NOVEL NEXT Chapter 23: A Deal In Blood And Gold
The moon hung high over the dense, fog-laden outskirts of Aradorn, its pale glow barely cutting through the oppressive darkness.
In the depths of a ruined fortress—long abandoned after a noble family's disgrace—some men had gathered in the crumbling great hall.
It was once a place of feasts and luxurious ceremonies; the hall now served a far… grimmer purpose.
Dim lanterns flickered against the damp stone walls, casting shadows over the men seated around a warped wooden table.
The scent of damp wood, sweat, and something far more… foul lingered in the air.
These were the heads of various slave-trading factions, men who thrived in the underbelly of society, profiting off the suffering of others.
The worst of the worst.
Despite their chosen profession, they were not mindless brutes. Each of them had a well-known reputation, a story of survival, ambition, and ruthlessness that had kept them alive in a world where the strong devoured the weak.
At the head of the table sat Jarvin Krull, a thick-necked man with grizzled facial features. His forehead was marked by a jagged scar from a past encounter with a runaway slave.
He was the unofficial leader of the operation, a man whose business empire had been built on the back of deception and iron-fisted control.
To his left sat Oswald Greaves, a sharp-eyed smuggler who had made a fortune transporting illicit goods—and now, people.
His business acumen and knowledge of secret routes had made him indispensable. He idly tapped his fingers against the table, a half-smirk on his lips.
Across from them sat Marven "Red-Tooth" Haskel. His nickname was earned from his unsettling habit of chewing on a strip of dried bloodroot bark, staining his teeth crimson.
He was a specialist in breaking rebellious slaves, particularly mages, who required more... delicate handling.
And finally, sitting with the vibe of a guy who gave no fucks, was Viado Kellis, a man of noble birth who had fallen from grace, now using his former connections to grease the wheels of their operations within Aradorn's upper circles.
He was the reason high-ranking officials turned a blind eye, the reason why rescue forces were getting… really sloppy.
Oswald let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his seat.
"Who would've thought? The minor villages of Aradorn, crawling with lost little lambs. Nobles' children, merchants' brats, even a few young adventurers. And no one's raising a damn finger to stop it. Either people are getting dumber, or we're getting better."
Jarvin snorted. "It ain't that they're dumber, it's that they don't want to believe it's happening. The kingdom's got its fair share of disappearances already—mercenary bands wiping each other out, blood mage activity, beasts attacking traders on the roads. We slip a few more bodies into the pile, and the city guards just write it off as another unlucky soul."
Viado, who had been swirling a goblet of wine in one hand, chuckled dryly.
"And why wouldn't they? Most of them are underpaid, and those who aren't are paid by me." He took a slow sip. "It's truly astounding how little it takes to buy a man's silence. A pouch of gold here, a favor there, and suddenly, the so-called 'justice system' finds itself blind and deaf."
Marven let out a grunt as he smiled, spitting a sliver of bloodroot onto the floor.
"But we gotta be careful. Too much success draws eyes. There was a time when we had to be real fucking careful—just the sick, the forgotten, the poor. No one misses them. But this new demand..."
He let out a dry chuckle, flashing his red-stained teeth. "Hell, I won't complain. More hands to break, more coin in my pocket. But it ain't like the old days, when you could just drag a man off the street and toss him in chains."
Oswald raised an eyebrow. "Old days? You saying the game's gotten harder?"
Marven shook his head. "Nah. It's gotten bigger. Back when we started, we were scraping by, snatching desperate beggars and runaway debtors. Now we're pulling trained adventurers off the road, and some of them know how to bite. If it weren't for the mage-restraining collars and the enchanted chains we started using last year, half our stock would've burned us alive before we could even get 'em to market."
Jarvin grunted, cracking his knuckles. "And that's exactly why we got people like Viado making sure those collars keep rolling in. Those damn mages get any funny ideas, and snap—all their fancy spells go nowhere."
Viado smiled. "A small price to pay for continued success. Enchanters don't ask questions when they're paid well."
The conversation was interrupted by a rhythmic knock against the heavy doors at the far end of the chamber. The sound echoed through the hall, silencing all chatter.
The doors creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.
He was clad in a long black coat, the fabric strangely devoid of any reflection even under the lanterns' glow. His face was obscured by a hood, but beneath it, two piercing violet eyes gleamed—like twin shards of twilight.
The air shifted the moment he entered, an invisible pressure settling over the room. Even experienced men like Jarvin and Marven felt their instincts prickling, an unspoken warning curling at the edges of their senses.
This was not a man to be trifled with.
The stranger strode forward, yet strangely, his footsteps were soundless, as if the very earth refused to acknowledge his presence.
"Good," he said, his voice vibrating in this strange tone that made him sound like some kind of ghoul. A tone that sent shivers down the spine.
"I see you have done as I asked."
He tossed a massive and really heavy pouch onto the table, the clinking of gold as some spewed onto the table echoing in the silence.
"A fine payment," Viado murmured, picking up the pouch and feeling its weight. "But forgive my curiosity, my lord—why the sudden need for so many? Our usual clientele is... selective. You, however, seem to have no preference. Nobles, peasants, fighters, scholars—you take them all as long as they have good mana capacity."