Chapter 139: The Demon
Night had fallen like ink, heavy and low over the royal capital.
The lights of Lorente Castle faded behind him. Barbro had shed his daytime finery — that near-blinding formal coat — and changed into a plain dark grey outfit. The collar turned up to cover half his jaw. A wide-brimmed hat pulled low, nearly hiding his eyes.
He walked quickly. His boots struck the cobblestones in sharp, urgent beats.
The royal capital's nights had never been short of shadows.
The alleys that the daylight had kept honest now opened one by one, like hungry mouths.
Barbro turned into a lane barely wide enough for one person. The high walls on either side cut the sky overhead to a single strip. At the base of the walls, stagnant water of indeterminate age had pooled, giving off a damp, rotten smell.
Several turns later, a nondescript door appeared ahead.
The wood had long since faded, its edges set with rust-streaked iron bands, almost indistinguishable from the mottled wall around it. If you weren't looking for it, you would never know there was a door there at all.
Barbro stopped before it, glanced back down the alley. Empty. Only a stray cat at the wall's base, watching him with green eyes.
He raised his hand and knocked on the wood in a deliberate pattern.
Nine short, one deep.
A faint sound from behind the door, and it opened a crack. Half a face appeared in the gap — rough and mean-looking, clouded eyes scanning Barbro up and down.
"Who's there?"
"A visitor from the capital." Barbro kept his voice low.
The man was quiet for a moment, then pushed the door a little wider and stepped aside to let him through.
Barbro slipped in.
The door closed quickly behind him, the dry groan of the hinge cutting off like a swallowed sigh.
Beyond was a narrow corridor. Oil lamps, nearly burned to nothing, were set into the walls at intervals, their yellow light casting small circles that didn't reach the darkness at the far end.
At the end of the corridor, another door. The rough-faced man stopped and stepped aside with a gesture.
"He's inside. Please."
Barbro pushed the door open.
The room was larger than he'd expected.
A long table occupied the center, several candles burning on its surface, their flames perfectly still in the sealed air, lighting the room clearly.
At the far end of the table sat a man of about fifty.
He wore a dark robe, a water-god emblem pinned at the collar. His face was pleasant, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. He looked, all things considered, like a kindly old parish priest from some country village.
Barbro knew better. This man was Eight Fingers' consolidator.
The organization that had once sprawled through the Kingdom's underworld — controlling eight divisions covering slave trading, narcotics, assassination, gambling, and more — had been coordinated and run above-ground by this man.
A dead camel is still bigger than a living horse.
Though Eight Fingers had been dismantled by Renner and Blue Roses, the remnants still lurking below the surface — some portion of them still answered to him.
"Your Highness." The consolidator gave a slight bow. "A late-night visit. Is something pressing?"
Barbro skipped the pleasantries.
He sat down in the chair across from the consolidator, pulled off his hat, and tossed it onto the table.
The candlelight fell across that square face, throwing the restlessness in his expression into sharp relief.
"That thing you mentioned before," Barbro said without preamble. "The relic. The one that can summon a demon. Do you still have it?"
The consolidator's eyebrow moved slightly.
He picked up the teapot from the table, poured a cup, and set it in front of Barbro.
"Please."
Barbro didn't touch the cup. His eyes stayed fixed on the man across the table.
The consolidator paid the First Prince's stare no particular attention. The pleasant expression held without a crack.
"Of course we still have it. That relic was discovered by Eight Fingers in the greatest demon ruins in the world. Something that precious doesn't get used lightly."
The candle flame shifted once, throwing both their shadows against the wall.
"If it's that precious." Barbro had come ready to negotiate. "What are your terms for using it?"
The candlelight moved in the consolidator's eyes, giving that seemingly gentle gaze a flickering, uncertain quality.
"Simple enough. Help us rebuild Eight Fingers."
Barbro's brow drew in.
"Once you become king, Your Highness," the consolidator added. "At that point, all we'd need is a slight tilt in policy — leave Eight Fingers enough of a gap to take root. We'll handle the growing ourselves. We wouldn't make things difficult for you."
Barbro thought it over for a moment and made his decision.
"That's not a problem." He agreed without hesitation, then shifted direction. "Only—"
The consolidator watched the First Prince, and waited.
"The demon your relic summons," Barbro's voice dropped slightly, "can it actually be controlled? I'm concerned—"
"Don't worry, Your Highness." The consolidator stepped in smoothly, his tone soothing. "The demon attack will cause some civilian casualties, yes, but nothing excessive. We'll keep it contained — the situation will stay manageable."
Barbro's expression shifted to something close to disbelief.
"What are you talking about." His voice rose slightly. "Who cares about the commoners."
The consolidator's smile froze for just an instant.
"What I'm asking," Barbro's gaze fixed directly on him, "is whether this highest-tier demon you mentioned can actually be controlled. Whether it can be killed."
The room went quiet.
The candle wax melted slowly down the sides, pooling on the brass holder in a trail of milky residue.
The consolidator looked at Barbro as though confirming something.
There was no false gentleness on that face now. Civilian casualties had never been his concern — what he cared about was whether the performance would end the way he'd written it.
The corner of the consolidator's mouth curved up into a smile that carried genuine meaning.
"Your Highness, you continue to surprise me."
There was a note of real admiration in his voice now — as though he were seeing this man across the table for the first time.
Barbro didn't acknowledge the remark. He waited for the rest.
The consolidator let the smile settle and returned to his measured tone.
"Of course. With an adventurer of Momon's considerable ability on hand, all you would need to do at that point is maintain order while Momon kills the highest-tier demon. The credit for saving the capital would go to you. The prestige that follows would be substantial."
Barbro heard him out, but didn't nod. He was quiet for some time.
"What if," Barbro said suddenly, "I were the one to kill the demon myself."
The consolidator went still.
A rare moment of composure slipping — but he recovered quickly, the smile returning.
"Of course, Your Highness."
"In that case, I'll reduce the demon's power level so that you can make the kill. The prestige would be yours entirely."
Barbro watched that smile reassemble itself on the face across the table. In those blue eyes, something that looked like satisfaction finally surfaced.
The corner of his mouth lifted. A thoroughly self-pleased smile.
"Good."
He stood, picked up the hat from the table, and settled it back on his head.
The consolidator rose as well and gave a slight bow.
"Safe travels, Your Highness."
The door closed softly behind him.
The consolidator was alone in the room. He stood by the long table, the candlelight casting his solitary shadow against the tapestry, overlapping with the merciful face of the water god embroidered there.
He reached out, picked up the untouched cup of tea from where Barbro had left it, and emptied it into the waste basin on the floor.