Chapter 168: The Diplomat’s Ledger

Chapter 168: Chapter 168: The Diplomat’s Ledger

Chapter 168: The Diplomat’s Ledger

Draven left the Great Forge behind, trusting Cole and Bram to stall the catastrophic production of the Dwarven siege weapons.

SCREECH!

The massive iron chains of the mechanical lift groaned in protest as the platform began its long ascent. The oppressive, scorching heat of the Stoneheart City slowly began to fade.

Draven stood near the edge of the iron grate. He watched the roaring magma rivers shrink into glowing orange lines far below him.

The heavy scent of burning coal was soon replaced by the crisp, cool aroma of cedar and blooming night-flowers. The lift arrived at the Root District.

Draven stepped off the platform. He adjusted the heavy iron chainmail of his assigned body.

The guard named Haldor was slow and physically weak, but his low rank provided the perfect camouflage. Nobody looked twice at a tired, middle-aged guard walking his patrol route.

He moved away from the bustling marketplaces beneath the World Tree. He headed straight for the human diplomatic sector.

Lord-Emissary Lionel’s estate was a fortress of extreme luxury. It sat on a massive, elevated terrace carved directly from the white stone of the mountain.

Towering marble pillars supported a roof lined with gold. A dozen elite guards patrolled the iron gates.

Draven did not attempt to fight them. He simply fell into step behind a passing patrol squad, keeping his head down and his spear leveled.

His low-tier mana signature was so painfully average that the estate defenses completely ignored him.

He slipped out of the patrol formation as soon as they rounded the western wing. He ducked into a narrow, unlit corridor reserved for the estate servants.

Draven closed his eyes. He reached into the invisible grid of his spatial awareness. He bypassed the hundreds of erratic, greedy mana signatures belonging to the corrupt human nobles.

He searched for a very specific frequency. He looked for a mana core that was perfectly disciplined, calm, and utterly polite.

He opened his eyes and looked down the hall toward a set of ornate wooden doors.

Draven moved silently to the edge of the doorway. He peered through the narrow crack between the hinges. The room beyond was a lavish parlor filled with thick velvet rugs, roaring fireplaces, and tables covered in exotic meats.

Five human nobles lounged on the plush sofas. They wore silk tunics and heavy gold rings. Their eyes were bloodshot and erratic, darting around the room with intense suspicion.

Standing in the center of the room was Lucien Vaelmont.

Lucien was occupying the body of a junior diplomat named Julian. He looked exhausted. He was currently balancing three incredibly heavy, fur-lined cloaks over his left forearm.

His knees were planted firmly on the floor. With his right hand, he was carefully using a cloth to polish the muddy leather boots of a nobleman sitting directly in front of him.

"You missed a spot on the heel, Julian," the noble sneered, kicking his foot forward intentionally to smudge the leather again.

"If you want to rise in Lord Lionel’s ranks, you need to learn your place. You are nothing but an errand boy."

Lucien did not show a single ounce of anger. He offered a flawless, accommodating smile.

"My deepest apologies, my lord," Lucien said smoothly. He calmly began polishing the boot again, entirely unbothered by the humiliation.

"I will ensure it shines like a mirror."

"See that you do," another noble laughed, holding up an empty crystal glass.

"And pour the wine. My throat is entirely parched from all the dust the Dwarves are kicking up today."

Lucien stood up gracefully. He maintained his grip on the three heavy cloaks. He picked up a silver decanter from the table and carefully poured the dark crimson wine into the noble’s glass. He did not spill a single drop.

Draven watched from the shadows. He knew exactly what Lucien was doing.

’He is letting them treat him like a piece of furniture,’ Draven thought.

’People do not hide their secrets from the furniture. I feel sorry for him.’

Draven needed to extract his swordsman without raising any alarms. He raised his hand toward the crack in the door. He focused his gray eyes on the crystal glass resting in the laughing noble’s hand.

He channeled a microscopic, razor-thin pulse of [Vector Manipulation] straight through the air. He targeted the structural integrity of the crystal.

SHATTER!

The wine glass exploded violently in the noble’s grip.

Dark red wine splashed all over the man’s expensive silk tunic and pooled onto the pristine velvet rug. The nobles leaped up from the sofas in a panic, brushing the sharp shards of crystal off their clothes.

"You clumsy fool!" the drenched noble screamed, pointing a furious finger at Lucien.

"Look at what you have done!"

"I am terribly sorry," Lucien lied perfectly, bowing his head deep in submission.

"The crystal must have been flawed. I will fetch a towel and a fresh glass from the pantry immediately."

"Go!" the noble barked.

"And do not come back until this mess is completely cleaned!"

Lucien bowed once more and backed out of the parlor. He walked swiftly down the servant corridor, heading straight toward the darkened pantry at the end of the hall. He stepped inside and closed the wooden door behind him.

Draven stepped out of the shadows, blocking the exit.

Lucien spun around instantly. His polite smile vanished. His hand dropped toward his waist, completely expecting to draw a sword that was not there.

"Embrace the poor, embrace the weak," Draven whispered into the dark room.

Lucien froze. He let out a long, shuddering breath. The intense tension drained from his shoulders in a matter of seconds.

"Embrace the dying as they speak," Lucien replied softly.

"Though our fingers drip with a crimson flood. The Embracing Hands wash clean the blood."

Lucien let the three heavy, fur-lined cloaks drop unceremoniously onto the dusty floor. He leaned back against the wooden shelves of the pantry and ran a hand through his hair.

"Captain," Lucien greeted, a genuine smile finally breaking through his fatigue.

"It is exceptionally good to see you. Julian’s body is incredibly weak, and these nobles have atrocious manners. I have been polishing boots for three hours."

"You gathered the intel," Draven stated, getting straight to the point.

"Every single word," Lucien confirmed, his eyes narrowing with sharp focus.

"I memorized Lord Lionel’s secret ledger this morning while he was sleeping. His entire inner circle is completely infected by the parasites. They are taking direct orders from the King Level Beast."

Draven nodded. "Cole confirmed Lionel poisoned the Forge-King with a corrupted crimson-vine drug. Thorgar is building siege weapons to attack the Elves."

"It is worse than that, Captain," Lucien said grimly.

"Lionel did not just manipulate the Dwarves. He has orchestrated the entire drought. He has dispatched his corrupted agents into the Verdant Canopy three days ago. They poisoned the Elven water supply with a highly lethal, slow-acting alchemical toxin."

Draven frowned deeply. The trap was flawlessly designed.

"If the Elves open the aqueduct gates," Draven summarized coldly, "the poisoned water floods the lower mountain. The Dwarves die, and Thorgar thinks it is a deliberate act of war."

"Exactly," Lucien agreed.

"And if the Elves keep the gates closed to contain the poison, the Dwarves die from the extreme forge heat. Thorgar launches the siege weapons in retaliation. Either way, the alliance fractures, and Thaldrasil burns to ash."

Draven stared at the wooden floor. His mind rapidly calculated a thousand different variables. The only way to disarm the trap was to neutralize the threat entirely before the Forge-King lost his mind.

"We need an antidote," Draven declared. "We have to purify the water supply in the upper canopy before the Dwarves launch their ballistae."

"I am a swordsman, Captain," Lucien sighed, looking at his empty hands. "I know nothing about filtering complex alchemical toxins."

"But Lyra does," Draven said, pulling the dark woolen hood over his head once more.

"She is transmigrated as a High-Arbor Botanist. If anyone can synthesize a cure for poisoned water, it is our alchemist."

Draven turned toward the pantry door. He placed his hand on the iron latch.

"Maintain your cover here, Lucien," Draven ordered.

"Map out the exact locations of Lionel’s corrupted messengers. Once we cure the water, we are going to sever his entire communication network in a single night."

Lucien nodded sharply. He reached down and picked the heavy fur cloaks back up from the floor. He draped them over his arm and flashed his perfect, empty servant smile.

"I will have the targets ready for you, Captain," Lucien promised.

Draven slipped out of the pantry. He moved quickly through the servant halls and back out into the open air of the Root District.

He tilted his head back, his eyes tracing the colossal, spiraling branches of the World Tree high above the clouds.

It was time to ascend into the Verdant Canopy.