CHAPTER 204: FALL OF VALTAIR [1]

Delphine stood on the street. Arms wrapped around herself. Face still flushed but now with shame rather than embarrassment.

"I’m sorry." The words came out immediately. "I couldn’t, I tried but—!"

Alaric sighed. Pulled his scarf down slightly. "What happened?"

"I just, it felt disgusting." She looked away.

Her voice dropped further.

"It made my skin crawl. I couldn’t do it."

Alaric studied her for a moment. Seeing the genuine distress written across her face. The way her hands still trembled slightly.

She’s not trained for this. She’s just a street merchant. He said internally, I need to stop treating them like tools that work exactly how I want.

He sighed.

"Alright. Let’s go."

They walked in silence. Back toward the meeting point near the siblings’ stall.

The streets had filled more. Teryn was waiting when they arrived. Leaning against the building. His expression brightened when he saw them approach.

"How’d it—" He stopped. Reading the tension immediately. "What happened?"

"Change of plans." Alaric’s voice came flat.

He moved inside the stall’s covered area. The siblings followed. Teryn closed the makeshift door behind them.

"I’m leading this myself." Alaric turned to face them both. "Directly. No more playing intermediary."

Delphine’s face showed relief mixed with guilt. "I’m sorry, I couldn’t—"

"Forget it." He waved her off. "What I need from you is different now."

He pulled off his hat and set it aside. His eyes fixed on her.

"You’ll come with me as my partner. We represent a new trading consortium looking to establish routes through the region."

Her cheeks flushed. "P-Partner?"

"Business partner."

He turned to Teryn. "You work the information angle. Talk to dock workers. Warehouse staff. Low-level clerks. Find out which traders are already frustrated with current arrangements. Who’s losing money. Who’s been squeezed."

Teryn nodded slowly. "Build a target list."

"Exactly." Alaric’s mind was already working through the approach.

Alaric’s mind was already working through the approach. Names. Faces. The conversations he’d need to have.

"Teryn you’ll go to eastern docks. There’s a tavern called the Broken Mast."

"Got it."

"Delphine, you’re with me. We leave in twenty minutes."

Her flush deepened but she nodded. "I’ll get ready."

-------------

At exact twenty minutes later, they walked through the merchant quarter. Alaric had adjusted his appearance, hat pulled lower, scarf wrapped to obscure most of his face. Just another trader in nondescript clothing.

Delphine walked beside him.

They turned a corner and came upon a two-story building of weathered stone and timber.

Alaric pushed through the door.

The interior smelled of old parchment and lamp oil. A man sat behind a desk, middle-aged, tired eyes, ink-stained fingers.

He looked up. "How can I help you?"

"Looking to move goods." Alaric’s voice came out rougher than usual. "Heard you handle independent contracts."

The man leaned back, assessing him. "Depends on the goods."

"Textiles. Metalwork. Routine shipments. Regular volume."

Alaric stepped closer. "Current partners are... unreliable."

"That’s common," the man said dryly. "Everyone thinks their supplier’s the problem."

"Not everyone does something about it." Alaric let that hang in the air.

The man’s eyes flickered. Curiosity pried through his boredom. "And you’re looking for?"

"Better rates. Faster turnaround. Someone who delivers what they promise."

A quiet chuckle escaped the man. "We all want that."He turned away, as if to end it.

Alaric shifted, just enough to suggest he was leaving. "Then I’ll look elsewhere."

"Wait." The man’s tone sharpened. "What kind of volume are we talking?"

Alaric gave him a number. Not absurd, but enough to make the man’s pulse quicken.

"That’s... significant," he said, his voice softening. "I’d need proof. Contracts, letter from capital or something."

Delphine produced a thin leather folder and set it on the desk without hurry.

Inside, there was a letter stamped with Westmarch’s seal, a routing number, and a short slip stating an initial deposit had been wired, twenty percent, with confirmation to follow.

The man picked one up. Examined it. His skepticism warring with greed.

"Westmarch..." He muttered. "That’s a long way."

"Which is why we’re establishing local partnerships." Alaric replied evenly. "We need someone who understands regional logistics and someone reliable."

The man’s fingers drummed against the desk. His eyes tracked across the documents again.

"These terms are generous."

"We value quality partnerships." Alaric leaned against the desk. Casual. Confident. "Question is... are you in a position to deliver?"

Pride flickered across the man’s face. Mixed with calculation.

"I can deliver. But I’ll need proof you’re not just words."

Alaric motioned to Delphine. "We can provide references. Other partnerships we’ve established in—"

"No." The man waved her off. "References can be bought. I want a test shipment. Small. Prove you can pay. Prove the goods exist. Then we talk larger arrangements."

Alaric’s lips curved beneath the scarf.

"Fair enough. What time?"

"Two days. I’ll arrange warehouse space. You deliver thirty crates of whatever goods you’re moving. Payment on delivery. If that goes smooth, we discuss the larger contract."

"Done."

They shook on it. The man’s grip firm.

Delphine collected the documents. Tucked them back into her bag with practiced efficiency.

"We’ll be in touch." Alaric turned toward the door.

"Wait! I didn’t get your name-"

Alaric turned.

[Dominion Gaze!]

His gaze sharpened invisible pressure filled the air.

The man’s words caught in his throat.

"Does it matter?"

A beat of silence. Then the man laughed nervously. "Suppose not."

Alaric smiled and nodded.

Then they left, door closed behind them.

When they crossed three blocks Delphine spoke. Uncertain.

"We don’t have thirty crates of goods."

"I know."

"So what—"

"We’re not delivering anything." Alaric’s voice stayed low. "We’re buying his time. In two days, I’ll send a message about unexpected complications, shipment delayed. Sincere apologies. We’ll reschedule. And while he waits."

He adjusted his hat. "His warehouse stays empty. His clients go elsewhere."

Delphine exhaled slowly. Her smile thinned as the plan clicked into place.

They turned another corner, blending into the crowd.

"Three more targets today," he added.

His eyes scanned the street ahead, sharp, patient, unhurried.