Chapter 169: The Valkyrie’s Questions
The Valkyrie’s Questions
"Let’s shake on it." Victor extended his hand that bore the fresh knife cut.
Seeing this, Eon knew what he needed to do.
Using the knife Victor handed him, he lightly cut the palm of his own right hand as well, and their hands clasped.
Blood touched blood.
A pact sealed.
The amber lamps trembled softly as if the fire itself bore witness.
Victor’s voice came low and final.
"The pact has been formed. Your life and everything else is now mine. If you breach this contract formed by blood, then expect to lose everything you have."
Silence followed.
Not ordinary silence.
The kind that comes after fate changes shape.
Even the hardened men gathered along the chamber walls seemed unwilling to breathe too loudly.
Eon had not merely pledged service.
He had offered eternity.
And everyone present knew it.
Lane’s dark eyes lingered on Victor with something like awe hidden beneath possessive affection.
Videl watched with a strange fierce pride.
Brinda leaned back in her chair, purple eyes narrowed, as though reassessing the man she had flirted with moments before.
And Clara—
Clara felt something colder.
A tremor she refused to call fear.
Because what she had just witnessed was no ordinary alliance.
It looked too much like a king receiving fealty.
Then suddenly—
Her hand caught Victor’s wrist.
Firm.
Unexpected.
Lane’s body moved at once, instinct ready to place herself between them, but Victor gave the faintest signal with two fingers.
Stop.
Lane halted.
Reluctantly.
Clara said nothing.
She simply pulled Victor out of the chamber.
Out into the narrow stone hallway where torchlight burned low against damp walls.
The sounds of the den dulled behind heavy doors.
Only the crackle of flame and distant footsteps remained.
Once she was certain no one listened, she turned sharply.
Purple eyes cold as winter steel.
The same eyes Victor had first seen when they met.
The Valkyrie had returned.
"What the hell is this?" Clara’s voice was ice cold.
Victor merely tilted his head.
"What do you mean?" he asked with a small smile, shoulders lifting in a careless shrug.
That smile almost made Clara snap.
"I’m not joking around Victor, tell me what this is all about."
Her stern face, her cutting tone, the rigid tension in her shoulders—
Now it was easy to see why people called her Valkyrie.
Victor looked at her a moment.
Calm.
Almost amused.
"I’m not joking around as well," he said. "I’m telling you I don’t understand your question. You’ve got to be more specific than asking me something as vague as what the hell is this?"
Clara stared at him in disbelief.
This man...
Even now he played with words.
She stepped closer.
"Fine."
Her jaw tightened.
"Tell me Victor... are you the leader of these people?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No embellishment.
Just yes.
As if admitting he ruled part of the underworld was as trivial as stating the weather.
Clara felt her pulse jump.
Then she pressed.
"How long were you the boss of the underworld in Fantom City?"
Victor actually looked thoughtful.
As if searching memory.
"Hm." He tapped his chin lightly. "It was after we finished that dungeon for mine and Lane’s evaluation."
His golden eyes drifted, remembering.
"After we were done with that, some things happened with some slave traders..."
A faint dangerous smile touched his mouth.
"And one thing led to another."
He shrugged again.
"Since they decided to mess with me, I, in turn, decided to just take everything they had."
Clara froze.
That was it?
That was his explanation?
No grand conquest.
No long campaign.
No elaborate ambition confessed.
He had conquered Fantom City’s underworld...
Because people annoyed him.
Because he could.
And somehow Victor said it with such natural ease that it sounded almost reasonable.
Almost.
But Clara was too sharp not to hear what lay beneath the casual phrasing.
I took everything they had.
That was not the language of an adventurer.
That was the language of a conqueror.
Torchlight flickered across his sharp features.
Black hair.
Golden eyes.
The black shirt beneath his gold-trimmed jacket.
He looked young.
Too young.
Yet every word made him feel older.
Ancient almost.
Clara’s throat moved.
She had followed him believing him reckless, arrogant... brilliant perhaps.
But this?
This was something else.
Something vast.
Something she had not measured correctly.
Victor seemed to notice her silence.
He leaned slightly closer.
"What?" he murmured. "You look as though you’ve discovered I have horns."
Against her will Clara almost reacted.
Almost.
Instead she narrowed her eyes.
"This isn’t funny."
Victor’s smile softened.
"No. It isn’t."
For a breath neither spoke.
The silence between them held more than accusation.
It held shifting trust.
And Clara hated that she could feel her certainty unravel.
Because part of her wanted to condemn what he had done.
Another part—
A more dangerous part—
Admired it.
Victor folded his arms.
"You dragged me out here just to ask whether I run the underworld?"
Clara hesitated.
Then quieter—almost against her will—
"Why didn’t you tell me?"
Victor looked genuinely surprised.
"Would you have believed me?"
That answer struck harder than if he had mocked her.
Because she knew.
She wouldn’t have.
And Victor knew she knew.
A faint smirk returned.
"Besides," he added, voice low, "some truths are better shown than spoken."
Clara’s fingers curled.
Damn him.
Every answer only deepened the mystery.
Then she remembered what had started this.
Eon kneeling.
The blood oath.
A kingmaker’s gesture.
Her voice dropped.
"That man just swore his life to you."
Victor’s gaze did not waver.
"Yes."
"You talk as if that’s ordinary."
Victor’s expression turned unreadable.
"Nothing about me is ordinary."
The words should have sounded arrogant.
Instead...
They sounded like fact.
Clara had no answer.
Only a storm of questions.
And when she replayed his earlier explanation—
Some slave traders offended me, so I took everything they had—
Shock returned in full.
The man before her, though he never said it outright...
Practically admitted he conquered Fantom City’s underworld just because he could.