Chapter 15: The First Bargain
Seraphina walked back and stood at the edge of the bloody banquet. By now, everything had been stained with blood. Even the white tables and delicious-looking food had a red, bloody flavoring.
Unlike most things in the room, Seraphina's dress was not stained, nor was her newly wedded husband.
Her gaze fixed on Richie Von Rich. She had once looked at him as a charming, calculating noble who had invited her into his web of marriages with that disarming smile.
And even when she had been given this mission by her father under the emperor's orders, she had thought that he was simply going to be an unfortunate royal of a much smaller kingdom.
Then, after the details of the mission were revealed, she had assumed that he was merely cute with his plans. However... the man in her head did not stand — or rather, sit — before her. She had a feeling as if she, and possibly the Somara Empire, were dancing in his palm.
The Richie she was currently staring at was devoid of his usual charm; his aura was one of cold, unwavering purpose. There was no pain or hesitation in his eyes — only certainty. And, oddly enough, she admired that.
If only he were born of the Somara Empire, she mused. Then maybe... just maybe, I wouldn't have minded having him as a real husband. This was a compliment her peers in the Somara Empire would have been shocked to hear. Seraphina was very picky with the mere toys she always broke — much less a husband — but she looked upon Richie with high regard.
In this world, strength was greatly admired. Even though Richie had not moved, the fact that he had planned out the demise of his own kingdom and blood relatives from the beginning was deeply unsettling.
One should note that here and now, the bodies of his children that littered the banquet floor were not few. He was spilling the blood of his kin for his ambitions.
"You're allowed to stare. I don't mind — I'm aware of my irresistible charm," Richie suddenly said without looking at her.
Her brow twitched. Arrogant bastard, she thought.
She was about to retort when her eyes caught something peculiar.
The blood — so much of it — was no longer spreading randomly. It was flowing. Channeling. Directed by an unseen force.
The ritual to feed the Alchemist's Seal was at work.
"With this much blood," she muttered, more to herself than to him, "the Alchemist's Seal will indeed be ready in no time."
That was the first time Richie paused. Not when his children screamed. Not when his wives were slaughtered. But at the mention of the Alchemist's Seal.
Seraphina noticed. This was something she was not supposed to let slip, but there was no taking it back.
She smirked. "What, you thought we wouldn't find out? You may have contracted the demon, but clearly, you still lack finesse when it comes to handling them."
Richie turned toward her but remained silent.
"There's nothing stopping a demon from speaking about its contract — especially if there is more to gain from it. That's Rule One... It's kinda cute you didn't know." She giggled a bit, licking the blood that had splashed onto a decorative flower from the slaughter not far away.
His brow furrowed.
So that is where his loyalty lies — in his interest, she mused.
"The Empire has dealt with demons longer than your kingdom has existed," she continued. "We've long monopolized the dungeons and have a better idea of how to handle them. It's only natural that you don't know these things."
Then, suddenly, she extended her hand. "Come with me to the Somara Empire. Give up this mad crusade. Swear loyalty to me, and I promise you a comfortable life, no matter how ambitious you are." This was an offer she didn't think she would ever give anybody. But to say she had not been smitten by this terrible man would be a lie.
Lady Seraphina was such a woman — twisted in her own way.
Richie gazed at her, eyes like carved obsidian. Her offer wasn't naive; it was strategic.
The Empire was not ignorant. They knew what Richie Von Rich was capable of. It was the only reason they had agreed to this arrangement in the first place.
Richie Von Rich had single-handedly held high a weak kingdom. Those women who had become his wives were all from different alliances to curry the favor of a strong man.
Even though the plan had worked, to say that the Somara Empire's higher-ups were unaware that he had allowed it would be a lie.
For this and many other reasons, Seraphina's offer was utterly laughable.
Richie rose slowly. Deliberately. His presence expanded.
Aether flared from his body like a tide rolling across the room — heavy, commanding, pure.
It was strong enough to make the others killing in the room hesitate and turn their heads.
Even Seraphina involuntarily stepped back, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.
It was impossible. The natural Aether in the world was nearly gone. Even the Somara Empire had to harvest it from dungeons just to train their soldiers. And yet... Richie Von Rich radiated power.
She was closest to it. She felt the weight the most.
He was definitely at least as strong as a Blood Knight.
No — he was more. And he hadn't even drawn a weapon.
Just then, a woman rushed forward.
She had seen how his power commanded order in this house of slaughter and was going to take advantage of it.
It was one of his wives. Sansa, Leston's mother. "Husband... help me! Please... I don't want to die. The Somara Empire... they are evil." Her voice was filled with desperation. "You promised my tribe that you would love and protect me... I don't want to die — fulfill your promise."
Those words sounded like a cocky command in his ears.
"Hmmm... that's right, my promise." He pulled her up gently by her arm, like a husband about to cuddle his wife. His eyes stared deep into her own as his fingers slowly glided up her skin as if to caress her. They stopped at her neck.
"...Unfortunately, I have a much greater promise to fulfill. I only took you from your tribe because of your unique noble bloodline — to complement mine, and give me children that will feed my Alchemist seal..." The words left his lips — a final judgment to her already sealed fate — as he SNAPPED her neck, instantly separating it from the rest of her fragile body.
It was a gory sight that even made Seraphina surprised at his ruthlessness.
This was, after all, a woman he had wedded and bedded on multiple occasions.
And yet, he had snapped her like an annoying bird.
But, weirdly enough, it only made him all the more desirable in her eyes.
Then Richie raised his head to Seraphina.
Immediately, her fingers slipped into her blouse, curling around a Dungeon treasure — a shard — hidden underneath.
Seraphina was strong, but no fool.
If she couldn't match him... she would use what she must.
But neither of them were ready for what would come next. Because destiny was about to change directions as a result of the decisions of one boy...
---
In the lower halls, surrounded by corpses and darkness, Oliver stood frozen.
His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. His legs trembled. The air was wrong — heavy, tainted.
Before him, the demon Accra emerged from the gloom like smoke given form — shifting, hulking, alive in a way that defied human nature.
Its eyes glowed with ancient malice. Fangs too long for its mouth protruded from shadowed lips, and claws dragged sparks from the ground. Yet there was a strange weakness to its presence — one Oliver only just noticed.
It tilted its head. "A child?"
It moved. Of course, it had been surprised at the arrival of a human child, but meat was still meat — and in its eyes, Oliver was only slightly more tender.
The fear in Oliver's mind surged again, and his legs almost moved to run on their own. Being a slave had hammered terrible habits into his mind.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't blink. Goosebumps prickled across his skin.
His knees buckled slightly. Again, that well-trained instinct to obey in the presence of superior power overwhelmed him — such was the life of a former slave. But the image of his sister, Velma, suffering at the hands of that man burned in his mind like fuel to a raging fire.
The demon's claws drew close enough to blur in his vision. But then Oliver suddenly pulled the dagger from his side.
The demon gave a mocking smile at the vain effort. A mere dagger against me? it thought.
But Oliver rammed the dagger into his own thigh, catching the demon off guard and making it pause mid-air.
Resolve — more than fear — hardened his eyes as his teeth clenched from the pain.
I faced worse in my past life. Humans no less horrible than demons. This is just another one.
"Contract," Oliver said, his voice steadied by the rush of adrenaline the pain provided.
Accra halted.
Claws stopped inches from Oliver's throat.
Oliver opened one eye, heart pounding. The demon sniffed. A claw grazed Oliver's arm, drew blood, then dipped into its mouth.
"Hmmm... I remember," Accra said, its voice now a cold echo. "The little rat in the vents..."
Oliver's skin crawled. Blisters rose. The proximity to the demon's dark Aether was already poisoning him.
He swallowed his discomfort — and the fear that was clawing to rise again.
"...You have a contract with my father," he said slowly. "I heard it. You were told to watch the seal."
The demon licked its fingers, thoughtful.
"Yes. Watch."
"Not protect it. Not guard it. Just 'watch'," Oliver added.
The demon's grin widened.
"Clever little heir..." the demon murmured.
Oliver exhaled sharply. He was doing well. A lesson from his past life resurfaced:
Always be specific when binding a contract with a demon, or they will find the cracks.
It was a lesson many nobles in his past life had learned the hard way. Oliver had heard their endless complaints about being tricked out of their treasures.
"Then you don't have to kill me."
"I don't," Accra admitted, circling him like drifting smoke. "But I want to. Watching is... dull. You humans scream so well." Its finger pointed to the corpses of soldiers strewn across the ground.
Oliver steeled himself. He wanted the Alchemist's Seal, but pointing out the loophole in the demon's contract with his father was not enough to ensure his safety. In fact, on the contrary, it was enough reason to kill him.
Demons were a kind that weighed their options carefully and had loyalty to no one but the terms of their contracts — and then themselves.
Oliver knew this. Contracts always came first.
And the demon's reasoning was straightforward: Richie Von Rich would be a far greater threat to face than Oliver. Better not to vex Richie and simply end the boy. But Oliver had caught his interest, and Accra wanted to see how this would play out.
As the demon expected, Oliver did not disappoint.
"In that case, why don't I help you with your boredom... Why don't you sign a contract with me?"
The air thickened.
Accra stopped moving.
A slow grin spread across its monstrous face. "Hmmm... Speak, little heir of ruin... What do you offer?"
Oliver leaned in close, speaking in a low tone — just enough for only the demon to hear...
The demon's red eyes widened in shock.