Chapter 81: Merchants of War
Alarcus had already left days earlier, heading northward alone on his journey to support the rebellion. His resolve was steel, his mind focused, and his burden heavy. He didn't look back.
Meanwhile, far in the western dukedom, inside the Walking Forge's armored belly, Reyn, Liora, and Kael were already days into their travels. The forge creaked and hummed with arcane life, its enchanted legs trudging over winding roads and rocky trails as they searched for a place to begin setting up the Trials. Spirits were high. The three of them shared meals, stories, and plans, not yet realizing how quickly the world around them was changing.
Far away, in a port city that straddled the coastline between the northern and northeastern dukedoms, change had already come.
At dawn, under a sky veiled by thick sea mist, two dukes stood at the edge of a bustling harbor. Each brought with them a small army—regal knights in polished armor, battle-ready mages, and quiet figures in cloaks with hidden faces. Despite their show of power, both nobles watched the horizon with barely concealed nerves.
Then it appeared.
The flying metal vessel came out of the clouds like a predator, silent at first, then roaring with unnatural power as it descended. It shimmered with enchanted metalwork no human blacksmith could replicate, wings folding as it came to rest on the ocean's surface with a hiss of steam and force. The water churned beneath it, and yet it floated calmly like a ship that had always belonged there.
The dukes exchanged cautious glances.
The last time they had made a deal like this, it had been with a grotesque, horned brute—a demon who demanded sacrifices and promised them strength. He had been killed, much to their irritation, by that damned holy knight and her band of crusaders. For a time, they feared the opportunity was lost.
But the beings that stepped off the ship were nothing like him.
Tall, elegant, and almost noble in bearing, these demons walked with the confidence of kings. Their skin bore hues of violet, deep red, and midnight black, but their expressions were calm, calculating. Their armor was ceremonial—sleek, gilded, and far more advanced than anything either duke had ever seen. One carried a cane not for support, but as a statement of status. Another wore a mask of smooth silver that glowed faintly when he spoke.
"I am Malzahar Voss, weapons merchant of the Ir'Zhak Consortium," the demon said, bowing theatrically. "And these are my brothers in business, Zuurak the Binder and Lady Nyshira of the Violet Flame. We come bearing gifts. And opportunity just as agreed in the deal."
Duke Vorgrave's hand tightened behind his back. His years as a warrior told him these creatures were not merchants—they were predators. And yet… we're already too far in to turn back.
Beside him, Duke Draylen smiled like a fox who'd found a henhouse. "We appreciate your arrival. We feared the arrangement was nullified after… recent events."
Malzahar chuckled. "You speak of the failure of Va'Korr the Unbound. Yes, he was a fool. Brute strength and no finesse. That's not how you shape a world."
Lady Nyshira stepped forward, raising a hand. With a shriek of grinding metal, the hull of the ship split open, and a series of floating platforms hovered down onto the docks—each laden with obsidian crates sealed with glowing red glyphs.
"Proof of our commitment," she said softly.
As the crates were pried open, the air turned tense with curiosity and awe. The demon merchants stood in a neat formation, silent and proud, while Duke Vorgrave and Duke Halbrecht stepped closer to examine the goods.
Inside the first container, nestled in arcane foam and glowing runes, was a massive war hammer. It pulsed faintly, humming with a low, ominous frequency. One of the demon assistants—clad in ceremonial armor with strange sigils—lifted it effortlessly and slammed it down on a nearby training dummy. The hammer released a burst of compressed energy that flattened the dummy, shattered the wooden post beneath it, and sent a shockwave rolling across the pier. Even seasoned knights stumbled back in awe.
Vorgrave's jaw tightened. "How many of these are you willing to trade?"
Malzahar, the lead demon with four curling horns and eyes like liquid mercury, chuckled. "As many as you need to crush your enemies. Each one tuned to consume mana from the air or the wielder. Efficient. Devastating. Addictive."
Another crate hissed open. This one held sleek, obsidian blades that flickered with arcs of light. One of the Dukes' captains reached for it—and nearly dropped it as the energy pulsed through his hand.
"Careful," Nyshira, the demon lieutenant, warned with an amused smile. "The blade responds to aggression. It's alive in its own way."
More crates followed: rifles and pistols with glowing barrels, each marked with an elemental glyph—fire, ice, corrosion, lightning. Demon handlers demonstrated them on reinforced dummies: flames incinerated, acid melted, lightning paralyzed. A frost bolt left a target encased in shimmering blue ice.
Halbrecht watched in stunned silence before whispering to Vorgrave, "We could win this in weeks."
"Or doom ourselves in the process," Vorgrave murmured, unease growing in his chest.
That was when the third noble arrived.
Duke Cazien of the Eastern Reach made no effort to hide his lateness. His arrival was marked by a lean caravan, quiet and disciplined. He stepped from his carriage with a bemused look, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.
"I assume I haven't missed all the fun," he said, eyeing the crates.
"You've missed the introductions," Duke Draylen replied, folding his arms. "But the stock remains."
Cazien strode forward, surveying the displayed weapons with glimmering interest. His eyes settled on a rifle glowing with pale blue frost. Without waiting for approval, he plucked it from its stand.
"Does it work?" he asked, already raising the barrel.
Before anyone could answer, he motioned to one of his men, who vanished into the port's alleys. A few moments later, they returned—dragging a frail, dazed beggar by the arm.
"What are you doing?" Duke Vorgrave asked, voice sharp.
Cazien didn't respond. He simply pulled the trigger.
A burst of frozen mana exploded from the weapon, striking the man in the chest. Ice spread instantly, encasing him in jagged crystal. The body hit the ground with a hollow crack.
Silence followed—thick, disturbed.
Cazien turned the rifle in his hands, then set it gently back on the rack. "Efficient.
As more crates were unloaded—each revealing terrifyingly advanced weapons—a black-hooded demon approached Malzahar and bowed. The merchant nodded once and said, "Go."
No explanations. No fanfare. Just a single word. The group of demons accompanying the weapons gave one last look at the Dukes, then disappeared down the ship's ramp and into the shadows of the port city, leaving behind only echoes and the smell of ozone.
The two Dukes stood silently as their men admired the goods, the enormity of the moment sinking in. They had just allied with something far beyond their world—and there would be no turning back.