Commerce Emperor - Chapter 13: A Penny for a Soul

In a way, we should have seen this coming.

The Knight would soon rule a country with rebellious vassals. Now, one of his Vassal Classes had joined the very same uprising. I wondered if Prince Roland saw the irony of the situation, though I doubted he would appreciate it.

“What do we know about the Cavalier?” I asked Alaire.

“According to the letter, she is a mercenary called Vernisla,” Alaire scowled angrily. The news did not please her at all. “She’s the current captain of the Moonlight Riders company.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Marika said. “My village’s lord employed them to wipe out bandits a few years ago.”

“It must have been one of their smaller bands,” Alaire replied. “The Moonlight Riders are one of Pangeal’s largest mercenary companies. They’ve fought in every conflict over the last century, including our own civil war.”

“And they can field ten thousand soldiers,” I pointed out. “Quite the force to be reckoned with.”

“Especially with a hero at their helm,” Colmar added with a grave nod. “The Cavalier is said to be able to ride monsters into battle.”

“This one rides a firehawk, or so the report says,” Alaire said as she clenched the letter in her hand. “Duchess Griselda gave the Moonlight Riders stewardship of Riverstone.”

Riverstone was a strategic fortress-city damming the river separating Archfrost from the Duchy of Walbourg. Any army wishing to invade Griselda’s lands from the north would have to take it. In fact, Archfrost’s late former king died in a failed siege to seize it from the rebels. So long as it remained in Griselda’s hands, the kingdom had little hope of reclaiming their lost duchy.

Events are accelerating, I thought. If Griselda built up her forces in Riverstone, then it meant she anticipated new hostilities. Between Walbourg in the south and the beastmen in the north, Archfrost might soon find itself fighting a war on two fronts.

“Does Prince Roland intend to march on Walbourg?” I asked Alaire.

She shook her head. “Not that I know of, but Griselda wouldn’t hire ten thousand soldiers just for posturing.”

“No, clearly not,” I replied.

“Mercenaries have no trust, either in themselves or others,” Soraseo said with contempt. “They worship money rather than duty.”

“Untrustworthy mercenaries tend not to find much employment,” Alaire replied. “The Moonlight Riders are expensive, but reliable.”

“Only as long as Griselda can pay them,” I replied. “Ten thousand soldiers cost their weight in gold to hire, not to mention the upkeep.”

“Archfrost’s southern lands are richer than the northern regions, and Griselda spent years building up a war chest. I’m not certain we can outbid her,” Alaire said before giving me a knowing look. “Not with gold at least.”

“Now we’re talking,” I said with a grim chuckle. “Unfortunately, we kind of have our hands full with Snowdrift for the moment.”

“Agreed.” Alaire folded the letter into a pocket attached to her pegasus’ saddle. “Our focus, for now, should be to contain the Blight. If Prince Roland requires your assistance, he will ask for it on his official visit.”

Colmar crossed his arms. “Must we truly play politics? I feel this will distract us from more important concerns.”

“We won’t have a choice,” I replied with a shrug. “If you don’t do politics, politics will do you. A new civil war will take more lives than the Blight.”

“We should try to reason with the Cavalier,” Marika said. “No arrow has been fired yet. We can still talk them down.”

Alaire scoffed. “With all due respect, Lady Marika, I do not believe words alone will amount to anything.”

“We cannot say that until we try,” Marika insisted. “A letter will cost us nothing.”

I admired Marika’s optimism. I did not share it, but I admired it. Though she had a point that nicely worded letters cost us little, cheap methods rarely yielded the best results. It might help up open communications with the Cavalier, but high-minded mercenaries rarely lasted long. Vernisla would probably require tangible benefits to join us.

On the other hand, she was a hero. The mark wouldn’t have chosen her if she was merely interested in money.

Oh well, they did say the quill was stronger than the sword. We could at least try.

“Is anyone up for another spar?” Alaire asked with a hand on her sword’s hilt. “I need to vent.”

“I am already standing,” Soraseo replied with a confused look, once again missing the metaphor.

We sparred for two more hours. Out of five spars, Alaire beat me three times, we drew once, and I managed to beat her in our last encounter thanks to Soraseo’s advice. Since I was lean and nimble, she gave me footwork exercises to further improve my speed and taught me a few feints. Alaire remained better than me, but I had high hopes of catching up to her.

Marika made fast progress too. Her blacksmith work built up her muscles, with her only real weakness being her inexperience. The more she sparred, the more comfortable she became with fighting.

As for Colmar… Rather than take years to turn him into a decent fighter, we ended up selling him some of Soraseo’s aptitude at hand-to-hand and having her learn it back with her Monk powers.

Though the sparring session concluded afterward, my own training had only begun. The limits of Ser Hugdan’s dueling aptitudes reminded me that for all of my power’s versatility, I was only as good as the person I purchased the skills from. If I were to survive the ordeals ahead, I needed to gain an edge.

“Are you returning to the Black Keep?” I asked Alaire as she climbed atop her pegasus. “Can you give me a lift?”

“A lift?” Alaire looked at me as if I had just grown a second head. “On Silverine’s back?”

“Yes,” I replied nonchalantly. “Why’s that?”

She studied my face with a suspicious look, looking for a bluff that wasn’t there. “What happened to your fear of heights?”

I smirked smugly. “I sold it away.”

Alaire blinked a few times in shock. She heard my words, but it took her a few seconds to understand them. And once she did, she all but choked in shock and outrage.

“You sold it?!” Alaire appeared more surprised than offended. Meanwhile, her smartass pegasus looked down on me in silent judgment. “To whom?!”

“A prisoner.” Well, truthfully, I only sold away my fear ofriding a pegasus at a high altitude as part of a test. Selling away my fear of heights entirely might have proved a bad idea. Terror was meant to warn us away from danger, and I didn’t want to risk jumping into a void because I had become a fearless fool. “He won’t be in a position to suffer from it anyway.”

“That should count as an abuse of power,” Alaire chastised me, though with a thin smile. “But I will concede it is clever.”

“Enough to buy me a lift?” I teased her.

Alaire nodded. “Climb on.”

The pegasus took flight a minute later, the beast carrying us away from Snowdrift’s cobblestone alleys to the sky above it. Unfortunately, my fear lessened but did not disappear; looking into the void below still quickened my pulse—since I kept my general fear of heights—but I somewhat felt safe atop the pegasus, since riding on its back no longer scared me.

Selling away emotions could help in moderation, I thought. But if I sell awaytoo much, something irreplaceable might be lost in the transaction.

A pity I never managed to successfully sell away my procrastination. I supposed it counted as an absence of work ethic.

“I have a favor to ask you, Robin,” Alaire asked, her face facing the blowing wind.

Considering her grim tone, it had to be pretty important. “What do you need?”

“A Lord Protector and Counsel is only meant to assist an heir until they inherit. Unfortunately, that time has come.” Alaire gathered her breath, as if she were about to ask me to sell her the moon. “I would like to keep you on as my advisor. You will keep the same responsibilities you have now and speak with my voice.”

“So keep doing what I’ve been doing so far?” I scoffed, having expected worse. “You didn’t need to ask me that.”

“I did. You swore yourself to the former count. As the new countess, I must formally request it.”

“I guess you would need to.” Alaire’s claim remained shaky, so giving me an official position rather than coasting on her grandfather’s prior decisions meant she could rule in her own name. “Still, you don’t have to ask me so formally. I believe we went past that once we waged war over your braid.”

Alaire chuckled lightly. “You started it.”

“And you joined in.”

“Much to my shame.” Alaire looked over her shoulder and smiled warmly at me. “I appreciate your support, Robin. When we first met, I thought you were a greedy, lustful scoundrel. I’m glad there was more to you than that.”

“More to me?” I squinted at her. “You still consider me a greedy and lustful scoundrel?”

“Your better qualities obscure your flaws,” Alaire lightly teased me. “Your intelligence and charm make up for the rest.”

“Careful, some say you might like me,” I teased her.

Alaire’s smile faded away instantly.

I immediately realized I had made a mistake. “Did I say something inappropriate?” I asked, trying to salvage things. “If so, I apologize.”

Alaire averted my gaze. “You know I was born out of wedlock?”

“I remember telling you it didn’t matter to me.”

“It matters to me,” Alaire snapped angrily. “And everyone else!”

I opened my mouth to answer, but then wisely closed it without saying a word. The pain in Alaire’s voice, the way her scowl deepened… I had stepped on an open wound. Alaire let out a sigh and decided to enlighten me.

“Many years ago, my mother had an affair with a commoner. My mother refused to identify him.” Alaire’s expression only darkened further. “My grandfather was furious, since he had hoped to marry her to Ser Hugdan’s father. He exiled my mother to an Arcane Abbey convent after an argument, where she gave birth to me.”

My stomach lurched, and not from the flight. “That’s what you meant when you said you spent half your life in a library?”

Alaire nodded curtly. My opinion of the late count decreased quite a bit. I understood that his position as a noble might have required him to act that way, but abandoning his daughter for falling in love with the wrong person struck me as quite heartless.

“We had a few good years at first, but then…” Alaire took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, as if to expel poison out of her lungs. “My mother went mad.”

I listened in silence, knowing she was pouring out her heart to me.

“She came to believe she was made of glass and could shatter at any moment. She ran around wildly, fleeing from invisible assassins, and recoiled from everyone.” Alaire’s pale eyes brimmed with sorrow. “She slapped me when I tried to hug her once, screaming that I wanted to kill her. I was seven back then.”

“That’s awful,” I whispered. “I am so sorry.”

Alaire looked over her mount’s flapping wings and at the Black Keep. We had almost reached the stables. “My grandfather took me back to the castle afterward for my own safety. Two years later, an accidental fire burned the convent to the ground and my mother along with it.”

“I… I had no idea.” I suspected Alaire might have suffered a great deal from her lineage, but I hadn’t expected such a harrowing ordeal. No wonder she was sensitive about her birth and past. “I didn’t mean to step on an old wound.”

Our pegasus landed near the stables. The beast’s hooves softly touched the courtyard’s dirt without a sound. Alaire said no word for a short while, before turning her head and meeting my gaze.

“I will not end up like my mother, Robin,” she finally said. “As a countess of Archfrost, and a bastard with a shaky claim, I must appear without reproach.”

It didn’t take me long to understand her problem. “You’re afraid rumors will spread that we’re having an affair, which will draw comparisons to your mother.”

“Yes.” Alaire climbed down from her pegasus and invited me to do the same. “It is best that we maintain a professional distance from now on, at least in public.”

I smiled ear to ear. “Does this mean I can still tease you in private?”

“You c–” Alaire’s cheeks reddened a bit. “Do not joke about this!”

“A simple yes or no would have been enough,” I teased her further.

“You could not handle me in private,” Alaire said with the most oblivious tone I had ever seen. I gave her a knowing look, causing her to blush further. Her hand moved to cover her mouth in an attempt to hide her embarrassment, then tightened into a fist. “I mean… shut up!”

“I haven’t said anything.” She was doing a fine job at digging herself a deeper hole on her own.

“I’m serious.” Alaire glared at me after recovering a measure of dignity. “Swear not to do this in public.”

“I swear it,” I said with a hand on my chest. I would miss embarrassing her in public, but I would more than make up for it in private. “I will become the most professional, dullest advisor you have ever had.”

I supposed it would be the best for her, though frustrating. Archfrost’s nobility wouldn’t have looked at it twice if she had been a man fathering a bastard out of wedlock. The current regent openly kept mistresses. Alaire shouldn’t have to suffer for the sake of others’ outdated opinions.

“You hate being the new Countess Brynslow, don’t you?” I guessed. “You would be happier as a wandering knight, with none of the pressures and expectations of a noble title.”

Alaire scowled. “Whether I like my title or not does not matter.”

Which meant that yes, Alaire did hate her noble title and what it represented, but she felt she had no escape. Except I could offer her one. “Why not simply sell it away?” I asked her. “Even if Prince Roland will probably ask to have a voice in the matter, I’m sure we could find a decent caretaker for your estate and title.”

“Some things cannot be sold away, Robin.” Alaire sighed. “As the last Brynslow, any successor’s claim will remain unsecure so long as I live. Besides, I truly wish to protect this land and see its citizens prosper. To honor my house’s legacy.”

“I can understand the latter, since you may not be certain your successor shares your dedication,” I conceded. “But you owe nothing to long dead ghosts. Your lineage shouldn’t decide who you are.”

Alaire locked eyes with me. “Didn’t you come to this city to honor two ghosts’ last wish?”

I had no answer to that.

Alaire was right, I did come to Snowdrift to honor my parents’ last wish. I had no right to criticize her attempt to live up to her ancestors’ legacy. I recognized the intensity in her gaze. Those were the eyes of someone with values and convictions.

Part of me wondered why Alaire insisted on putting such a heavy burden on her shoulders… but it would have been easy for me to go along with Sforza’s crimes in Ermeline. It would have made my life easier. Instead, I stuck to the hard road because I believed in it. Alaire had chosen the same. She might not like the sacrifices she would have to make for honor’s sake, but she intended to stick with them.

After a minute of heavy silence, Alaire awkwardly attempted to restart the conversation. “Have I finally left the wily Merchant speechless?”

“You’ve won this debate,” I conceded with a chuckle. “Anyway, I’ll support you with whatever you decide.”

“I appreciate it.” Alaire shifted a bit, as if hesitating to discuss something, before changing subject. “Why did you want to return to the Black Keep?”

“I have a few more tests in mind for my power.” I put a hand on my waist. “Want to come? It’ll be just us and a helpless prisoner bending reality to the will of commerce.”

“Unfortunately, I have a prince’s welcome to prepare for.” Alaire smiled thinly. “Perhaps another time.”

“Any time, Alaire.” I waved her goodbye and left her there.

I could feel her gaze linger on my back long after.

“Is it my turn?” a male prisoner asked as I walked into his cell. I recognized him as the same graverobber who swore away his freedom to avoid the death penalty. “What happened to the others?”

“Most are fine,” I answered.

This didn’t reassure him. “Most?”

Most, except the two that died in that terrible strength experiment. “Today’s tests shouldn’t be too dangerous,” I explained. “After trading items and personal traits, I would now like to try out loans.”

“Not dangerous he says,” the man grumbled under his breath. “I should have seen it coming when the jailers told me you guys were opening a bank…”

“Thankfully for you, institutions write down their contracts.” I presented him with a quill, ink, and a written document where I offered the prisoner my gambling skills in exchange for the color of his hair. “Here’s the trick: as per the last clause, each of our ‘investments’ will return to us after ten minutes.”

The prisoner wisely read before signing. “There we go.”

My mark glowed, and yet his lustrous black hair did not turn white. Nor did my wonderful gingerness surrender to a tide of darkness. I remembered how to play Arcane Arrows, how to count cards, and how to cheat at dice.

In short, my power had refused to validate the transaction.

“Interesting,” I noted before drafting a second contract. “We’ll make the same deal, but this time I will keep your hair color after the ten minutes ends. Then my gambling skills will return to me.”

“That’s robbery!” the prisoner complained, his hands jumping to his head.

“If it’s state-mandated, it’s called expropriation.” I invited him to sign the new contract. “You’ll be compensated for your capillary troubles.”

“Are you the Merchant or the Rogue?!” the man cursed me as he wrote down ‘yes’ on the document.

This attempt resulted in another failure. So did the ten next attempts, where I switched through various time periods going from minutes and hours to months and years, or switched gambling skills and hair color for gold, years, and a dozen other goods I’d traded successfully in the past. No matter how many times I rewrote the terms, my power would not validate exchanges if I included a limited duration.

Eris told me that the Merchant could buy and sell anything. She might have been more right than she knew. I could literally only sell or buy things. And I couldn’t borrow or rent things out.

“Let’s try services then,” I said. “I will pay you one silver coin for a big happy smile. Try not to scowl.”

“I’m always scowling,” the man replied as I activated my power and handed him the money. A second later, my mark activated and returned the coin to my hand. “Seems like a bust, redhead.”

How strange. That order appeared simple enough. I decided on a more complex order. “Now, can you punch something?”

“Punch at what?” the prisoner asked. “The wall?”

I chuckled. “Anything that’s not me.”

Once again, my power refused to validate the trade, and again when I asked him to jump. In fact, my power refused any trade that involved an action on the other party’s part. Come to think of it, my power never compelled anyone to hand a coin back to me when my allies and I first experimented with it. If they refused to move, it simply teleported the money to its new owner.

Colmar’s hypothesis on his power came to mind: that in the case of uncertainty, it defaulted back to the easiest solution. My ability might very well work on the same principles.

“Let’s write down a new contract,” I informed the prisoner. “I will sell you my red hair for three silver coins, which you are to give to me in thirty minutes.”

“I don’t have those,” the prisoner pointed out.

“Not yet.” I bought three silver coins from my pocket. “But you will have them when the time comes up.”

We both signed the contract, and my power still refused to activate. I gave the prisoner his three coins, to no avail. My eyes instantly widened in surprise. “Interesting…”

“What?” the prisoner snorted. “It’s just another bust.”

“Don’t you see the important part?” I pointed at the contract. “It’s already signed and I gave you the coins. My power should have returned them to my hand and traded away my red hair…”

The conditions for the contract to activate were gathered and we both signed it. So why didn’t my power validate the trade? A hypothesis formed in my mind.

What if the Merchant’s ability only triggers when the conditions for the trade are fulfilled at the moment consent is given? I wondered. If the exchange’s terms can’t be fulfilled at the moment it is agreed upon, then my power might require a new trade rather than validate the old one.

I decided on a new test to confirm my idea. “I’m going to offer you to trade your three silver coins for a golden one,” I informed the prisoner. “However, you must hold your tongue for a full five minutes before saying yes.”

The prisoner stared at me in a silence that stretched on, and on, and on. I quickly learned that five minutes felt agonizingly long with nothing to make them entertaining. I let out a sigh of relief when my test subject finally opened his mouth. “I agree.”

My mark glowed. A second later, three silver coins glittered where my golden one used to be.

“Excellent,” I said. “Now, I will offer the opposite trade. However, instead of silence, you must answer something inane with your first sentence, and then say, ‘I agree to the trade.’”

The man rolled his eyes. “This is getting stupider by the second.”

“I don’t pay you to complain,” I replied.

“You don’t pay me at all,” the prisoner complained. Come to think of it, I should get around to remembering his name.

“I pay you in thanks and gratitude.” I presented my money. “I will offer you three silver coins for your golden one.”

The prisoner waited for a while—I didn’t think he lasted the required five minutes—before inventing something on the spot. “It’s a wonderful day outside,” he said with an utter lack of enthusiasm. “The sun is shining and flowers are blooming, birds are singing. And I agree to your stupid offer.”

As I expected, my power did not activate this time. The nonsensical sentences preceding the agreement had confused it.

“Final test.” I wrote down a contract saying I would exchange two of his golden coins—which he didn’t have yet—for three silver. “I’m going to sign this document first. However, you will only sign after I give you the correct amount of coins.”

“I should have chosen execution,” the man complained. “The noose would have been swifter than dying of boredom.”

“The most interesting trade will come right after,” I promised him while signing the contract. I followed by giving him the extra gold he required and then presenting him with the document. “Here you go.”

The prisoner wrote ‘I agree’ on the paper sheet, at which point his two golden coins switched places with my three silver. “Why did it work this time?” he wondered out loud.

Since I intended to purchase his memory of our session after we completed the final tests, I decided to enlighten him. “I believe my power does not tolerate uncertainty,” I explained. “It triggers when both parties have consented in clear enough terms.”

So while my power would force a trade if an individual agreed to a deal without meaning to, it still required clear enough confirmation. Otherwise, it couldn’t tell if the target agreed to the correct bargain or not. A written contract sidestepped that problem so long as the two parties did not sign at the same time.

It also explained why I struggled to buy services or borrow anything. Unlike goods and personal qualities, actions and loans involved the possibility of failure. A person could be incapacitated before they could fulfill the action I paid them for, or die before the time I allocated them for lent skills was exhausted.

This must be why my power ages people when they sell me years, I thought. The date when men perished wasn’t set in stone, so my power settled on aging the seller for the sake of guaranteeing the trade.

On one hand, this greatly diminished the scope of my power. I couldn’t compel any action with the possibility of failure, except the trade of goods—in which case my power simply teleported those around. On the other hand, time-delayed contract signatures could potentially allow me to teleport goods across vast distances.

Colmar was right, I couldn’t solve all my problems with my class’ powers. But the more I understood its limits, the more I could refine my options.

“Are we done?” the prisoner asked. “I was promised better food for my cooperation.”

“Almost,” I replied before grabbing a golden coin. Looking at it reminded me so much of that cursed demon artifact that transformed both Sforza and Fenrivos into demons; only the ghoulish skull staring back at me was missing. “We’re almost done.”

I could have run these tests with any of my allies. However, there was one thing I hadn’t yet tried to buy. Something so subtle and yet so important, that I doubted anyone sane enough would trade it away.

I hesitated to ask for it even now. My mark shone in response, as if sensing my doubt. I couldn’t tell whether I should take it as a sign to stop or carry on.

I have to know, I told myself, trying to muster my courage. If this works, then… then it might confirm Mersie’s words.

“Are we doing this or what?” the prisoner complained, his feet shifting in impatience.

Well, he asked for it. I placed the coin inside his palm.

“I want you to sell me your soul along with this coin,” I said, the mark shining on my hand, “As a package deal.”

The prisoner turned silent as a tomb when he realized what I had asked of him. The existence of souls was well-known across Pangeal. Everyone knew how they returned to the Soulforge for the purpose of reincarnation. Though undead manifested under specific circumstances and unsavory witchcrafters could extract enough essence from a person to imbue items with a personality, all attempts at artificially removing a soul from the cycle of rebirth had ended in failure. Even Apocris, the most powerful sorcerer-king to have ruled the Magocracy of Irem, never achieved this feat.

Only the Devil of Greed managed to purchase souls to my knowledge. If my power could do the same… then it would raise many questions.

“My soul?” the prisoner rasped, his hands trembling. “No. No, no way. I will die.”

“I’ve seen individuals survive without a soul.” Sforza and his kind came to mind. “It’s possible.”

“But not guaranteed.” The prisoner shook his head. “I refuse that trade. I won’t do it.”

“I will understand if you back out and will not fault you for it,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “However, if you do… I promise to grant you a pardon. I will sell you back your soul, and you will walk away a free man.”

He would deserve as much. The man was guilty of grave-robbing and sacrilege, not murder or violent crimes. Selling away one’s soul and back should already count as death.

This time, the prisoner did not flatly refuse my offer and calmed down. I patiently waited for him to consider my proposal. I did not want to force his hand, not on something so important.

“I’ll need gold,” he haggled. “Enough to start over somewhere else. Somewhere far away from you.”

“Granted.” I was willing to make a few concessions considering the risk involved.

“Write it down. I want a contract. No backing down.” The prisoner’s hands trembled in anxiety. “Write it down.”

I did as he wished. I wrote down a contract informing him I would offer him a complete pardon and a bag of a hundred gold—more than enough to buy a new home outside of Archfrost—if he completed the trade, no matter the results. I also promised to give him back his soul if the exchange succeeded.

“It is done.” I held my breath and asked the fateful question. “Will you sell me your soul and this coin as a package deal?”

The prisoner hesitated a full minute, sweat falling off his forehead. He gathered his courage and words escaped his shaking mouth. “I swea–”

My Merchant’s mark burned like the sun.

A swirling torrent of golden light swallowed me whole. Intense pain surged from my hand and spread to my body, followed by the terrible coldness of metal on my skin, the sterile comfort of a sea of coins drowning me under its tide of wealth. A vision of endless treasures and golden cities drowned my conscious mind in riches. A tide of molten gold covered the cells’ walls and transformed it into a vast throne room crumbling under the weight of a million jewels, coins, and gemstones. A thousand soldiers knelt before my throne in silent worship, waiting for my command.

“Humans are divided into two categories,” I said with a melodious woman’s voice. “Valuable people and worthless people. Valuable people bring value to society. Through their toil and ingenuity, they enrich their lives and those of others. They create, they build, they give. Worthless people, meanwhile, do nothing but take. They beg and complain and steal what belongs to better men. They add nothing to civilization and slow down the march of progress.”

Oh, I loved to say out loud what I had always thought in my heart. Too long had I stayed silent, wasting my wealth and talent on pointless causes. My resolve would no longer waver; for I knew I deserved more.

“Paradise will be built by valuable men, but much like iron they can be refined into steel, even the most worthless of humans can be made valuable.” I waved my hand at my bounty. “See for yourself how I turned lead to gold!”

My hoard glittered around me. Screaming statues of men melted into precious, precious metal silently sang my praise. Coins filled with souls imbued my golems with an obedient will. Demons forged from wicked fools worshiped at my feet.

“So go forth, my angels!” I encouraged my army. “Purify this world! Let us seize this shit-stained world the Goddess left behind and pave it with gold!”

For such was my destiny.

“Robin.”

A woman’s voice snapped me back to reality. I had stumbled onto the cold hard floor, while the prisoner had crawled into a corner, eyes wide with fear. The golden coin hadn’t left his hand.

“Robin,” the voice repeated, white smoke entering the room.

I froze and peeked over my shoulder. Eris had teleported right behind me, with a grim face and no hint of her usual playfulness in her eyes.

“I like you, so I will warn you only once.” Eris met my gaze, her hand tightening on her staff. She carried a heavy book under her other arm. “If you try that again, you will die.”

My fists tightened. “You will try to kill me?”

“I won’t need to.” Eris pointed at my mark. “Do you think heroes’ marks tolerate unheroic behavior? The Classes possess built-in failsafes that return them to the Fatebinder if they commit heinous crimes.”

My jaw clenched when I figured out the implications. “A hero only loses their mark when they die.”

“Yes.” Eris held my gaze. “If you attempted this trade out of greed or cruelty, the mark would have killed you on the spot.”

“Why didn’t you inform me?” I rasped, anger surging in my heart. My mark burned on my skin. “If you knew about that failsafe, why didn’t you warn me?”

“I didn’t know what would trigger it,” Eris insisted. “Most Merchants complete their tenures without even realizing there is one, because they aren’t mad enough to try buying souls.”

“I wouldn’t have tried if you had been halfway honest,” I accused her. I was too furious to think straight. “You knew Mersie was the Assassin, even joked about it, yet you said nothing!”

“I keep everybody’s secrets.” Now Eris was well and truly scowling. “I didn’t tell your former girlfriend that you were the Merchant either. That is why people trust me: because I keep my mouth shut.”

I glanced at my shining mark. My hand still felt pain. “Perhaps too much.”

Eris let out a heavy sigh. “Robin, I will sell you my ability to lie for one of your silver coins.”

I held her gaze, then nodded sharply. “Deal.”

A silver coin teleported into Eris’ hand, and I felt something flow into that invisible bank of years and personal qualities that fueled my power. Since I could already lie by myself, my power simply stockpiled that extra quality.

“I swear in the Goddess’ name that I am on your side, Robin, and that of our fellow heroes,” Eris declared with the most sincere, serious tone I had ever heard her use. “I didn’t mean to keep the failsafe’s existence from you. I simply thought it was irrelevant, because I believe you are a noble person who would never intentionally commit a crime worthy of execution.”

She set her staff aside against a wall and offered me her hand.

“I truly wish you well,” Eris said with a wink. “I daresay I even have a small crush on you, and I came here because you promised to treat me to dinner.”

I knew she was mostly joking to lighten up the mood and break the tension. Still, it worked. I couldn’t hold back a fit of nervous laughter. “You didn’t have to say that part,” I pointed out. “You’ve sold away your ability to lie, not to remain silent.”

“Then forget what I said.” Eris chuckled. “So, are you going to take my hand? My wrist is getting cold.”

After a moment’s hesitation, I took her hand into my own. Eris gently helped me back to my feet, ignoring the prisoner staring at us in terror. He must have seen the same vision I did.

“I will purchase your memory of what happened here, then grant you your gold and pardon,” I informed him. “You’ve earned it.”

The man simply stared at me with empty eyes. Somehow, I doubted he would ever return to crime again.

Though I believed in Eris’ goodwill, the implications behind that trade worried me greatly. The failsafe did not activate when I drained another person of their strength and thus to death. Neither did it activate when I concluded questionable, failed bargains. Which could only mean one thing.

“The failsafe triggered because the trade would have worked,” I concluded. “Eris, those Devil’s Coins you collect–”

Eris didn’t let me finish. “For your sake, Robin, do not dig too deeply into this.”

“I’m tired of lies.” I squinted at her, refusing to back down. “Are the Demon Ancestors former heroes?”

Eris chewed her lower lip without saying anything. Since I still retained her ability to lie, she was forced to speak only the truth. She could have answered with ‘I don’t know,’ ‘I’m not sure,’ or a flat ‘no’ and I would have accepted them all.

Instead, she chose to remain silent.

“If such potent failsafes are required, then it means someone violated the classes’ rules at one point with terrible consequences.” I pointed out as we walked out of the cell and into the dungeons. “You said it yourself, all demons come from human stock. The Demon Ancestors are called that because they were the first of their kind.”

Eris sighed and grabbed her staff. “I cannot answer your questions no matter how much I wish I could,” she said. “Lady Alexios forbade me from directly revealing sensitive information to the heroes. She believes nothing good will come out of it.”

As I suspected. “Do you share her opinion?”

“Sometimes, but not always.” Eris presented me with the book she carried. “This should help you.”

I frowned upon examining the grimoire. The darkened oak cover showcased a copy of my mark, alongside a title written in traditional Erebian: “Tales of the Merchants.” I flipped through weighty vellum pages tinged by the passage of time, drawings of cities of gold and distant lands, and walls of texts outlined with gold. This book had to be centuries old.

“What is this?” I asked. My magic sight detected a bounty of essence radiating from the pages. “A magical book?”

“There are two kinds of archives, my dear Robin. The public one full of censorship to protect the little children, and the forbidden one with all of the erotic and mature stuff.” Eris flipped to a page showcasing a past Merchant in a rather… suggestive position with a princess. “I will let you guess which one this book comes from.”

I appreciated this resource, though I wondered how it would help me figure out the truth… until I flipped back to that golden city drawing. The vision I received showed a figure sitting in a palace paved with treasures. Could there be a link between them?

“I’m forbidden from telling you anything directly,” Eris explained with a smile. “If you were to figure out the truth by yourself though, why would Lady Alexios complain?”

“Does this book include clues?” I asked. Since it was written in old Erebian, it would take me a while to translate it.

“Yes, and I believe you’re smart enough to figure it out on your own.” Eris chuckled. “Oops, I didn’t mean to say that. Can you sell me back my lying skills?”

“I am still tempted to refuse and force the truth out of you,” I said after putting the book under my arm.

“As I am tempted to simply teleport away.” Eris’ lips strained. “As a friend, Robin, I ask you to please respect my position. It is difficult enough as it is. I did my best to help you and I ask that you return the courtesy.”

I wanted to insist further. To exploit the situation and receive more answers. Even if she refused to answer, Eris’ silence would be confirmation enough. But she had a point. She could simply teleport away and stop helping me at all if she wished. I had no idea what kind of pressure the Fatebinder and Arcane Abbey might exert on her, yet she was sincerely trying to help me

“Fine,” I replied. I hadn’t pushed Colmar and Soraseo to reveal their true identities to me, I could hardly ask the same of Eris. “I’ll sell it back for the silver.”

“Not trying to shortchange me this time?” Eris put a hand on her waist. “I am disappointed.”

Friendship was made of little concessions.