Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: The Calm Before the Storm
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Even with more than ten people gathered in the room, not a single breath could be heard. It was utterly silent.
People sat around a massive maple table, its edges adorned with gold leaf and engraved with intricate yet beautiful patterns and geometric shapes.
They glared at each other across the table without exchanging a word, repeatedly glancing at the man seated at the head.
Rumble…!
In that suffocating silence, thunder rolled in from the far west, where the Yazans and Saudeners had sailed across the sea.
It was as if the sound announced the start of a war(?) between the two sides facing off here—the so-called "soul rivals" of the Inner Sea, Yazan and Sauden.
*Why the hell are those Yazan bastards here? And their guildmasters in person, no less? Did they screw something up too?*
*Why are Sauden's old monsters here? No way they found out about our latest specialty goods already, right? Damn it.*
Unsure of exactly why the other side had come to the Sion Dukedom, their suspicions and wariness deepened.
Sion, who had been silently gazing out the window at the overcast gray sky that looked ready to pour rain at any moment, finally spoke.
"The weather's nice, isn't it?"
*'The possessor of the era's hexagonal aptitude—is he actually insane?'*
*'They said the guy who came back alive from Flannd is the Demon King? Maybe he's just missing the weather from the demon realm?'*
Hiding thoughts that would have earned high praise as a novel suicide method if spoken aloud, the Yazans and Saudeners forced awkward chuckles.
"Indeed. Back in Yazan, on days like this, we sit on a terrace overlooking the sea and enjoy seafood with white wine."
"You're right. I have a villa near the Porta Cliffs—please visit Yazan sometime, and I'll treat you to..."
"Hmm. Days like this call for green onion pancakes with dongdongju."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
"Ah... yes."
Unsure what green onion pancakes and dongdongju were, but sensing their hexagonal aptitude host was slightly off-kilter, Yazan's top guildmasters—ranked first and third in their merchant world—looked crestfallen.
Seeing their rivals flop right out of the gate, Sauden's old-timers smirked inwardly and jumped in.
"For the past fortnight since we began preparing for this meeting with the Sion Ducal House, up until today, I've scarcely seen the household staff awake in the evenings on weekdays. Now, on the eve of formal negotiations, winds as fierce as Sauden's sincerity toward Sion batter the windows outside. Truly, the calm before the storm. From all sides, the ra—"
"Enough."
"Pardon?"
"I get what you're trying to say, so you'd better stop there. This is for Sauden's own good. I'm serious."
"Ah, yes..."
Sauden's old-timers, unable to finish their carefully rehearsed opening line, looked just as dejected—but they should have been grateful.
Somewhere in another world, similar lines had led to utter, dogshit-level disaster.
"Shall we get down to business, then?"
"Yes."
The Yazans and Saudeners replied in unison, staring at Sion with eyes full of tension.
*'That's him?'*
*'That young guy's the hexagonal aptitude holder?'*
Yazan's guildmasters, ranked first through fifth in their merchant hierarchy, swallowed dryly.
The greatest crisis Yazan had faced in their fathers' or grandfathers' generation.
Not only had he played a decisive role in resolving it, but the first hexagonal aptitude holder had also stabilized Yazan's economy overnight by snapping up massive shares in their guilds with his enormous wealth—when they were on the brink of total collapse.
And those shares, bought at what seemed cheap prices back then, had ballooned into astronomical sums over the years as Yazan grew.
*'But that's not all, obviously.'*
Even then, his wealth had let him buy 30% to 49% stakes in six guilds.
Was that really everything?
Assuming he'd poured half his fortune into Yazan at the time, how vast would the other half have grown by now?
No doubt enough to shock Yazan, horrify Sauden, and make the Obla Kingdom green with envy.
The combined assets of all six of Yazan's top guilds here wouldn't even come close.
*'He's so young—he'll hold those shares for decades to come, right?'*
*'We have to build a connection, somehow!'*
*'Gasp? He looked at me? The majority shareholder looked right at me!'*
The guildmasters were (psychologically) soaking wet below the belt.
Mountain-delicacies? World-toppling beauties?
They needed none of it.
To them, a single glance or word from that young majority shareholder meant far more.
*'That's the 'Demon King'?'*
*'He's not going to bring up 'that incident' here, is he?'*
*'If he's the Demon King, he just might...'*
Sauden's old-timers held their breath, fixated on the "Demon King" at the head.
Truth be told, their tension had eased slightly during the sea voyage to the Sion Dukedom.
Everyone was over fifty, and long voyages were tiring and irritating.
But that laxness snapped tight the moment they passed Paloma and reached Shionia Harbor.
Waiting to greet them at the harbor weren't just Sion Dukedom folk.
Over a hundred black coffins.
The moment they saw the coffins of knights and mercenaries who had been wiped out—not just defeated, but massacred—in a futile attempt to cover up Zaitz Garren's insane bullshit.
Sauden's old-timers felt their slightly hunched spines straighten and their age-weakened prostates quiver in shock.
They realized anew that they could easily end up in one of those pitch-black coffins themselves.
And now, the "Demon King" most responsible for that procession of coffins sat before their very eyes.
Casually issuing a Demon King-worthy warning about the filthy weather that heralded an impending storm: "Nice weather, huh?"
Thus, for entirely different reasons from the Yazan guildmasters, but with equal intensity, they were gripped by extreme tension and fear as they stared at him.
Just as the leaders of Eltis Inner Sea's premier rival powers, Yazan and Sauden, fixed their gaze solely on Sion, awaiting his words—
Sion abruptly rose from his chair.
*'Huh?'*
*'What?'*
Sion smiled at the bewildered faces on both sides.
"Isn't it best to save the most important matter for last? We've formed a connection by meeting like this, but starting with heavy talk might make things awkward."
"……!"
Both the Yazan guildmasters and Sauden's old monsters caught on.
*'A—a warning?'*
*'This is a warning. If we don't approach these negotiations properly from now on, we'll botch the most crucial thing at the very end!'*
They weren't the type to dominate two port cities through card games for nothing—they understood.
And then.
Step, step, step.
Two figures, one large and one small—the maximum shareholder who was also the Demon King—approached.
"This is Sir Jonas, Handler of the Sion Dukedom. And this is Mr. Smirnoff, Mine Foreman of the Iron Mountain Dwarves."
Both sides swallowed hard as Jonas and Smirnoff stood beside Sion and gave light nods.
"Those from Yazan, please consult with Mr. Smirnoff first about new product contracts. As for Sauden's esteemed guests, I suggest a deep discussion with Handler Jonas about *that matter*."
"Gh!"
"Urgh!"
If this world had wuxia vibes, they might have called it the Dual Intent Heart Technique.
A bit wordy, but with a single phrase, Sion had unleashed profound inner arts tailored to each, striking fatally. The leaders of Yazan and Sauden groaned, suffering critical inner wounds.
To Yazan, "new products" was a fatal weakness here; to Sauden, "*that matter*."
And wasn't it a transcendent master's national rule to show leisure and mercy in the Profound Realm, like "Hoho, I'll yield the first three moves"?
But no—bam! He unleashed his signature ultimate technique without a word, leaving his foes on the brink of death. What kind of Profound Realm master pulls that from the Profound Realm neighborhood?
Worse still, he then sent out his two prized disciples to finish them off.
*'A—as expected of the Bloody Hexagram's owner!'*
*'Demon King. He's the real Demon King.'*
Yazan's guildmasters and Sauden's old-timers trembled violently, gazing at the old monster who oppressed them without mercy, pity, acknowledgment, or quarter.
"Now, Sauden's lords, this way please. I've prepared a separate room since this might not be suitable. Better to talk somewhere utterly quiet where no one can overhear... for your sake."
"Krgh!"
Who else but the Demon King's ally to hurl a poison-dipped dagger hidden in a wicked smile first!
Sauden's dying old-timers, struck once by the Demon King and again by his comrade, followed Jonas with faces pale as death.
"Heh heh. As expected from Yazan—you all radiate golden aura from head to toe. Yazan folk, follow me. I've prepared some samples. Of course, samples aren't free. It's an auction. Heh heh."
"Eek!?"
So even a hexagonal aptitude holder could command a Dwarf Mine Foreman—who bowed to no one—like a limb!?
Yazan's top five guildmasters had no choice but to trail after the heartless, beast-souled Dwarf—who planned to auction even samples that should be free—like a flock of ducks.
And regardless of what others might say of the scene, the old monster who tirelessly (in the Sion Dukedom only) pondered peace and safety watched with satisfaction.
*'They need to be fleeced clean by my kids. Only then can they get what they truly want.'*
This was merely a "negotiation"—pure give-and-take.
Absolutely not power-tripping.
If it seemed that way, it was a misunderstanding.
"Now, shall I prepare to greet the other guests?"
To Sion, Yazan and Sauden were small fry. Whatever they thought meant nothing.
To Sion, the most important thing right now was—
"Who'll come in person first? Probably you, since you're at least perceptive."
The satisfied smile from moments ago vanished from Sion's now impassive face as two names surfaced in his mind.
Duke Lloyd, and Count Rundle.
One who craved to become the real king, the other who wanted to crown a puppet and rule as king himself—the power players of the Obla Kingdom.
(To be continued next time.)