Chapter 17: Chapter 17: Deals

Chapter 17: Deals

Her mood had quieted by the time she walked the corridor back into the main hall. At least the fire of her anger was gone for now. The visit to the bank had been an unpleasant surprise, but better to face such truths now than later, Lily decided.

At least she had gotten some answers.

First: the world of Xantia and this one were so similar it was no longer a question if she was in the game. Her guild, and probably she herself and all her friends, had indeed lived here, five centuries in the past. And for the people of this world, it had always been reality. Which meant this had never been a game for them

So Lily came to her own bitter and strange conclusion about this: This is some kind of parallel-world fuckery, and those freaking cultist idiots dragged me over. Goddamned.

But that realization only opened more questions. And she didn’t have time for questions. Because the director had given her problems rooted firmly in the present, and they mattered more than any hypothetical at the moment.

In her outburst, she had more or less made public that her guild, supposedly dissolved with the fall of the Xares Empire, was still active. Worse, by refusing dissolution, she had practically declared herself the successor of the Empire’s government entities. She hadn’t even known there was a war, let alone how it had ended. And now she might have put not only the Bank, but entire governments, on notice that Doomsday still claimed existence.

She cringed inwardly. Great job keeping a low profile, Lily. Really nailed it. Should’ve just walked into Tiara in full demon mode, would’ve been less obvious.

Still, it hadn’t gone too bad. It wasn’t spiraling yet. She would just have to deal with the mess when she had a better grip on things.

For now…

She stepped back into the main hall. The clerk from earlier was waiting, smiling smoothly. “Were the problems resolved, Lady Greenwood?”

Lily nodded with practiced grace. “Yes. Some minor trouble, but we sorted it out. I opened a new account, so we can conduct the transaction under it.”

“Excellent.” Relief flickered across his face as he bowed. “I will inform the accountant and bring your new bank identification to the chamber once the paperwork is finalized. I’m sure the director is already processing it.”

He guided her through another set of doors, into one of the transaction chambers.

Gideon was already there, lounging on an opulent sofa upholstered in dark leather, a cut-glass tumbler of whisky in hand. Opposite him sat an identical sofa with a polished glass table between them. At a smaller side desk sat another man, papers spread neatly before him.

The man rose as Lily entered, bowing politely. “You must be Lady Greenwood. A pleasure.” He extended his hand. “Richard Silvermark, my lady. I will serve as accountant and witness for the trade with Master Vexley today.”

Lily shook his hand lightly, her emerald eyes flicking to the neat script on his desk.

“Allow me to state the terms before we begin,” Silvermark said. “At Master Vexley’s request, I will witness the exchange and classify the item for safe storage in his personal vault. Once the contract terms are agreed, I will arrange the transfer of crowns to your account, Lady Greenwood, and provide a copy of the record to each of you, with one archived by the Bank so the contract is legally binding under Asara Bank rules. Is this agreeable to you?”

Lily thought for a short moment. It was interesting how professional everything was here. She had half expected selling the boots to Gideon to be a simple handover: he offered money, she agreed, he was happy, and she walked away with a useful connection after offloading an old RP piece. But well, this was better. A formal contract would become proof for the high-profile merchant persona she wanted to establish.

She nodded. “Of course, I agree. Legal safety for my clients is always a priority.”

Gideon took a slow sip of whisky. “The Bank’s service is efficient as always, Lysaria. Wouldn’t you agree?” He poured a second glass and set it by her seat.

Lily allowed herself a small smile. Second drink this late in the morning… but after my talk with the director, no harm done. She crossed to the opposite sofa, lifted the glass, and touched it lightly to Gideon’s.

“All right,” she said, settling back. “Shall we?”

Gideon nodded, a little too eagerly. Beneath the polished manners of a gentleman, the collector’s hunger flashed in his eyes. For a heartbeat Lily wondered what he would do if she refused to sell. How far would he go? Another time, perhaps.

She reached into the quiet shimmer of her inventory and drew the [Silverwind Striders] into the world. Interestingly, she noticed, that again, no one in the room so much as blinked at the trick. But she still hadn’t seen anyone else use a true inventory in her short time here, so perhaps it simply read as a rare skill rather than an impossibility. Another question to shelve for later. Maybe she’d ask her cultists.

The attention of everyone shifted to the table. The [Silverwind Striders] stood on the glass tabletop, and a faint draft stirred the papers on Silvermark’s desk. Leather like poured moonlight, runes along the seams breathing in a pale green pulse.

Gideon glanced at the accountant. “Master Silvermark, if you would be so kind, I would like a Bank appraisal.”

Silvermark’s brows rose a fraction. “Of course. The fee will be deducted from your account, Master Vexley.” From a drawer he produced a slim crystal wand and a loop of etched silver.

“One moment.” He passed the wand over the boots. The crystal sang a clean tone that lingered in the air. Then he circled them with the loop, watching tiny marks along the rim kindle one by one.

“Old lattice. Lost Era weave. Integrity stable.” He looked to Lily, then to Gideon. “No curse signature, no entanglements, no outstanding claims in our registry. Provenance?”

“Acquired lawfully,” Lily said, voice even. “From a private cache I have authority to liquidate.”

Silvermark held her gaze for a beat, then inclined his head. “Sufficient for our purposes. There are no open claims in the banking system.” He set the wand aside, made a neat notation, and spoke crisply. “Appraisal complete: [Silverwind Striders], named item. Classification: high-grade mobility accessory. Secondary effects: sustained comfort and hygiene. Market appetite strong in upper tiers—older collectors, field officers…” His mouth twitched. “And stair enthusiasts.”

Gideon’s mouth twitched in return. “I will make excellent use of both staircases and hygiene, I assure you. Let us speak price.”

Silvermark lifted his quill. “The Bank’s advisory range places such items between twenty platinum and twenty-five platinum, depending on fashion and urgency.”

Gideon leaned forward. “Fifteen platinum and eighty gold. Immediate transfer.”

Lily studied him, then the boots. In Xantia they had been a stylish toy. Here they were quiet leverage in every step. She let a breath stretch. She couldn’t care less about the price, but she had to play her role as a merchant. Also she had an idea, Gideon seemed to be quite connected in the Kingdom of Burm, as a “collector,” how he phrased it. So she maybe could use this to deepen her persona as a high-profile merchant and find other connections.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Twenty-three platinum,” she said, “and a door opened. Since I’m new in this part of the continent, I want an introduction to some private salon, where I can make connections as a new merchant in town.”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “Eighteen platinum. Introduction included, and my discretion.”

“Twenty-one,” Lily said. “And not just an introduction. A seat.”

A heartbeat. Then Gideon smiled, conceding with grace. “Done.”

Silvermark’s quill whispered. “Agreement recorded: Buyer, Gideon Vexley; Seller, Lysaria Greenwood. Item: [Silverwind Striders], named. Price: twenty-one platinum. Additional consideration: formal introduction and seating at a private salon, to be fulfilled by the buyer within three days. Payment to be deposited to the seller’s personal account upon transfer.”

He rotated the document. “Sign, please.”

Lily pressed a fingertip to the lower rune; it flared and settled. Gideon followed with a neat flourish. Silvermark stamped the seal, then hovered a ring over the contract. The parchment glowed, and a faint metallic sigh echoed somewhere within the walls.

He explained, tone professional, “The ring reads the magical signature of the contract and cross-checks it with the Asara banking system. Once confirmed, the funds transfer automatically—one of the services guaranteed by contracts conducted under our roof.”

After a short pause, he added, “Funds received, verified, and credited to Lady Greenwood’s account,” sliding a slim receipt across the table.

Gideon lifted the boots with careful hands. “I look forward to testing these… discreetly.”

Lily let the receipt vanish into her inventory. “Try not to test gravity from your balcony.”

Silvermark allowed himself the faintest smile, then stacked the copies. “Transaction complete.”

Gideon nodded and rose, prompting Lily to do the same. Both offered their thanks to the accountant before turning toward the door.

“Since the day is still young,” Gideon said, offering her his arm, “and I promised you a private salon, why not accompany me to the auction hall, my new friend? You mentioned it was your destination in this city anyway. I could introduce you there to a private circle of esteemed noblemen like myself—men who appreciate a good business opportunity.”

Lily thought it over, then inclined her head. “Very well. Is an auction planned for today? I’d like to get a feeling for the market here, what is worth what. For all I knew, you could have completely ripped me off.” She added a wink.

Gideon grinned. “You are too modest, Lysaria. Between us, you are the true fox here.”

They bid their farewells to Silvermark and stepped out together, leaving the bank behind.

☽⛧☾

Marie followed Sevrin and the guard inside the auction hall. They entered through the tall gates and stepped into a vast entry hall. The ceiling arched high above them, banners of deep red and gold hanging from carved beams. A polished welcome desk stood in the center with several employees in dark uniforms working briskly behind it, quills scratching, ledgers open, and polished tokens clinking as they shifted trays.

The guard gave a short nod toward the desk, and Sevrin did not hesitate. He walked straight over, Marie close behind, her stomach knotting tighter with every step.

It had been years since she had entered a place like this. Back when she was still a baron’s daughter, she knew how to hold her chin high, how to smile in a hall like this, and how to make polite conversation without faltering. Now it all felt like another life, one she hated being reminded of.

Sevrin, however, looked as though he had come home. He moved with the ease of someone who belonged on marble floors and behind velvet ropes. That self-righteous confidence clung to him like perfume, and Marie hated it. Still, she had to admit one thing: he made it convincing. At least he didn’t look like a street rat who had wandered into the wrong building.

Still, what was his plan? A mithril crown was rare, yes, very rare. But it was not the kind of thing that would impress auctioneers who handled priceless heirlooms and artifacts every week. Let alone their clients, who were even richer. He had to know that. So, what was he playing at?

At the welcome desk he leaned in, voice smooth. He gave the clerk the same story he had given the guard: that he was a wandering mage, that Marie was his apprentice, that he had discovered something in the wilderness worth more than a casual market sale. He wanted to sell to an auctioneer and he was sure they would be interested.

The employee listened politely but then asked for a reference, something to prove his claim. Marie’s heart skipped a beat. But in a smooth, practiced movement he produced a medallion, polished silver with etched runes that glimmered faintly in the hall’s light. Marie’s stomach dropped the instant she saw it. She knew that medallion. He had stolen it when he was expelled from the High Mage Academy of Burm. Only official members carried such a mark.

The receptionist studied it, glanced at Sevrin again, and nodded. Her manner shifted, a little more respectful now. “I may know someone who would be interested in looking at your… discovery,” she said carefully. “Please wait a moment. I will arrange the appointment.”

She slipped away through a side door, leaving Sevrin and Marie to wait at the desk.

Marie turned on him at once, hissing under her breath. “What are you thinking?”

Sevrin only smiled, that same infuriating smile that made him look half like a conspirator, half like a lunatic. “Just let me do it. I’m sure it will work.”

Marie wanted to strangle him right there. Instead, she folded her arms tight against her chest, glaring at the floor to hide the storm in her face. If he was wrong, if this blew up in their faces, there would be no hiding it.

Marie’s chest tightened. She tried to steady her breath. Why did she keep following this idiot? Why did she let him drag her into his schemes, again and again? Maybe it was punishment for something long ago. Maybe she was too soft on herself. Whatever it was, she hated it.

The receptionist returned quicker than Marie expected. “All right, Mr. Veyth is ready to receive you. Please follow me.” Her voice was polite but sharp. She leaned in and added, in a subdued tone, “I hope you do not waste his time.”

“Of course not,” Sevrin replied smoothly, almost oblivious to her words. But Marie caught the undertone anyway. Her teeth ground together. This was bad. Very bad.

They walked down a short passage and stopped before a heavy iron door. The receptionist knocked twice, paused, and knocked three more times. There was a moment of silence that felt far too loud. The bolts moved, the hinges groaned, and the door opened inward.

“Good luck,” the receptionist said, stepping back. She did not cross the threshold. The door shut behind Marie and Sevrin with a finality that made Marie’s breath catch.

Inside, the room was a cold, narrow cell of rough stone. Torches burned in wall brackets, casting a weak, uneven light. There was no comfort here. A standing table crouched in the middle, scarred and worn. In the darkest corner, a man sat hunched, a pipe clutched between long fingers. He barely looked up until Sevrin announced him.

“And you must be Mr. Veyth,” Sevrin said, inclining his head.

The man chuckled. His voice was low and felt like stone. He rose slowly. He was enormous, easily six and a half feet tall, broad shouldered and loose-limbed. He filled the room with a presence that made Marie go very still. “Indeed,” he said. “And you are the nameless stranger who thinks he has something that might interest me? Let us see it.”

Marie’s instincts screamed because this man smelled of trouble, but Sevrin ignored it or he did not see it. Or he was really insane by now, and Marie thought it was probably the last.

Sevrin walked to the standing table and looked at Marie. “Come here, Lily, we have to show Mr. Veyth something.” Marie was too tense to react to the name Lily again, but she walked to the table anyway. “Yes…? Tobi?” she asked, a little confused, because he still had the mithril crown.

Mr. Veyth also moved to the table and uncapped a small monocle, peering with one practiced eye. He did not bother with formalities, and he simply waited while the pipe smoke curled up between them.

Sevrin smiled in that infuriating way, the smile that made him look half like a conspirator and half like a madman. “Give me the potion.”

Marie blinked. “The what?”

“You know the potion,” Sevrin said, almost whispering as if he was telling a secret from a grand tale. “When I was incapable of moving, and you poured only a drop into my mouth. It brought me back. Now show the man the truth.”

Mr. Veyth raised an eyebrow and watched without comment. He tapped ash into a metal tray, and the sound was oddly loud.

Marie felt as if the floor had dropped away and her head was spinning. Wait, what? Was this guy serious? Wasn’t the plan to change the mithril crown into smaller crowns so they could buy what they needed and share it with the others? Oh, this damn idiot. He is so dead. So damn dead, this bastard.

But Marie could not say no, not now and not with a six-and-a-half-foot dangerous mobster in a room that looked like a cell. She squinted and exhaled inwardly. Then she closed her fingers around the small glass vial in her satchel. The potion the princess had given her to heal Sevrin when she had bitch-slapped him against the wall felt heavier than it should.

She pulled the vial out and Mr. Veyth’s eyes narrowed on the glass. The flask was cut crystal with a silver neck and a polished ivory stopper, and it looked far too expensive for her hands. Inside, the liquid was a deep blood red, clinging to the sides in heavy drops. On the label it simply said [Greater Healing Potion]. Marie set it on the table and the man took it without asking, his big fingers closing around the glass. He held it to the light and peered through his monocle as if the liquid itself might tell a story.

Sevrin watched with the mix of satisfaction and excitement that always made Marie uneasy. After a moment the man put the vial down and looked Sevrin in the eye. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“As I said, I found it on our journey,” Sevrin began. In an instant the man slapped him with such speed that Marie could not follow the motion. Sevrin hit the wall and groaned, trying to push himself up. “Don’t lie to me, you little shit,” the man said, voice low and dangerous.

He took a step toward Marie while Sevrin slumped, and she reacted by drawing the hidden dagger at her waist. The man did not flinch. He only raised his fist toward her and said, flat and certain, “Better talk now or I will beat it out of you.” Marie heard the promise in his tone and thought, bitter and helpless, that Sevrin had truly done it, he had killed them both. Nevertheless she prepared herself for the unavoidable fight.