Iron Hearth Castle – Main Hall. Three Days Later – 7:00 PM.
Storm clouds once again battered Northreach. Thunder roared in a continuous volley, as if the heavens themselves were furious.
Inside the castle's main hall, illuminated only by the dying fireplace, the atmosphere was taut as a bowstring.
Duchess Aurelia sat on a worn-out sofa, wringing her handkerchief. Her eyes were puffy. Her children had been gone for three days without a word.
"They will be fine, Mom," Rianor said. He stood near the window, staring into the darkness outside. But his foot tapped incessantly against the floor—a sign of acute anxiety. "Statistically, their success rate is 70%. Riven has combat capabilities equivalent to ten average soldiers."
"Statistics can't stop arrows, Brother," mumbled Rumina, who sat hugging her knees on the rug.
"Quiet," Lucian admonished gently.
The Duke sat on his grand chair facing the main door. He hadn't moved an inch for the last two hours. His greatsword rested against the armrest. He was "waiting."
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors vibrated.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Heavy knocks made with a sword pommel. The family's secret code.
"Open it!" Lucian ordered.
Grimm, the old head butler, pulled back the heavy iron bar.
The doors swung open. Wet wind swept inside.
Three figures stood there.
Drenched. Muddy. A faint, metallic scent of blood hung around them.
Riven stood at the front, supporting Roland, whose face was deathly pale. Rhea stood at the rear, her hand still wary on her sword hilt, her wild eyes scanning every corner of the room before realizing she was home.
"Oh, God..." Aurelia let out a stifled scream. She immediately sprinted toward them. Her motherly instincts overrode all noble etiquette.
"Are you hurt?! Where does it hurt?!" Aurelia touched Roland's face, checking Riven's arms.
"We're okay, Mom... Mother," Roland's voice was hoarse. He tried to smile, but his lips trembled from the cold. "Just... jetlag. Severe motion sickness."
"Get inside! Quick, by the fire!" Lucian commanded. He didn't hug them, but his sharp eyes softened instantly upon seeing his three children whole.
They sat around the fireplace. Martha (the head cook) immediately arrived with hot soup and thick blankets.
Raveena and Raphael hugged Riven's legs, crying in relief.
After the soup was finished and their breathing had steadied, Lucian asked. One simple question.
"Well?"
Roland set down his soup bowl. He reached into the pocket of his specially sewn inner tunic.
He pulled out a thick, cream-colored paper glowing with a golden seal.
He placed it on the small table in front of Lucian.
Rianor immediately snatched the paper. He held it close to the candle flame. His eyes scanned the anti-forgery magic seal.
Madam Vernazza's signature.
The Silver Merchant Syndicate stamp.
"Fifty... Thousand..." Rianor spelled out the numbers. His voice choked.
He looked at Roland in disbelief.
"Fifty thousand? I calculated an optimistic valuation of only 15,000. Who... who did you sell it to, you maniac?"
"Madam Vernazza," Roland answered weakly. "The Syndicate Head."
Rianor fell silent. Rumina covered her mouth. Lucian leaned back in his chair.
50,000 Gold Coins.
For context: An average soldier's salary was 1 gold coin a month. A prime warhorse cost 50 gold coins.
With this money, they could fund a small army for five years.
"Crazy," whispered Rianor. A wide grin began to bloom on his face. "We're rich. We are actually rich."
"Don't celebrate yet," Rhea cut in sharply. She was cleaning dirt from under her fingernails with a dagger. "Roland scammed them."
"Scammed?" Lucian raised an eyebrow.
"Roland said it was an ancient artifact, the 'Void Chalice'. Capable of neutralizing poison. Made by extinct Alchemists," Rhea reported flatly.
Rianor slapped his forehead. Smack.
"Roland... you said it neutralizes poison? Do you know what happens if Madam Vernazza pours rat poison in there and dies after drinking it?"
"That's why she shouldn't drink poison from it!" Roland defended himself. "It was a marketing gimmick, Bro! If I said it was just glass, she would've haggled it down to 50 silver!"
"This is dangerous," Lucian's voice was heavy. "A noble's lie can be grounds for war. If Vernazza finds out we deceived her, she will send every mercenary in Blackhold to burn this castle down."
Silence fell again. The money suddenly felt hot to the touch.
Rianor took a deep breath, then exhaled. His genius brain began spinning, looking for a solution.
"Okay. The rice has turned to porridge. Expensive porridge," Rianor said. He took the draft.
"We have two advantages," Rianor held up two fingers.
"One: Madam Vernazza bought it for prestige. She won't rush to test it with lethal poison for fear of damaging such an expensive 'artifact.' She will display it in a glass cabinet."
"Two: The distance from Blackhold to here is significant. It will take weeks for rumors of the scam to spread."
Rianor looked at his father.
"In those weeks, we must convert this money into Power. We must build an army, repair the fortress, and secure the economy."
"So that..." Rianor smiled coldly, "When Madam Vernazza realizes she was duped, House Sudrath will be too strong for her to touch. When that happens, we simply say: 'Oh, perhaps you used it incorrectly, Madam.' And she won't be able to do a thing."
Lucian looked at his genius son, then at his diplomat son, and his two new knights.
This family... they were truly dangerous.
"Fine," Lucian took the draft. "Tomorrow morning, Rianor and Riven, cash this at the Royal Bank branch in the nearest city. Not in Blackhold."
"And one more thing," Lucian added, his eyes flashing savagely.
"Baron Gorm is coming in two weeks to collect the debt."
Lucian gripped the armrest of his chair until the wood creaked.
"Prepare a welcome. We will pay the debt. But I want him to remember payment day as the worst day of his life."
"Agreed, Dad," Riven grinned, rubbing the hilt of his greatsword. "I have a few ideas for... the welcome decorations."
"I will prepare the payment receipt," Rianor said. "This time, with the correct interest calculation."
"And I..." Roland raised his hand, then let it drop. "I want to sleep for three days. Don't wake me unless there's an earthquake."
That night, laughter erupted in Iron Hearth Castle.
Not the polite laughter of a Jakarta conglomerate family.
But the unbridled laughter of survivors who had just cheated death.
Outside, the storm still raged. But inside, the fire of House Sudrath's resistance had just been lit.