Unlike Aurora, which was modern and heavily monitored even with its supernatural presence, power there did not make anyone invisible. At least, that was the truth on the surface. Michael believed the opposite could also be true. The stronger a person beca, the fewer laws could touch them.
But that was Aurora.
This was the land of origin.
Here, the world followed older rules. If there was no one stronger above you, your word beca the law. Nobles could kill commoners and call it justice. n without noble blood could rise by sheer strength and still be respected, even if they disrespected those of noble birth.
Power ruled everything. Count Hallem could casually send an assassin after Michael and, if Michael had been just a lucky young man with a bit of talent, his death would not have mattered. The Count could even pay a fine or negotiate with Michael's family and move on as if nothing happened.
This world was a food chain disguised as a civilization. In truth, it was much like the Awakeners' belief that this place was a crucible for strength. The strong devoured the weak, and the weak who survived grew stronger in turn.
Michael had tried using words first, his tone calm and polite. But Darius mistook civility for weakness. Since reason failed, Michael turned to the other thod he had already ntioned-fear.
Michael leaned forward slightly, his expression softening. "Now then, Sir Darius," he said quietly. "Smile for ."
Darius blinked in confusion. "My Lord?"
Michael tilted his head, a small smile on his own lips. "Do I look that
frightening? Co now. Smile."
The knight hesitated, but under that steady gaze, he forced a grin. It was awkward at first, then turned into sothing strained and uncertain.
Michael studied it, amusent flickering in his eyes. "Hmm. Not bad. But it looks more like you're trying to be polite."
Darius exhaled, still holding the uneasy grin. "If it pleases you, my Lord, I will practice more."
Michael smiled in return, his tone growing oddly thoughtful. "You know, Sir Darius, I find myself... sad."
The knight froze again, unsure where this was going. "Sad, my Lord?"
"Yes," Michael said with quiet sincerity. "Because you treated poorly. Tell , what should you do if you made your Lord sad?"
Darius's throat tightened. His instincts scread that this was no simple question. "I... I would compensate, my Lord."
The mont he said it, Michael's eyes brightened, and his entire deanor shifted. He clapped his hands together, the sharp sound echoing in the cold air.
"Excellent!" he said, his voice suddenly cheerful.
He turned his head toward the door, a wide smile now on his face. "Captain Rohan!" he called loudly, his tone full of warmth and mischief. "Do co in!"
The heavy door creaked open almost instantly, with Rohan's eyes darting between Michael's bright expression and the pale, shaken knight.
Rohan stepped fully into the room, but the mont he crossed the threshold, his breath caught. The air felt unnaturally cold.
His eyes swept the chamber. The window panes were fogged over, and a thin layer of frost clung to the floor near Michael's chair. The
silver tray on the table shimred with frozen condensation. Even the untouched teapot had turned dull white from the chill.
A faint shiver ran through Rohan.
No wonder the hallway outside had felt strangely cool.
Michael, sitting comfortably as if nothing were amiss, looked perfectly at ease. His calm smile only made the scene more surreal.
"My Lord..." Rohan stated, his voice tight. He glanced again at Darius, who sat stiffly in his chair, pale and drenched in sweat despite the freezing air.
Michael leaned back in his chair, folding one leg over the other as if the cold, tension-filled room had never existed. "Ah, Captain," he said pleasantly. "We were just discussing proper compensation."
Rohan's brow furrowed slightly, uncertain if he should smile or reach for his sword.
Darius, still frozen in place, could only swallow hard. The young lord's cheerful tone sohow felt far more dangerous than his killing intent had monts before.
"Compensation," Michael said, gentle as rain. "Sir Darius, your first
offer."
Darius wet his lips. "Five thousand gold," he said. "Paid within the week."
Michael turned his head slightly as if he had not heard. He reached for the teapot, found it rimd in frost, and set it down again with
care.
"I asked for sothing fitting," he said. "Try again."
Darius drew a slow breath. "My lord, the levy is due, winter stores are
thin, and the roads are still-"
"Thirty percent of your treasury," Michael said.
Darius blinked. "Thir- my lo-"
"Forty."
"My lord, please. If we strip the chest that low, the market will panic
and-"
"Fifty."
Darius's throat worked. "We can manage forty, with a bond for the
rest in spring and-"
"Sixty!"
He stared. "We will not recover by spring."
"Did you just say I should increase it?"
Silence pressed the room again. Darius swallowed hard.
"Seventy percent," Michael stated.
Color left Darius's face. He glanced once at Rohan, as if the captain
might intercede. Rohan did not move.
Michael folded his hands. "Livestock."
Darius flinched. "The herds, my lord. The fields need-"
"Half."
Darius tried once more. "If we cut that deep, the spring draft will fail
and-"
Michael lifted a finger. "Half," he repeated, voice as soft as before. "Breed stock included. You may choose the calves to keep."
Darius closed his eyes for a mont, then opened them. "Understood."
"Armour and weapons," Michael said.
Darius found a scrap of steel in his spine. "If you take the armories,
my n cannot answer bandits or raiders. The border is not quiet."
"Half," Michael said.
Darius tried to fra a counter and failed. The effort died on his
tongue.
Michael rose, the frost whispering under his boot. He looked down at Darius without malice.
"Let it be recorded," he said, clear enough for the corridor beyond the door. "Sir Darius has promised seventy percent of his treasury, half of his livestock, and half of his armour and weapons. He offered five thousand gold at first, but I could not hear such a small sound."
User Comments
0 comments from readers