The rock is mine. That's without doubt." I folded my hands behind my back. "But I can have the whole thing brought to you—yes, I've heard it's massive—for you to work on. In my name. And I will pay you well for your service."
He looked at me suspicious, but there was a slight softening in his posture, a subtle tilt of his head as he considered the offer. His fingers, still bound, twitched less violently now.
"You are right to be wary because I am not the type of person to enter a deal with," I said. "Not a piece of that rock, or what comes from it, goes to anyone but me—not you, not your friends, or whoever. If as much as a sliver goes elsewhere, even if stolen, the death of you and whatever you hold dear would be the least of your worries."
His expression didn't change, but there was something in his eyes— perhaps disdain, but I think more of indifference. He stood taller, as if my threats were mere noise, the kind he had heard several times in his long years of life. Whether he was used to such threats or simply had nothing left to lose, I couldn't tell.
"What do you say?" I asked after a moment of silence, watching him closely.
He tilted his head back, his beard bristling as he forced out a single word: "Why?"
"I might be monstrous to those who cross me but you will find out I treat those who render services more than fairly"
"That's not what I meant," he growled, his voice low, his eyes boring into mine.
I smiled. Of course I knew that, but I needed to say that.
I chuckled, letting the sound carry a hint of warmth to ease the tension.
"I know the worth of that stone, because I have seen the product of it" I said, then I turned to him again. "And I know what you are worth. I'm generous to things or people of incredible worth"
"If they are subservient to you"
I laughed. "No," I said, still smiling. "If they are loyal to the agreement. Even I am bound by that rule."
I extended my hand, palm open. "Do you want to, or should I look for someone a little inferior to you?"
His eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face. "I would not shake your hands," he said, his voice hard, his shoulders squaring again. "But I would agree to your words."
I shook my head. "No," I said firmly. "You do it this way, or I look for someone else."
His jaw worked silently. His eyes burned with resentment, but slowly, grudgingly, he lifted his bound hands. The chains clinked as he extended one, his grip firm but reluctant, his fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer indignity of the act. Our hands met briefly, his calloused palm rough against mine, before he pulled away as if burned.
"I have made arrangement for you and the rock's transportation," I said, stepping back. "You should be in your city in two days."
He said nothing. No bow, no nod, just a final glare before he turned, his chains rattling as he followed the knight waiting at the balcony's edge. His broad back was rigid, his steps heavy with defiance, as he disappeared into the corridor without a backward glance.
I turned away. High-grade weapons more or less secured—unless he is of the enemy, which means I just strengthened the enemy.
I would be keeping a close eye on this one.
┌─────── ♕ ───────┐
The private kitchen smelled of roasted garlic and boiled marrow.
The young moose-kin was bound— heavy iron clamps across her limbs, torso, and forehead, holding her to the oak butcher's table like a specimen. It creaked beneath her bulk, barely holding. The bindings were not rough; they were smooth, almost ceremonial. Her chest rose in shallow, panicked gasps. Muffled cries vibrated against the leather strap cinched tight across her mouth.
"I told him it wouldn't hold," said the man with the knife, his tone dry. He stepped beside the table and placed a boot against her thigh, adjusting his grip. "Twelve bolts through old timber? Not with this season's rains."
The other man chuckled. "That shed was doomed anyway. Half the roof's moss."
A clean chop. The woman convulsed, her scream swallowed whole. Blood spurted onto the tiled floor. Neither man reacted.
"Should've torn it down years ago," the second said, reaching for a slice of bread on a nearby tray. "Moss gets in your lungs. My uncle died coughing up green."
"Mmm." The first man turned with the severed leg and walked to the second table, stepping around a scullery girl who was hauling a sack of onions.
Behind them, a priestess muttered softly, one hand pressed against the bleeding stump. New flesh stirred.
The man set the leg down, bent the knee until it cracked, and began separating bone from joint with practiced ease.
"You still going to the festival?" his companion asked.
"Depends. If Mira's cooking, no. Last year she undercooked the liver."
He peeled the skin from the thigh like bark from a tree, then made deep cuts to slide the femur free. A small boy walked past with a tray of root vegetables, barely glancing at the table.
"Fair. That woman couldn't roast a turnip with a salamander's tongue."
The chunks of meat landed in the pot with a hiss.
Behind them, the Demi-woman's new leg was already beginning to form—raw, trembling, wet.
The nobles were already eating when the old servant entered. Not a pause. Not a glance.
He moved fast, keeping his head low, hands steady. One plate. Two. Another. The meat—dark, rich, glistening with fat—landed before ringed fingers and idle conversation.
"…there's little choice," came the thick voice of the house head from the far end of the table. "We will have to find a way to gain control of the Silver Vein Route."
The Silver Vein Route runs east from Drakoria's forgotten mines through the mountain passes toward Cremia to be shipped mostly to the Dwarf kingdom. Back in the day it was fested with bandits.
The servant didn't look up. Just moved to the next noble, placing the meat beside a half-eaten pastry, then another. He didn't want to linger, didn't want to hear more than he already had.
"I don't know why we are assuming he will succeed," said another noble. "Even if he somehow wipes out years of accumulated demons—which would cost him plenty of good soldiers at a time like this—he will still have to deal with the daily surges."
"But if he does succeed," a third noble added between mouthfuls, "it would be good for the towns along the route. I see why they support him. They became ghost towns after the route lost its purpose"
"That is not the case with towns around the mine" another noble said. "The hike in attacks, anytime the cave is disturbed, affects them the most, so expect a pushback."
"He is not one to push back agai—"
The house lord slammed his fist against the table. A spoon skittered to the floor. Goblets rattled. Wine spilled. The servant flinched, nearly dropping a plate, heart thudding in his chest.
"I'm talking about real issues," the lord barked. "And you bring up peasants? Do you not understand what's at stake?!"
The servant did.
He bent lower, moving faster now. He already knew what they were talking about.
The house lord had been a general in Drakoria's army until recently, with the eastern mines within control. Now, the Drakoria king was poised to reclaim the silver mines in the first week of the new year, wresting it from demon control. A demon-held silver mine had allowed men like the lord to exploit its riches, dangerous schemes that cost lives but kept him afloat after the war stripped him of everything. If the king succeed, the lord's illicit gains would dry up.
That must be why a high noble like Anton Von Rüzgar is here. But it most likely have to do with the recent rumors from the king of massive crystal deposit in the demon forest.
This wasn't just dinner.
It was the start of an alliance.
Anton Von Rüzgar would have been leader in the transaction, since that's his family's business for generations, that's how they made their wealth, but he rebelled against the king with Ulric Von Hohenberg so they must be here to talk about how to gather resources to bring down the king or limit control.
The servant knew if he dare raise his head he would recognize another exiled noble from Drakoria whose interest is under siege by the king.
His hand trembled as he laid the last plate. This is very dangerous politics, one he knew very well would cost him his head so he hurried out, but he had already heard too much.