{Chapter: 211: Condition}
She gazed at Dex, trying to read his expression, but he was still tearing into that roasted chicken leg. The crunch of bone echoed softly in the chamber as he finished the last bite and wiped his mouth with a silk napkin.
Then, without emotion, he replied, "Mmm. Sounds reasonable. But no."
Sarah blinked. "W-What?"
"I said no," he repeated, standing up and tossing the chicken bone onto the plate with a lazy flick of his wrist.
Her stomach dropped.
She had expected hesitation. Negotiation. Even suspicion. But a blunt, casual rejection? That was the worst-case scenario.
Sarah had spent weeks studying Dex's habits, mannerisms, and temperament. She knew he wasn't greedy—at least not in the material sense. He didn't care for trinkets or politics, and he never gave in to anger recklessly. That's why she'd crafted a tale that was emotionally engaging but low-risk: intriguing enough to spark his curiosity without insulting his intelligence.
But apparently, he saw through her.
And what was worse, he didn't even care to say why.
The so-called treasure she referenced did exist… but it had nothing to do with demigods. It was an ancient vault constructed by the gods her cult worshipped—a cache of divine offerings, sacrificial tools, and magical relics intended for use in emergencies.
More importantly, it was the perfect site to perform a large-scale binding ritual—one strong enough to restrain a being as powerful as Dex, assuming all the preparations were correct.
That had been the real plan.
Lure him in. Trap him. Use the power of the location and the celestial alignment to try to sacrifice a demigod for divine favor. It was madness, yes, but desperate times required desperate measures.
And yet now, it was all falling apart.
Because he'd said no.
Not angrily. Not suspiciously. Just… dismissively.
That tone chilled her more than a threat ever could.
But before panic could settle in, she composed herself. There was still one card she hadn't played. One last chance to salvage the situation.
She drew in a breath, voice softening, eyes pleading.
Dex rejected her proposal but showed no ill will, Sarah felt that she still had a chance to save the situation, so she immediately prepared to say the words she had already thought of:
"There's something else," she said carefully. "Inside that treasure—"
Dex raised a brow, but said nothing.
Waving his hand with a gentle, dismissive grace, Dex effortlessly interrupted what Sarah was about to say. His tone was calm, confident—undeniably in control.
"What I seek," Dex said with a faint, knowing smile curling on his lips, "is not the kind of mortal wealth you're thinking of. Gold, divine weapons, legendary artifacts... those things mean little to me. What I want is something far more direct."
Sarah blinked, her brows furrowing as she tried to grasp his meaning. "Direct?" she echoed, uncertain. "I don't quite understand. Could you be more specific?"
Dex's smile deepened, his eyes locking onto hers with a gaze that was both gentle and terrifyingly penetrating. "Your goal," he said smoothly, "is to circle your way back to that statue, isn't it?"
Though he phrased it as a question, the tone carried the weight of certainty. It was not a guess—it was a verdict.
Sarah's heart clenched. Her spine straightened unconsciously. The illusion of control she thought she held slipped through her fingers like sand. Her carefully woven narrative had been unraveled—effortlessly, cruelly.
"…Yes," she admitted, her voice soft as a whisper.
There was no longer any point in pretending. He had seen through her from the beginning. Lowering her head, she bowed in what could only be described as reluctant shame—her long hair falling over her flushed cheeks, her hands held neatly before her, and her posture as meek as a schoolgirl confessing to a teacher.
The curve of her chest, drawn forward by her lowered stance, trembled slightly, and Dex, who sat like a king upon his throne, took it all in with amused detachment. Even in submission, she was beautiful—but beauty was never enough.
And yet, instead of coldness or wrath, Dex offered something else entirely.
"Don't be so frightened," he said, his voice as smooth as velvet. "I haven't decided whether you're trying to summon an eldritch god, unlock some ancient heretical power, or simply acting out of desperation. Frankly, I don't care. What matters is this—if you can meet my price, then you can have the statue. It's as simple as that."
Sarah's lips parted slightly. Her eyes widened. Her mind reeled from his casual mention of such dangerous rituals.
She quickly shook her head, panic flashing in her eyes. "No! I don't know anything about an evil god ritual! I just want to retrieve the treasure left behind in that place… that's all. I swear!"
In this world, where the existence of gods was a proven truth and heresy was a capital offense, the mere mention of such dark practices was enough to mark a person for death—or worse. Families could be wiped out. Bloodlines erased. Even denial could be dangerous if not delivered with perfect conviction.
Sarah's fear was real. Palpable.
But Dex didn't flinch. His voice remained unchanged—light and composed.
"Sure, sure," he replied, nodding in mock agreement. "I'm just a simple man, after all. I wouldn't understand any of that complicated divine stuff anyway." He paused. "So let's keep this simple. Give me ten thousand soul crystals, and the statue is yours."
Sarah froze. Her heart skipped a beat.
"T-Ten thousand?" she stammered.
Soul crystals were no common currency. These shimmering, eerie gems were created from the essence of the souls—either through the distillation of many weak souls or, more efficiently, from a single high-quality soul. Their existence alone implied mass death. Possession of even a few was illegal in every civilized region. The demand for ten thousand was nothing short of monstrous.
Only beings who trafficked in death—lich lords, cultists, demonic contractors—would even have use for such a thing.
Her suspicion of Dex deepened. Just who… or what… was he?
Despite her stunned silence, Dex remained kind. Considerate, even.
"There's no rush," he said, reaching lazily for his wine. "I'll be staying in this city for the foreseeable future. Come find me when you've made your decision."
He leaned back, completely relaxed, as if the whole conversation had been about purchasing tea leaves instead of dealing in the souls of the damned.
As Sarah turned to leave, shaken and visibly disturbed, another presence moved into view.
Valeera—the statuesque female elf whose every movement seemed calculated to seduce and subdue—glided back into the room like a dancer returning to the stage.
She was tall, nearly two meters, with emerald eyes lined in black kohl and long sun-kissed golden hair tied into a long ponytail that brushed the back of her thighs. Her skin shimmered faintly with magic, like golden silk under candlelight. Clad in tight, revealing red leathers adorned with runes and armored plates, she straddled the line between warrior and courtesan with lethal grace.
Her curves swayed as she approached, every step purposeful, her bare feet silent on the velvet carpet.
Without a word, she sat on Dex's lap like it was her rightful throne, one hand stroking along his collarbone, the other lazily toying with a huge green dagger that gleamed with forbidden enchantments.
"You seem Pleased, Dex," Valeera purred, her voice soft and smoky, like midnight velvet laced with danger. She pressed her ample chest lightly against him, deliberately ensuring her golden hair draped across his arm. "Did the little mortal girl amuse you?"
Dex chuckled, running his fingers slowly down her spine, making her shiver. "Isn't it worth smiling when something completely useless is suddenly worth something?"
Valeera gave a husky laugh, tilting her head to look up at him with playful mockery. "A beautiful fool chasing after forgotten relics and walking straight into your web? I'd say you're practically blessed today."
She coiled her arm around his shoulders, resting her cheek against his chest. Her legs curled up underneath her in an elegant sprawl, her scent—hints of jasmine and steel—wafting upward.
Dex raised his glass, amber liquid swirling in the light.
"She's a clever girl," he murmured. "But not clever enough."
Valeera's lips curled. "Shall I tail her? Play with her a little?" Her fingers traced lazy circles on his thigh, nails just sharp enough to hint at danger. "Or would you rather I wait until she brings the goods? You know how much I enjoy surprises…"
"No need," Dex said with a small grin, eyes watching the flickering candlelight. "Let her run her game. The more desperate she gets, the more we'll learn. And if she brings back those crystals… well, then we'll know she's worth keeping alive."
Valeera sighed contentedly and stretched like a feline, her body pressing close as she whispered, "Mmm… you're always so composed, so cruelly brilliant. That's what makes you so irresistible."
He raised his glass in salute, then drank deeply.
In the silence that followed, only the crackle of the hearth and the subtle sound of Valeera's breath remained.
Tonight, the predator had smiled at his prey—and let her walk away.
But how far she could run… was entirely up to her.