❖✧✦ Chapter Six ✦✧❖
On the main trade street of the Kingdom of Wisteria.
Night had already cast its veil over the kingdom, yet the main trade street pulsed with life as always — merchants displaying their goods, customers haggling over prices, and the flickering torchlight trembling with every passing breeze. Amid this bustle, a few footsteps advanced steadily toward a grand inn that, at first glance, looked like it belonged to a wealthy merchant, with its lavish design and ornate windows reflecting the warm glow from inside.
The strangers pushed open the door, greeted by a worker who bowed slightly, his cheerful tone hiding a subtle unease.
"Welcome! It is our pleasure to serve you — this is the finest inn in all of Wisteria. How may I help you?"
One of the strangers didn't give him the chance to continue. His cold words carried a weight the worker didn't immediately understand.
"We want to speak to the owner."
The worker hesitated for a moment before forcing a smile and replying with a wavering voice:
"Oh… I'm afraid the master is currently unavail—"
Before he could finish, another stranger cut him off, his tone more command than request:
"Tell him to prepare a room immediately. We are envoys of the Fourth Elven Minister."
The worker froze, his face paling noticeably. Without another word, he spun around and hurried up the stairs to the third floor, where the innkeeper, Antonio Rod, was spending his evening in his luxurious suite. Moments later, the worker returned, clearly unsettled.
"The master welcomes you… please, follow me."
The strangers followed in silence, their presence heavy, until they reached a room rich with the scent of aged wine. There, seated in a wide chair, was a large, broad-shouldered man, his clothes made of the finest fabrics, his fingers heavy with golden rings. Antonio Rod regarded them with shrewd, glinting eyes, a lit cigar in his mouth sending up curling clouds of smoke.
When the strangers removed their hoods, their features became clear — the same elven soldiers from the tavern earlier. One, the most arrogant of them, lifted a brow and spoke in an elevated tone:
"So, you're the merchant we've heard about… Mister Rod."
Antonio let out a booming laugh, his round body shaking with the sound, before replying with heavy sarcasm:
"Hahahahaha… The Fourth Minister is truly a great man."
But the elves weren't here to waste time. One of them spoke, his voice cold and grave:
"I'm sure you already know why we're here."
Antonio stroked his short beard, leaning forward as he spoke in a tone that carried a touch of rudeness:
"Perhaps I do… but do you?"
One elf muttered to his companion with clear disgust:
"He's just a filthy human… why not kill him and be done with it?"
But the other shook his head slowly and replied with stern finality:
"No. The master's orders are clear — the Fourth Minister needs this swine."
Then, turning back to Antonio, his expression unreadable:
"Our lord promises you luxury in exchange for helping us bring down Martin the Tyrant."
Antonio laughed again, though this time it was different — laced with something else, something closer to mocking disdain.
"Luxury? Do you think a man already drowning in wealth still chases after luxury? Can't you see I've long since achieved it?"
Leaning forward, placing his hands on the table, his voice now carried an unmasked ambition:
"I spoke with your master days ago, and I made my terms clear. I don't want gold. I don't want fleeting influence. I want only one thing…"
He looked each elf in the eye before finishing in a low but cutting tone:
"To rule Wisteria — after you kill Martin the Tyrant."
Silence lingered for a moment before crooked smiles crept onto the elves' faces. They chuckled slowly, the sound hinting at an unspoken agreement, as though the deal had already been sealed with nothing but their shared glances.
After the elves departed…
Antonio Rod stood by his tall window, watching the elven soldiers vanish down the cobbled street. His fingers toyed with a gleaming golden ring as his smile slowly widened, radiating deep cunning.
Muttering to himself as the darkness of the city deepened:
"Fools."
He looked up at the sky, where clouds were gathering as though carrying some nameless omen, and added in a near-whisper, yet with unshakable certainty:
"While the world drowns in chaos… I will carve my path to rule it."
His smile stretched wider, the glint of ambition in his eyes now unmistakable, as he continued in a voice steeped in ruthless devotion:
"For you alone, my lord… you alone deserve to stand at the top of this world."
He turned toward his desk, where a map of Wisteria lay sprawled, marked with lines and scribbles known only to him. Reaching for a pen, he drew a firm circle around a name etched in the corner.
The name was none other than — Martin.