Chapter 125: A Bargain in the Night
Chapter 125: A Bargain in the Night
The meeting concluded not long after, and Raven returned to the Knights’ Quarters around nine in the evening.
To his surprise, a knight of House Ironford stood waiting at the entrance.
‘Oh? A peak Radiant realm.’
The man was tall—nearly six feet—with blonde hair and striking red eyes. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, his posture straight and disciplined.
“Sir Thomas,” the knight said with a respectful bow. “Lord Solomon requests your presence.”
Raven frowned slightly. “I met him this morning. What matter remains unresolved?”
The knight offered no explanation.
“I will come shortly,” Raven said calmly.
He entered his quarters first.
Closing the door behind him, he touched the necklace resting against his chest. A faint glow shimmered as he summoned Solis.
The crystalline owl materialized silently.
“Fly to the mansion,” he instructed.
Moments later, his vision shifted.
Through Solis’s eyes, he soared across the night sky and slipped through an open window on the second floor of the Ironford estate.
He scanned the grand hall.
Empty guest chambers.
It was quiet.
Then—
A bedroom on the second floor.
Lord Solomon sat at the edge of the bed, speaking with an olive-skinned elderly woman. Her posture was rigid, her expression strained with anger.
“So,” the woman said sharply, “you intend to shift your support toward the Rebel Prince because he gave you an artifact with a healing spell?”
Solomon’s expression remained controlled, though fatigue lined his features.
“I am not shifting allegiance lightly,” he replied. “But you saw what happened last night.”
His gaze hardened.
“If your sister had persuaded His Highness Abel to dispatch even one Mystic Knight, the assassins would not have pressed us to the brink.”
The woman gave him an intense glare.
“She could not have anticipated an assassination,” she said defensively. “Had she known, she would have sent aid.”
Solomon exhaled slowly, frustration barely restrained.
He loosened his robe and revealed his torso.
The skin appeared whole.
But faint discolourations were traced across his abdomen.
“You see a healed body,” he said quietly. “But my internal organs are unstable. Without a Rank-Four healing potion, I cannot fight.”
His voice lowered further.
“If Prince Raven had not intervened… if he had not slain Jace when he did… our house—and the allied forces from the Spade Council—would have been annihilated.”
“He is just an illegitimate child. Just give him some gold, why break the good relationship with my sister? There is no way I will agree to your words.” She gritted her teeth.
Solomon’s eyes turned colder.
“We sent multiple requests for reinforcement. Your sister knew I was injured. She knew our defenses were weakened. But she did not even send a reply.”
The woman said nothing but stood firm on her decision.
The air between them grew heavy.
After observing long enough, Raven withdrew his focus.
“Solis. Return.”
The crystalline owl slipped back into the night, and Raven opened his eyes in his darkened chamber.
Now he understood why Solomon had summoned him again.
…
Raven met the knight waiting at the reception hall of the Knights’ Quarters and followed him to the Count’s mansion without further questions.
After entering the estate and greeting the butler, he was escorted once again to a guest chamber.
This time, however, the knight who had summoned him entered as well and took position behind Raven’s seat, standing silently like a guard.
Raven said nothing.
He picked up the newspaper resting on the tea table and began flipping through it as though the situation were entirely ordinary.
A maid entered quietly and served him a cup of tea.
Several minutes passed.
Then the door opened.
Lord Solomon stepped inside, dressed in a grey night robe. His hair appeared slightly disheveled, but his expression remained composed.
Raven folded the newspaper, rose to his feet, and bowed.
“Forgive me for summoning you again so soon after the meeting, Sir Thomas,” Solomon said as he took the seat opposite him.
“I am honored to meet you again, My Lord,” Raven replied calmly before sitting down at Solomon’s gesture.
Silence lingered between them.
After a few moments, Raven spoke first.
“May I ask the reason for Your Lordship’s summons?”
Instead of answering immediately, Solomon tapped lightly on the armrest.
“I observed something during the assassination,” he said at last. “You addressed His Highness Raven as ‘senior’ rather than using formal honorifics.”
His gaze sharpened.
“I also learned from Lady Rowena that you received prior warning from him.”
A brief pause.
“As I stated earlier, I have no interest in prying into your personal relationship.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“But I require your assistance in arranging a meeting. Inform His Highness that I must speak with him regarding a matter of urgency.”
For a split second, Raven’s pupils contracted.
Then his expression returned to calm neutrality.
‘Though Solomon seems genuine and a good guy, I can’t place complete trust in him.’
“His Highness anticipated this request,” Raven replied evenly. “He instructed me to handle the matter on my own.”
Solomon’s brows lifted slightly.
“Then allow me to explain.”
He loosened his robe.
Darkened wounds covered his chest and abdomen.
At first glance, they appeared sealed —but upon closer inspection, the flesh at the edges was slowly blackening and peeling back, as though rotting from within.
“The armor’s engraved spell healed the surface injuries and temporarily suppressed the corruption,” Solomon said. “That is the only reason I was able to cast spells during the battle.”
He looked directly at Raven.
“But its effect has faded. The wounds are reopening.”
Raven stepped closer.
The smell of decay was faint — but unmistakable.
“Have you attempted a Rank-Four healing potion?” Raven asked.
“I have,” Solomon replied. “It slowed the deterioration slightly. Nothing more.”
He exhaled.
“Such potions are rare and ruinously expensive. I consumed one after the battle. I have two remaining. At this rate, even those will not suffice.”
His voice grew heavier.
“To fully recover, I would likely require a Pseudo-Legendary restorative — something capable of reviving a dying man.”
Raven studied the wounds carefully and found nothing abnormal.
‘No. I'd better check once more.’ This time, he activated the ‘Mind Web’ spell and observed the wounds using a spiritual scan.
“Spiritual Scan?” Solomon widened his eyes.
Raven only smiled as his mind split into four and observed the wound at the minute level.
As he probed for a few minutes, he finally sensed it.
It was a familiar energy.
The same trace he had once felt near Jovie.
[There is nether energy embedded throughout the damaged tissue,] Zera’s voice echoed within his mind. [This is not mere injury. It is a curse.]
Raven’s expression sharpened.
‘Healing alone won’t solve this. The curse must be broken first,’ he thought.
To corrupt a Rank-Four Mystic, the caster must be at least Rank-Four as well.
Lower-ranked spells would be useless.
Alchemy would fail unless the root curse was removed.
Raven straightened.
“My Lord,” he said calmly, “this is not an ordinary wound.”
Solomon’s gaze intensified.
“It is a nether curse, My Lord. Simple healing will not cure you,” Raven continued. “The curse must be neutralized first — either by a wizard proficient in curse-breaking and dark arts… or by a sufficiently powerful light-based purification spell capable of burning away the corruption without destroying healthy tissue.”
Solomon’s eyes widened slightly.
“None of the alchemists I consulted identified that,” he said slowly.
Raven did not respond.
“So,” Solomon murmured, “I require the assistance of a Raynor.”
“That would be one solution,” Raven acknowledged.
Solomon fell into thought, then bowed his head slightly.
“I understand.”
Raven retrieved the battleplate armor and placed it before him.
“The engraved spell can still suppress the deterioration temporarily,” he said. “Use it until a proper solution is secured.”
Solomon looked at him for a long moment.
“You have solved a mystery that baffled every physician and alchemist in my domain,” he said quietly. “I owe you more than gratitude.”
“I merely fulfilled my duty,” Raven replied.
Solomon’s eyes narrowed faintly.
“Name your price.”
Raven hesitated and soon made up his mind.
“If Your Lordship truly wishes to repay this favor,” he said, “then when the appropriate time arrives… lend your support to His Highness.”
The request hung in the air.
Solomon did not answer immediately.
But neither did he refuse.
Raven bowed.
“I will take my leave.”
He exited the guest chamber calmly, leaving behind a wounded count — and a decision that would shape the future balance of power.
…
[You could’ve asked for a better reward, lad.] Zera said as he returned to the Knights’ Quarters.
‘No. Getting the support of Count House is a hundred times better. I’m only two counts in. Still far from enough.’
While thinking, he entered his room and thought about the reward Count Andres granted him.
The title granted to him — wartime operational commander of Oakvale — was no small matter. Yet he was fully aware of the cost attached to it.
Several nobles had not concealed their displeasure.
Most notably, Baronet Ares.
Unlike House Holmes, the Sinclair Family, and the Amell Family, Baronet Ares was a hereditary minor noble formally recognized by the Crown, though not a peer of the realm. While he held no seat among barons or counts, his lineage still placed him socially above knight houses.
And now he was expected to follow Thomas Holmes’ operational command.
That would not sit well.
As he considered the situation, he summoned Jacob and instructed him to gather the knights in the reception hall.
[Congratulations on taking the first step toward nobility, lad.] Zera’s voice echoed faintly in his mind.
Raven’s expression did not change.
“It is not worth celebrating yet,” he replied inwardly. “Unless I secure a decisive victory, this appointment will become a liability rather than an honor.”
He had felt it — the cold gazes as he left the hall.
Not everyone welcomed his rise.
Oakvale would not merely be a defensive assignment.
It would be a test.
He rose and made his way to the reception hall. His knights had already assembled under Jacob’s direction. Members from allied knight houses were present as well, observing quietly.
Raven paid them no attention and walked directly toward his own men.
The moment they saw him, they knelt on one knee in unison.
“My lord.”
“We depart Gearford by morning,” Raven said calmly. “We march for Oakvale. Prepare the horses and supplies by early morning.”
There was no hesitation.
The young knights rose at once and moved out in disciplined silence.
Jacob lingered even after the younger knights dispersed.
“My Lord…” he began hesitantly. “Why are we departing so suddenly? What happened during the meeting?”
Raven did not answer immediately.
He turned and walked down the corridor toward his chamber. His steps were steady, unhurried.
Only after ensuring no servants or wandering knights were within earshot did he finally speak.
“This city is no longer safe for us.”
Jacob stiffened.
“After today’s announcement,” Raven continued calmly, “I have been placed in a position that many will resent. Openly, they will congratulate me. Privately, they will calculate.”
He paused briefly.
“In war, threats rarely come from the front.”
Jacob’s expression darkened.
“You suspect internal trouble?”
“I suspect ambition,” Raven replied evenly. “That is enough.”
He resumed walking.
“Oakvale may appear insignificant,” he went on, his tone turning analytical. “It lies near enemy-held territory, yet it remains untouched.”
“Because it is not worth taking,” Jacob said slowly.
“Exactly.”
Raven nodded faintly.
“It is a defensive town with limited economic value. Two iron mines. No major trade artery. No primary rail or land route connecting it to larger cities.”
He glanced toward the distant skyline of Gearford through the corridor window.
“Capturing it would cost the enemy time and manpower while yielding little strategic advantage.”
Jacob understood.
“It is safer than remaining here.”
“For now,” Raven replied.
After his clash with Jace, he no longer underestimated unpredictability. War turned alliances brittle and loyalty conditional.
Better to control a frontier than sit in a court thick with calculation.
“Also, go to the best blacksmith shop and buy a new set of equipment for all,” Raven said while giving him around 500 gold coins.
“Yes, My Lord.” Jacob nodded.
That evening, Raven personally visited Viscountess Rowena and Baroness Elara to inform them of his departure at dawn.
Both expressed surprise, but neither attempted to dissuade him.
Before sunrise, the courtyard of the Knights’ Quarters stirred with movement.
Armor fastened and horses saddled.
Raven mounted his horse without ceremony.
With Jacob and his knights riding behind him, he departed Gearford City in the pale light of early morning — heading toward Oakvale.
…