The next day arrived with clear skies and crisp autumn air.
Alaric waited in the same merchant hall, seated at the table with relaxed posture. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting everything in shades of gold.
The main doors opened.
Count Valtair entered, flanked by four servants carrying heavy chests. His face was drawn, haggard, the kind of exhaustion that came from a sleepless night spent securing loans, calling in favors, liquidating assets in desperate haste.
But there was triumph in his eyes. Relief.
He'd done it. Scraped together the full amount. The mines were his.
"Lord Alaric." His voice was steadier than yesterday. "As promised. The remainder."
Alaric stood, gesturing to the table. "Please."
The servants set the chests down with heavy thunks that spoke of substantial weight. Valtair moved forward and opened each one in sequence.
Gold. Everything adding up to four hundred seven thousand five hundred-forty gold.
