Strongest Pawn Of The King Project

The silence was choking.

Cedric shifted uneasily, the smug curve of his mouth gone. Caelan's hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, but he seemed uncertain whether to draw it or bolt for the door.

Elowen's violet eyes darted from Lucian to Reinhart and back again, calculating, her knuckles white on the arms of her chair.

Sister Myrielle had gone deathly pale, her painted lips moving in some silent prayer as if whatever deity she worshipped could save her now.

Reinhart just stood there, breath heaving behind clenched teeth, golden mana roiling off him in angry waves.

His hand still gripped the axe so tightly that his gauntlet creaked. But he did not raise it. Could not.

Lucian tilted his head, watching them all with that same terrible calm, like a wolf lounging in a den of sheep. His eyes still glowed.

"So," he said at last, voice almost playful. "Are we done here?"

Reinhart's lip curled. "Get out!" he spat, each word sounding as though it was torn from his throat. "Leave this hall, this keep, leave Aetherion, and never show your face here again, you snake!"

Lucian smiled, sharp and bright as a shard of broken glass.

"Gladly," he drawled, almost wistful. "Though... I must admit, I'm a little sad. It's been a fun ride. What a shame I won't be making it to the end with you lot."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, then casually added,

"But before I go,"

He slammed a folded slip of parchment onto the table. A cheque. The thud echoed like a gavel striking.

"I'll be leaving with half of our guild's treasury. Approximately twenty billion gold."

Reinhart's axe blurred in a golden arc toward Lucian's neck.

"Look, Lucian, don't push your luck."

Steel kissed skin, hard enough to slice a thin line into his throat, a red ribbon trickling down his collar. Lucian didn't flinch. In fact, he chuckled.

"That tickled."

Then his face twisted in disgust.

"Now, if you're quite done with all the foreplay," he tapped the cheque pointedly, "—sign here. Or I could have every last one of you dangling from the gallows within the hour."

Swords rasped from scabbards. Cedric and Caelan formed a jagged circle of blades around him. Elowen's hands crackled with spell circles. Sister Myrielle began weaving a smite incantation as she let out a strained laugh.

"You delude yourself, Lucian. Even if you were to report us, it would take the Crown's arbitration office at least a day to verify your claims. You can't just walk out of here with our coffers on a threat."

And indeed, that was how it worked.

Any financial dispute of this magnitude had to be formally logged with the royal accountants, certified ledgers and magical contracts reviewed, testimony gathered from bonded witnesses. Each side would submit sealed arcane statements, and the office's adjudicators would probe them with truth spells. The standard turnaround for a case flagged as high-priority fraud or embezzlement was twenty-four hours minimum.

Which meant, by all official rights, Lucian should have had to wait, unguarded, vulnerable, for a day or more while the wheels of law turned.

Lucian's sinister chuckle made even Reinhart's armored shoulders tighten.

"Myrielle," he purred, fixing the bishop with glowing eyes. "Are you really doubting me?"

He stepped forward, slamming his foot down with force that echoed in the room, pressing Reinhart's blade deeper until it bit, dangerously close to severing something vital. The axe wavered, then, predictably, Reinhart stepped back, uneasy despite himself.

Lucian tilted his head, bloody smile unfurling.

"You all know who I am... you all know what I can do. Keep up this quaint little act, and you might just find out there are exceptions to that time frame."

As impossible as it sounded—ludicrous, even—none of them moved. Not a single one doubted him. In that dark, breathless moment, every person in the chamber could see it: their own lifeless faces lined up neatly, their secrets splayed open for the world to mock.

Lucian casually tapped the cheque again, ignoring the thin trickle of blood on his neck.

"So… shall we get this signed?"

....

....

Lucian swung open the strategy room doors, stepping out with the signed cheque tucked neatly into his coat. He paused on the threshold, turning back with a mocking tilt of his head and a smile that cut like glass.

"Truly, Reinhart, thank you for cooperating. Although... try not to run this place into the ground while I'm gone. And by all means, keep getting stronger. Because I will be back, and I will make you all pay in blood for the little show you put on tonight. Till then, don't make this boring for me."

His gaze swept the room, lingering on each of them, until he finally turned around and left.

The doors boomed shut behind him, the iron latch catching with a final, echoing clang.

Reinhart stood rigid for a heartbeat, his breath ragged with fury. Then he let out a strangled snarl and brought his axe crashing down on the table, splitting it into a mess of splinters and scattering maps and gold across the floor.

"DAMN IT!"

As the last echoes of Lucian's boots faded into the cold stone corridors, the room seemed to exhale all at once. The conspirators stood in a tense, shaken circle, eyes darting uneasily where Lucian had stood only moments before.

Sister Myrielle was the first to break the silence, her voice tight and quivering despite the cold veneer of her words.

"What… what are we going to do now? We can't simply let him go. He knows too much about all of us."

Reinhart's jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth might crack. Golden mana flared and sputtered angrily around his shoulders. He slammed a fist onto the ruined remains of the strategy table, making the fractured boards jump.

"I'm thinking, Myrielle, can't you see that!" he roared, eyes wild.

There was a brittle pause. Then Elowen leaned forward, a sly glint returning to her purple eyes.

"Perhaps… we turn the game on him," she purred. "Compile a full list of his crimes, because there's no way scum like Lucian doesn't have at least a couple dozen more skeletons in his closet than we do. With the way he's always handled our dirty work?"

Her smile curved like a blade.

"We gather everything. Use it to threaten him. Make sure he knows we could end him just as easily, should he step out of line."

Cedric let out a nervous bark of laughter.

"Exactly. The Crown wouldn't even blink twice before executing a gutter snake like him if we piled up enough charges."

Sister Myrielle clutched her staff tighter, still pale but nodding.

"Yes… yes, that might work. Even Lucian couldn't weasel out of enough documented atrocities."

Reinhart stood there, breath still rough, eyes burning with raw hate as he glared at the door Lucian had vanished through.

"Do it," he snarled at last. "Start digging up every foul thing he's ever done. We'll make sure the next time Lucian tries to twist that dagger… we have a blade of our own pressed to his throat."

...

"Is what those fools are definitely thinking." Lucian said with a smile as he walked out of the castle, "They will learn.. soon enough, that shadows don't leave behind tracks."

He ran a thumb along the still-warm cut at his throat, smearing the blood into a thin crimson smile.