Time soon passed.
The fires of the Slaver Fortress had burned low, leaving only glowing embers and the smell of ash in the morning air.
Damien sat on a throne, not a metaphorical one, but the actual velvet and iron chair Vargus, the Slaver King, had used to overlook his yard.
Now, Vargus was dead, buried under the rubble of his own ambition, and Damien sat in his place, counting gold.
"Final tally?" Damien asked, tossing a heavy gold coin into the air.
"Three million gold coins in liquid assets," a voice answered smoothly.
"Another five million in weapons, armor, and magical artifacts. And… a ledger containing the names of every noble in the Dragon Empire who purchased slaves from this facility."
The speaker was the chubby merchant Damien had rescued.
He had cleaned himself up, found a silk robe from Vargus's wardrobe, and was currently tapping away at a calculator artifact with terrifying speed.
